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“Piece of what?”

“Mebbe two more pieces.”

“Of what?”

“Pie. It was pie I was a-talkin’ about all the time.”

“Don’t they give you sufficient?”

“Pie?”

“Yes.”

“No, sir; not nigh enough. An’–an’–come here closter. I’m a-gittin’ weak–I’m a-starvin’!” he whispered.

“You shall not starve. What do you want?”

“Well, now, I was jess a-thinkin’ that one or two more pieces fur dinner every day–every day—-“

“Pie?”

“Yes, sir; pie. I was a-talkin’ about pie.”

“You shall certainly have it; but don’t they give you any?”

“What? Pie?”

“Yes.”

“Oh, well, they do give me some.”

“Every day?”

“Yes, sir; every day.”

“How much do they give you?”

“Pie?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I’ll tell you. About two pieces, I believe.”

“Aren’t you afraid that much more than that would make you sick?”

“Oh, well, now, I’m a-goin’ to tell you about that, too, ’cause you don’t know about it. You see, I’m mostly used to gittin’ sick, an’ I ain’t mostly used to eatin’ of pie.” He spoke then, as he always spoke, with the most impressive earnestness.

Baker had undergone a great change within the two months that had passed over him at the hotel. Kindness had driven away the vacant look in his eyes and his mind was stronger. He had found that for which his meagre soul had yearned–a sympathizing heart and a friend. He was fat, sleek, and strong. His old boots–the same as of yore, for he would not abandon them–looked less foolish and seemed almost cheerful. Were they not always in an atmosphere of gentleness and refinement, and did they not daily tread the very ground pressed by the bravest and richest boots in the land? It is true that they were often covered with slops and chickens’ feathers, but this served only to bring out in bolder relief the elevating influences of a healthy morality and a generous prosperity that environed them. There are many boots that would have been spoiled by so sudden an elevation into a higher sphere of life; but the good traits of Baker’s boots were strengthened not only by a rooting up of certain weaknesses, but also by the gaining of many good qualities which proved beneficial; and to the full extent of their limited capability did they appreciate the advantages which their surroundings afforded, and looked up with humble gratitude whenever they would meet a friend.

There were six hundred guests at the hotel, and they all knew Baker and had a kind word to give him. But they could never learn anything about him other than that his name was Baker–“jess Baker, that’s all”–and that he came from Georgia–“jess Georgy.” Occasionally a stranger would ask him with urgent particularity concerning his past history, but he then would merely look helpless and puzzled and would say nothing. As to his name, it was “jess Baker;” but on rare occasions, when pressed with hard cruelty, his lips could be seen to form the words, “Hunder’d’n One,” as though wondering how they would sound if he should utter them, and then the old blank, suffering look would come into his face. It had become quite seldom that he dodged an imaginary blow, and the memory of the ball and chain was buried with other bitter recollections of the past. He had free access to every part of the house, and was discreet, diligent, faithful, and honest. Sometimes the porters would impose upon his unfailing willingness and great strength by making him carry the heaviest trunks up three or four flights of stairs.

One day the shadow of death that was stealing southward passed over the house containing so much life, and happiness, and wealth, and beauty. The train passed as usual, and among the passengers who alighted was a man who walked to the counter in a weary, uncertain manner. One or two persons were present who knew him, and upon grasping his hand they found that it was cold. This was strange, for the day was very hot. In his eyes was a look of restlessness and anxiety, but he said that he had only a pain across the forehead, and that after needed rest it would pass away. He was conducted to a room, and there he fell across the bed, quite worn out, he said. He complained of slight cramps in the legs and thought that they had been caused by climbing the stairs. After a half-hour had passed he rang his bell violently and sent for the resident physician. That gentleman went to see him, and after remaining a few minutes went to the office, looking anxious and pale. He was a tall, quiet man, with white hair. He asked for Mr. Clayton, but when he was informed that that gentleman was temporarily absent he asked for Baker.