The man turned at the exclamation, and so did several of the bystanders; but they could not make out who had uttered it. All they left it was the moon and stars. The darkness prevented the carpenter from discerning the features or figure of the stranger; and the ceaseless din precluded the possibility of holding any communication by words with him. She spent a very disagreeable afternoon and evening—it was raining fast outside, and she had very unwisely left her soundest pair of boots in the boothole of her father’s house in Morningside Park—thinking over the economic situation and planning a course of action. “No, no,” she cried. I am tired, and I want to be alone.
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