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diff --git a/9398-0.txt b/9398-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b9e04f1 --- /dev/null +++ b/9398-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1889 @@ +Project Gutenberg's Gloria and Treeless Street, by Annie Hamilton Donnell + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world. Be sure to check the +copyright laws for your country before downloading or redistributing +this or any other Project Gutenberg eBook. + +This header should be the first thing seen when viewing this Project +Gutenberg file. Please do not remove it. Do not change or edit the +header without written permission. + +Please read the “legal small print,” and other information about the +eBook and Project Gutenberg at the bottom of this file. Included is +important information about your specific rights and restrictions in +how the file may be used. You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Gloria and Treeless Street + +Author: Annie Hamilton Donnell + +Release Date: November, 2005 [EBook #9398] +This file was first posted on September 29, 2003 +Last Updated: March 15, 2018 + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GLORIA AND TREELESS STREET *** + + + + +Produced by Joel Erickson, David Widger and PG Distributed Proofreaders + + + + +GLORIA AND TREELESS STREET + +_By Annie Hamilton Donnell_ + + +1910 + + +By ANNIE HAMILTON DONNELL + + + + +CHAPTER I. + + +Gloria sat in her favorite chair on the broad veranda. The shadow of the +vines made a delicate tracery over her white dress. Gloria was lazily +content. She had been comfortable and content for seventeen years. + +“There's that queer little thing again, going off with her queer little +bag!” Gloria's gaze dwelt on the house across the wide street. Down its +steps a small, neat figure was tripping. Gloria recognized it as an old +sight-acquaintance. + +“I wish I could find out where she goes at just the same time every day! +In all the blazing sun--ugh! I'll ask Aunt Em sometime. And that makes +me think of what I want to ask Uncle Em!” It was natural that Aunt +Em should remind one of Uncle Em. Gloria's thought of the two as the +composite guardian of her important young peace and happiness--as well +as money. For Gloria was rich. + +“I suppose I might go down and ask him this morning. It's a bore, but +perhaps it will pay. Abou Ben Adhem, I'll do it!” + +Abou Ben Adhem, the great silver cat in her lap, blinked indifferently. +He was Gloria's newest pet, so named with the superstitious fancy that +it might have the effect of making “his tribe increase,” and Abou Ben +Adhem's “tribe” was exceedingly valuable. Gloria set the big, warm +weight gently down upon its embroidered cushion. + +“Good-by, old dear. Be glad you aren't a human and don't have to go down +town in a blazing sun!” + +A few moments later the dainty girlish figure came out again, gloved and +hatted. Aunt Em followed it to the door. + +“Walk slowly, dear--just measure your steps! And be sure to take the car +at the corner. Perhaps you can bring Uncle Walter back with you.” + +It was only Gloria who called him Uncle Em. He was not really uncle +anyway to Gloria, being merely her kind, good-natured, easily-coaxed +guardian. But for ten years he and this sweet-faced elderly woman in the +doorway had been father and mother to the orphaned girl. + +“Of course he'll come, if I tell him to!” laughed back Gloria from the +sidewalk. “Auntie, please ask Bergitta to come out and move Abou Ben's +cushion into the shade when the sun gets round to him. He'd never +condescend to move without the cushion.” + +At the corner no car was in sight and Gloria proceeded at a leisurely +pace to the settee that offered a comfortable waiting-place a block +above. The small, neat person of the House Across the Street was there +with her big, shabby bag. She moved over invitingly. + +“But you'd better not sit down!” she said laughingly. “If you do, no car +will ever come! I've been here a small age.” + +The shabby bag between them attracted Gloria's curious gaze. It might +contain so many different things--even a kit of unholy tools, jimmies +and things! It looked decidedly like that kind of a bag. + +“A fright, isn't it? If I ever got time, I could black it, or ink it, or +something, but I never shall get the time. I don't wonder you look at +it--everybody does.” “Oh!” Gloria hurried apologetically, “I didn't +mean to be rude! I was just trying to make up my mind what was in it.” + +[Illustration: “I DON'T KNOW WHAT I DO SEE.”] + +“Well, did you?” The face of the small, neat person bubbled with +soft laughter. Her hand went out and stroked the old bag's sides +affectionately. “Give you three guesses!” + +“I don't need but one!” laughed Gloria. A pleasant little intimacy +seemed already established between the two of them. + +“Well, guess one, then?” + +“A--jimmy!” + +“Gracious!” laughed the Small Person. “Do I look as bad as that? No,” + growing suddenly quite grave, “you will have to guess again. I'll give +you a cue--absorbent cotton.” + +“Absorb--” began Gloria in surprise, but stopped. The bag was open +under her eyes. She caught a confused glimpse of bottles and rolls of +something carefully done up in white tissue, of a dark blue pasteboard +box with a red cross on the visible end, of curiously-shaped scissors. + +“See any jimmy?” queried the one beside her. + +“No, but I don't know what I _do_ see.” + +“My dear--there's our car! Let me introduce you. The workbag, if you +please, of the District Nurse, Mary Winship. I have not the pleasure--” + +“Gloria Abercrombie,” bowed Gloria politely, but her eyes danced. She +liked this small, neat Mary Winship. They got into the car together. + +“I live right across the street,” Gloria added, when they were safely +seated. + +“So do I! I've seen you over there rocking a magnificent gray cat. Does +it feel good?” + +“The cat--Abou Ben Adhem? He's the warmest, softest thing!” + +“No, sitting. I hardly ever do it, so I'm not a good judge. You always +look so rested over there--it rests me to see you.” + +The pleasant laugh jostled with the lurching of the car; it had the +effect of being tremulous with some emotion, but there was nothing +tremulous about the placid face beside Gloria. + +“You poor dear!” Gloria burst out impetuously. “How tired to pieces you +must get! I've pitied you every one of these hot days.” + +“Don't!” smiled the other. “Pity my poor folks. Why, here's my street so +soon!” She clambered down with her heavy bag and nodded back. + +Gloria watched her trip away. The street she had stopped at was not a +pleasant looking one; Gloria had time to see that it was lined with +houses that leaned toward each other in an unattractive manner. And the +children--the swift impression Gloria got was of a street lined, too, +with little unattractive children. + +“Not a tree on it,” she mused as the car jolted her on to Uncle Em's. +“Think of no trees! And whole mobs of children, and such a day as this!” + It was terribly hot. “I wonder what a District Nurse is? Well, I like +'em!” + +Arrived at the great building among whose offices was that of Walter +McAndrew, Attorney-at-Law, Gloria's thoughts were turned into a new +channel. She remembered that she had come down town on important +business, and it was up two flights in this office building where she +was to transact it. Uncle Em was Walter McAndrew, Attorney-at-Law. + +She took the elevator and was presently at the right door. She went +in unceremoniously; it was one of her favorite visiting-places. Mr. +McAndrew looked up and gravely bowed. + +“Take a seat, madam, and I will be at liberty in a few moments,” he +began politely. But “Madam's” small, white hand, placed over his lips, +interrupted. “You are at liberty now--this minute, Uncle Em!” said +Gloria. + +The man at the desk shrugged his shoulders, then, helping her to a +comfortable seat on the arm-chair, said: + +“All right. What is it, Rosy Posie?” + +“Uncle Em, am I rich?” + +“Er--what's that? Oh, well,” judiciously, “you'll do.” + +“Very rich? How rich, Uncle Em?” + +The big swing-chair revolved with rapidity, to the peril of the young +lady on its arm. The face of Walter McAndrew, Attorney-at-Law, expressed +surprise. + +“What's the drive?” he asked. + +“That's what I want to know. How am I to drive? Uncle Em, see here. I +want a runabout--wait, please wait! A nice, shiny runabout, that I can +'run' myself. I'll take you some of the time. Now, when can I have it?” + +“You talk as if I had one concealed about me somewhere, and could +produce it at a moment's notice.” + +“All right, hand over my nice, shiny little auto!” laughed the young +woman. “Honest, I'm in earnest, Uncle Em. I dreamed I had one last +night, and I intended to ask you at breakfast, but I was sound asleep. +Don't say anything for answer just now. Just think about it, then drop +into the place where they keep 'em, on your way to supper, and order +one! That's all--I'll let you off easy!” + +Gloria got up and wandered about the little room. Its barrenness +reminded her of Treeless Street, lined with little children, and her +busy thoughts traveled back to that. + +“What's a District Nurse, Uncle Em?” she asked suddenly; “with a +rusty-black bag full of bottles and absorbent cotton? There's one across +the street from us.” + +“Bag or nurse?” + +“Both. She's a dear, but what does she do?” + +“Why,” explained Uncle Em, “she visits the poor and takes care of them +if they are sick, you know. It's rather a new institution here in +Tilford, but seems to be working finely. The city pays the nurse's +salary, or else it's done by private subscriptions.” + +“But I don't see how one nurse gets time to take care of a whole +city--mercy!” Gloria's personal experience with nurses had been two to +one girl. She remembered them now--the gentle day-nurse and the gentle +night-nurse, who had moved soft-footedly about her bed, performing +soothing little offices. Uncle Em smiled at her puzzled face. + +“No wonder you don't 'see,'” he said, interpreting her thoughts. “But in +this case the sick person gets but an hour's care, perhaps, a day. The +nurse goes from house to house, doing what she can in a little time. +She has to divide up her care, you see. But it is a merciful work--a +merciful work.” + +Gloria's face was thoughtful. Treeless Street haunted her. + +“Do you know a street that hasn't a single tree on it, Uncle Em? The +awfulest street! Just children and children and children and tenement +houses. I suppose I've been by it hundreds of times, but I never saw it +till to-day. It must have a name to it.” + +“What do you want to know its name for, my dear? It isn't the kind of +a street to run about on!” Uncle Em laughed. To Gloria the note of +uneasiness in his voice was not noticeable. + +She nodded a gay little good-by and was gone. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +After leaving her uncle's office the fancy seized Gloria to walk home +instead of taking a car. She would find Treeless Street and explore +it--perhaps meet the neat little figure of the District Nurse somewhere +in its dismal depths. She wanted to know more of this new manner of +helping people an hour a day. It was characteristic of Gloria to indulge +her fancies and to find out what she wished to know. She walked slowly +away, searching every cross street for the special one she wanted. +They were all dismal streets for a little way, but none of them +were absolutely devoid of trees. Scanty grass-spots relieved their +dreariness, and the swarms of children were comfortably enough dressed. +It was some little time before Gloria reached Treeless Street, but when +she did, she knew it at once. Without hesitation she turned into it. + +Topply tenement after tenement--was there no end to them? Was there no +end to the children with little old faces? Babies trundled other babies +in rickety carts; the clamor of sharp little voices filled the street. +Gloria, in a new world, threaded her way among the children and thought +her new thoughts. They were confused, unwelcome thoughts, but she +entertained them valiantly. + +“Think of coming here every day, perhaps, and living right along!” + +A small boy in grotesque man-trousers, reefed and rolled, intruded +himself and his baby-charge in her way. Gloria gazed down into the +boy's face with a sort of fascination. He was so small, yet had such a +protecting way with the baby. + +“What is your name, little man?” she asked. “Dinney. What's the name o' +youse?” + +Gloria ignored the question. + +“Is this your little brother?” gently. + +“Well, I guess!” said the boy. + +“Can he walk?” more gently still. + +“Yep, o' course--I mean when his legs gets stronger he'll walk, won't +youse, Hunkie? De doctor-woman says as wot he needs is plenty o' milk. +Wid its coat on--Hunkie ain't never had none wid its coat on till de +doctor-woman come.” + +“Its coat on?” murmured Gloria. Then by an inspiration she knew that +the boy meant cream--milk with the cream on. A sob rose unannounced in +Gloria's throat as she looked again at the mite in the cart who would +walk when his legs were stronger. + +“Who is the doctor-woman?” she asked; but as she asked the question she +knew the answer and said, “Is she the District Nurse?” + +“Yes, she is. She's good to my mother, and Hunkie's the baby. Rosy does +nice things, too. She showed Rosy how to be nice. Me mother's got de +consumption.” The boy spoke as though discreetly proud of the fact. + +“And who is Rosy?” Gloria asked. + +“Sure--de girl wot lives 'cross de hall. She's got eyes like your eyes, +she has.” + +Across the hall on Treeless Street. A girl with eyes like hers! It was +like finding herself there. Gloria shivered. She had a sudden inward +vision of herself living in Treeless Street. + +A little crowd of interested children had gathered. One, bolder than +the rest, had drawn unpleasantly close, and was smoothing Gloria's soft +white dress with timid little fingers. Gloria wondered why she did not +draw away, but stood still instead. + +“Are youse a doctor-woman? W'ere's yer bag? Yer ain't t'rew yer bag +away?” + +[Illustration: “And who is Rosy?”] + +“Huh! She ain't no doctor-woman.” This from Dinney, who had the +advantage of early acquaintance. “She's on'y a cuttin' roun' de street. +Youse better not be smudgin' up her dress, Carrots--gwan off, now! All +o' youse gwan an' let de lady 'lone. Me 'n' Hunkie's de on'y ones as she +wants roun'.” + +Dinney and Hunkie escorted Gloria to the end of the street and back. +Gloria returned on the opposite side with the idea of more thoroughly +exploring. But she might as well have kept to the one side; both sides +were alike in tenements and children--dreariness and poverty. There was +no choice. It was with a long breath of relief that Gloria emerged again +upon the main street. She filled her lungs with the cleaner air, and +gazed with a new admiration at the well-to-do buildings. + +The grotesque little figure of Dinney tramping back into Treeless Street +with his rattling cart lurching behind him, was all that remained of +what seemed to Gloria now must have been a dream. She glanced up at +the street's name, at its juncture with the main street, and started +suddenly, in very astonishment. The name she read pointed playful, +jeering letters at her. She had always known there was a street in +Tilford by that name--but not this, _this_ street! Pleasant Street! +Gloria walked the rest of the way as in a dream. + + * * * * * + +“Uncle Em, aren't tenements unsafe to live in,” Gloria asked at supper, +“when they lean every which way? Oughtn't there to be a law to tear them +down?” Gloria was too intent on her own musings to intercept the swift +glance her guardian gave her. + +“Supposing one tumbled down, with little children in it and outside it! +What did they name that awful street Pleasant Street for?” + +Aunt Em's comely face wore a queer expression. She began to speak, then +stopped. + +“Don't you want to hear what kind of a runabout I ordered on the way +home, Rosy-Posie?” What freak of fate made Uncle Em call her Rosy-Posie? +Gloria winced as if with pain at thought of the girl Rosie--with eyes +like hers--on Treeless Street. + +“There's a girl named Rosie with eyes like mine, on Pleasant Street!” + she cried. “A boy told me so. I hate that street!” She got up suddenly +and went away. + +The two left behind exchanged glances. Aunt Em's eyes were troubled. + +“Walter, whatever started the child up to go round exploring streets?” + she said. + +“Goodness knows! But don't get worked up over nothing.” + +“Poor child--you know I've always felt just the way she does, Walter.” + Aunt Em's gentle sigh came once more. + +The next morning Aunt Em appeared in Gloria's room before that leisurely +young person had decided to get up. She was lying in one of the pleasant +intervals between dozes, drowsily conscious that the sunshine was +streaming across her feet in a warm flood, and that somewhere children +were playing. + +'“Lazy girl!” cried Aunt Em in the door. The lazy girl turned without +surprise. She was used to early visits. “Perhaps you might like to know +the time of day--” + +“Oh, say it's 'most bedtime, auntie, then I won't have to get up at +all!” + +“Nine o'clock!” + +Gloria laughed. “Call that late! Why, it might be ten, eleven, twelve! +Besides, I had to make up for my nightmares--auntie, I spent nearly all +night walking up Treeless Street. I couldn't get out; I thought I'd got +to stay there always. The little ragamuffins wouldn't any of them tell +me the way out, not even Dinney. I wouldn't have believed it of Dinney!” + Aunt Em's face smiled down at the girl among the tumbled pillows. “Poor +dear! You have so many troubles!” Aunt Em sympathized in gentle irony. + +Gloria sat up straight. “You're making fun! Well, I don't suppose I +can complain. It isn't to be wondered at that you can't believe I'd be +troubled at other folks' troubles. Honest, auntie, I never was till +yesterday on that street!” + +“Aren't you ever going to talk about anything else, Rosy-Posie?” + +“Don't say 'Rosy,' or you'll set me off again! I won't mention it again +to-day if you'll promise to go down there with me some day, Aunt Em. If +you won't, I shall go with the District Nurse. I'm going into one of +those houses and see if it feels as bad as it looks.” + +“You can't go very soon, my dear, for we are going out West with Uncle +Walter to-night.” + +“Auntie!--honest?” Gloria was on her feet in a sudden access of energy. +Drowsiness and laziness were past things. The trips that she and Aunt Em +took occasionally with her guardian were her delight; it was always an +occasion of gratitude when a “case” called him away during the long +summer vacation. + +“We decided last night, dear. You know how Uncle Walter loves to take us +along.” + +“Will it be a nice long case? Say yes!” + +“Yes,” smiled the elder woman, “three or four weeks, probably, and maybe +longer. You never can tell how long lawyers will be, threshing out +justice.” + +“Where? Where? Oh, I call this fine!” Gloria was pulling out the +contents of a bureau drawer. “Where are we going, auntie?” + +“To Cheyenne. Gloria, what in the world are you up to?” + +“Packing. Cheyenne! I'll dress in a jiffy, auntie, and when I've got my +trunk packed I'll pack you.” + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +Walter McAndrew, Attorney-at-Law, was in rather frequent demand in +distant places, when the services of an especially acute lawyer were +in demand. When these “cases,” as Gloria termed them, called him to +locations worth visiting, Mr. McAndrews delighted in taking his wife +and ward with him. The evening preceding the packing-scene in Gloria's +bedroom, he and his good wife had come to the rapid decision that a +trip to the West just now would be good for Gloria--more likely than +anything else to eradicate impressions of unpleasant Pleasant Street. +Gloria's impressions were apt to come and go easily, they reasoned, and +it was important for this one to go. + +“You were going away, anyway, and I suppose I can go too, even if it is +hot,” his wife had sighed in gentle renunciation of her own comfort. As +for Gloria--the child was always delighted with variety and change. No +trouble about Gloria! + +Ten years earlier, when, close upon the death of his beloved young wife, +Gloria's father had slipped out of life, the orphan of seven years had +been given into Mr. McAndrews' charge, to be loved and petted, while Mr. +McAndrews was given her generous little fortune to husband and watch +over. It had been a beautiful home for Gloria; unquestioningly she had +accepted all its comforts and love. Yet Gloria was not selfish--only +young. Gloria's father had been a keen business man, and the investments +of his money as he earned it had been of the kind that fatten men's +pocketbooks, however lean they may make the bodies of other men. + +For the time, Treeless Street, lined with little children, vanished from +Gloria's mind. The journey she began so promptly was a new one to her, +and with the first appearance of daylight the first morning she was +ready to enjoy it. Unlike Aunt Em, she was fresh and vigorous after the +night in the sleeper; she did not even dream of her recent discoveries +in streets. No old-faced little boys in reefed man-trousers appealed to +her sleeping pity. + +[Illustration: It would be something interesting to do.] + +“Best thing we could have done,” whispered Uncle Em to his wife, +watching the girl's animated face. “But I'm afraid it's going to be +tough on you, my dear.” + +“Never mind me,” smiled back his wife cheerfully. She was at that moment +warm and wearied, with a dull headache with which to begin the day. But +Aunt Em was the sort of woman who courts discomforts which to her loved +ones masquerade in the guise of comforts. She had never been given a +daughter of her own to make sacrifices for; she must make the most of +Gloria. + +“I wish you liked to travel as well as Gloria and I do, my dear.” His +wife did not like to travel at all; it was a species of torture to her. + +“I like to have you and Gloria like it,” she smiled. + + * * * * * + +A few days after the newness of Cheyenne had worn off a little, Gloria +sat in the window of her hotel room writing a letter. It had come to her +suddenly that she would write to the District Nurse. It would at any +rate be something interesting to do, and if the letter elicited an +answer, how very interesting that would be! What kind of letters did +District Nurses write? + +Gloria had gone back, in convenient interstices of her new life in +this strange city, to mild musings on streets where poverty dwelt +undisguised. At this distance, Dinney and little Hunkie were faint +wraiths rather than realities. + +Gloria's musings now were tinted with a comfortable impersonality that +robbed them of the power to sting. It was more as if she had recently +read a story full of pathos, whose chief characters were named Hunkie +and Dinney, and whose background was a dreary street. She would tell the +story to the District Nurse and perhaps evoke a sequel to it from her. + +“_Dear Miss Winship_: My uncle and aunt spirited me away the next day, +and here I am in this 'Undiscovered Country'! Do you mind if I write +you? You will be too busy to answer. Maybe you won't even have time +to read it! I found out about one of your sick persons that same +day--Dinney's mother. He seemed almost proud that she had consumption, +the poor little boy! He had the baby with him. I never saw such a +perfectly dreadful street. The idea of calling it Pleasant Street! +Somebody ought to climb up and print an 'Un' before it, and even that +wouldn't be bad enough! + +“I wish I knew who Rose is. All I do know is that you taught her to be +good to Hunkie--Dinney said so. He said that Rosy lived across the hall, +and that she had eyes like mine! + +“Uncle Em has a protracted case here, so we may be here quite a while +longer, but when I get home will you let me go district-visiting +sometime with you? And introduce me to the girl with eyes like mine, and +whose name is Rose--my middle name. It makes me feel queer every time I +think of her--I don't know exactly how to describe it, but it seems a +little as if there were two Rose Abercrombies. Suppose I lived down on +that Un-Pleasant street--across the hall! + +“Lovingly yours, + +“GLORIA ROSE ABERCROMBIE.” + +To Gloria's surprise, she received an answer to her letter, with a +considerable degree of promptness, but it was not postmarked Tilford. + +“_My dear Miss Gloria Rose_: Perhaps you didn't know District Nurses +could be prompt in answering letters! But, you see, I am having my two +weeks' vacation up here in this little hilly place. I get two weeks off +every summer--and actually sit down! I'm doing it now--if my writing +joggles now and then it is because I am rocking. I want to make the most +of my opportunities. This is the quietest place to sit and rock I was +ever in. + +“Your letter was such a delightful surprise. Of course, I'll take you +with me. I'll do more than introduce you to my assistant Rose. No, I'll +not describe her to you. I will wait and let you see her for yourself. +Well, Dinney's mother is very sick. I could not bear to leave her. What +do you think she said to me the last thing? 'I'll wait'--just those two +words--when waiting will be so cruelly hard. I would not have come now, +but the doctor put his foot down. I suppose I was worn out. + +“My dear, if I loved anyone very much I should say to her: 'Never be a +District Nurse!' It's so terribly hard on the heart-strings. + +“There is another Dinney on Pleasant Street, but his name is Straps. I +don't know why, unless because of his one suspender, and then it ought +to be _Strap_. He looks like Dinney, but his 'baby' he leads by the +elbow instead of drags in a cart. The baby of Straps is very old and +blind, the shoestrings he sells on the corner are very poor ones, but +when you need shoestrings I wish you would buy those. Din--I mean +Straps--leads him back and forth and loves him. There doesn't seem any +reason in all the world why he should--or could--but he does. + +“There, I must stop. + +“Lovingly, + +“MARY S. WINSHIP, + +“District Nurse.” + +The letter of the District Nurse reawakened all Gloria's interest in the +street she had “discovered.” She thought about it a great deal while +she and Aunt Em were driven about sightseeing. Her preoccupation was a +source of gentle worriment to Aunt Em, and would have been even more +so had that dear person suspected Gloria's designs against Un-Pleasant +Street. These designs were unbosomed in a second letter to the District +Nurse. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +Gloria's second letter to the District Nurse ran thus: + +“_Dear Miss Winship_: I keep thinking of those dreadful houses. Every +time I look in a daily paper I expect to read that one of them has +tumbled down, and I'm afraid it will be Dinney's house, where that poor, +sick woman is--or Straps' house! They _ought_ to tumble down, every one +of them, but not till they are emptied of their poor loads of humanity. +If they are half as bad inside as they are outside! I keep and _keep_ +thinking of them. Think of a girl named Rose being in a house like that, +and another girl with Rose for her middle name in a beautiful, great +hotel here, or Uncle Em's lovely house at home--both of them Roses. It +isn't fair! + +“Do you know, I have a plan, but I'm 'most afraid to divulge it--I +wouldn't to Uncle Em for the world, _yet_! He'd laugh the roof off. He +says women have no heads for business, and as for _girls_!--But if not +heads, I suppose they might have hearts, and the hearts might ache, the +way mine does every time I think of those houses and Straps and Dinney +and Hunkie--and the girl with eyes like mine. Yes, I'll tell you. I +mean to tear down some of those houses--Dinney's, at any rate. Now, go +outdoors and laugh! + +“I don't suppose you know it, but Uncle Em's keeping a lot of money for +me when I get of age. I'm seventeen now. I never asked how much money +I'll have, but it's a lot, I'm sure of that. What I've been planning out +in my mind is to use some of that money in building decent houses for +Dinney and Straps, and some of the rest you are working for. I can have +the old ones torn down. I asked uncle for a runabout, but I'll give that +up. I wish I dared ask him how much it costs to tear a house down--I +wonder if you couldn't find out for me? + +“Aunt Em and I picked out the kind of automobile for me in an +advertisement--a little beauty. Last night I dreamed I had it, and the +first ride I took it turned into That Street--I couldn't help it; it +would go. It--it ran over little Hunkie. Aunt Em heard me scream, and +went in and waked me up. + +“I'll give up having an automobile. + +“Please try to find out who owns Dinney's house--that is the worst +block of all, isn't it? Whoever does own that place couldn't ask very +much for it. It's such a rickety thing. You see, I've set my heart on +having one nice straight human house, anyway, on that street. + +“With love, + +“GLORIA ROSE.” + +The answer to this second letter was not as long as the first letter +from the District Nurse. It bore evidence of hurry. + +“_Dear Gloria_: I am getting ready to go back this afternoon--no, my +vacation isn't done, but Dinney's poor mother is. She can't wait any +longer. I shall be there to-night. + +“About the houses--my dear, oh, my dear! It will surprise you to know +that those houses are very valuable. It would cost a good deal to buy +even one of them, I am afraid. Let me tell you--I'll count up as nearly +as I can remember how many _rents_ there are just in Dinney's house; +that is five stories high--the basement is the first one. + +“Fourteen rents. Some of the rents are just one room or two rooms, you +see. Fourteen families pay for living in that house. The entire rental +of that one house helps fill somebody's pocketbook 'plum' full.' It was +a lovely plan--I cried instead of laughing over it--and when I see you +I am going to hug you for it! But, dear, I'll see if I can find out who +Somebody is, if you still want to know. It will be a simple matter, I +should say. I have never asked who owned any of the 'Pleasant Street' +property--I did not seem to want to know. But I'll find out if you +really wish me to. + +“With love, + +“MARY WINSHIP.” + +The District Nurse found Dinney's mother was “waiting” when she at last +reached her. But her release came soon. With a smile she left them, and +Dinney, seeing it, surprised the Nurse by a look of gladness. Then he +took Hunkie into his arms and turned away with him as the door opened +and a young girl entered. It was Rose. It seemed somehow to Dinney as +though a sweet peace filled the room now that his mother's hard-drawn +breath was no longer there. He looked through the window and hugged +Hunkie close. He was his baby sure, now. In a way that he could not +understand, it seemed as though something good had come to his mother. +Loving her as he did, he was glad, and realized not his bereavement. + +The District Nurse, a day or two later, found time to attend to Gloria's +commission. It was at first a little difficult, because she did not +apply to the right party, but she persevered, as she wished to tell +Gloria in the letter she meant to write that night. She was told of +someone who might know, and to that person she repaired at her first +leisure. There she was at last successful. + +But she did not write to Gloria that night. Her pen would have refused +to trace the name she had found--no, no, no, in very mercy it could +not! Poor Gloria--dear child! For already the District Nurse loved +Gloria. No, she could not tell her who it was owned Dinney's home. +Mr. McAndrew's law case concluded, that gentleman was minded to treat +himself to a little recreation. It was not fair, he said, for the women +folks to have all the fun--they were to turn to now and see that he +had his share. With Gloria's willing aid, he made out a modest little +itinerary that would give them a sight of several places of interest. + +“The more the better!” Gloria said. “We're good for any number of 'em, +aren't we, auntie?” + +And dear, patient Aunt Em smiled splendidly, and saw the longed-for +arrival home pushed farther away. Gloria was innocently selfish; she +could not have comprehended easily how anyone could help enjoying this +pleasant dallying from place to place. + +The trip finally ended several weeks later than was originally planned. +The District Nurse's vacation was dimmed by the many days of hard work +that had succeeded it; by this time it was more a beautiful memory than +a reality. She must have dreamed of sitting lazily rocking, shut in by a +circle of blue hills! So many things can happen to a person in a matter +even of days--when the person is a busy District Nurse, with a city to +take care of. + +Gloria, back in her favorite piazza-chair, surveyed the world with +rested vision. Very soon she would take up her adopted worries about +barren streets and rickety houses, but for the moment she would rock and +smooth Abou Ben Adhem's beautiful back. + +“You've been lonesome, Old Handsome--needn't tell me! I don't believe +you purred a note while I was gone. And I never missed you, sir!” She +pulled the low, far-set ears gently. “There was a lovely cat at the +hotel,” she added with deliberate malice. “_He_ purred grand operas.” + But in her lap the great cat sat unjealously. Gloria's gaze wandered +across the street. She wished she knew which was the District Nurse's +window. “I'd wave you at it, Abou Ben, just to show her I've got home +--but there, she may be district-visiting, and you'd be wasted. We'll +watch for her.” + +[Illustration: “I'd wave you at it, Abou-Ben.”] + +At that very moment the District Nurse was in Rose's room helping to +cut out a tiny calico dress. Rose herself was running little sleeves +together in a motherly way. + +“Tell me some more,” she pleaded. “Is she pretty? Does she do up her +hair? What kind of eyes has she?” + +“One at a time! You take my breath away,” laughed Miss Winship over her +calico breadths. “Yes, she is pretty--I think you will say so. Her hair? +I'm sure I don't know what kind of hair she has. Now you may begin +again, my dear.” + +But Rose's eyes were wistfully musing. They were beautiful eyes, but the +rest of Rose, oh, how pinched and meager! + +“I kind of thought,” Rose said, “I didn't know but--there now, the +idea! Of course I don't want her to be like me!” Rose's voice quivered. +“I'd be ashamed of myself to want her to be like me. I was only +thinking, that's all. It isn't bad to think, is it? And anyway, we're +both Rosies, you say. But they call her Gloria. But she has Rose for one +name. I've got that to be glad of!” + +Snip--snip--the scissors cut steadily through the crisp cotton goods. +“Yes, indeed, you've got that!” the District Nurse said with loving +tenderness. She did not look up from her work; at that minute she did +not want to see the small, stunted figure sewing tiny sleeves for +Dinney's baby. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +It was a beautiful morning, and Gloria and the cat were occupying the +broad piazza. At last Abou Ben Adhem slid with a soft thud to the piazza +floor. It was his signal that no more petting was desired for the time. +Gloria, too, got out of the big rocker and went into the house. + +“Aunt Em, would you want to be a District Nurse and _never_ get home? +I've watched till I'm 'blind of seeing.'” + +“It can't be a very desirable position, dear--you won't ever be one, +will you?” + +“I'm going to 'be one' to-morrow!” Gloria laughed. “Have to get used to +it, auntie. You can't change my mind--it's set. The next to-morrow that +ever is, I am going to begin!” + +“Dear! dear!” sighed Aunt Em. She felt anxious again. Here was the child +back just where she had left off. What good, then, all the traveling +about and the getting tired and hot? A wave of fresh weariness and +travelstrain seemed to sweep over the dear little woman. Close upon it +like a cool breeze came the recollection that in October Gloria would go +back to school. Then, at any rate, this undue, unwelcome fascination for +grimy streets would terminate. It was mid-August now. + +The next morning Mrs. McAndrew opened the door to Gloria's room. The +girl lay smiling among the pillows. + +“If you are to be a District Nurse, dear, it might be well for you to +get up to breakfast.” + +“Well, I'm prepared to go to even that length! You'll hear a bird, +auntie, and simultaneously you'll hear me getting up!” + +Gloria was as good as her word. Mrs. McAndrew met her with a smile. +Gloria's face was good to see; it was grave with purpose, but the light +of youth and happiness softly irradiated the gravity. But the studied +simplicity of the girl's costume that morning rather surprised Mrs. +McAndrew as her eyes fell upon it. + +Gloria laughed. “Aunt Em, you're unprepared for the grown-up appearance +of the new District Nurse,” she said. The neat coils of brown hair were +quite disquieting to Aunt Em. She was not ready for Gloria to be a +woman; her gentle heart misgave her. + +“Dear child, let your hair down again--let it down!” she pleaded. + +“Auntie! As if--after I've been to all this work and used twenty-three +hairpins! I thought you'd approve of me. I think I look just like a +nurse now. Did you suppose I could be one with my hair the old way? Dear +me! I must dress the part, auntie. The play begins as soon as I've eaten +an egg and two rolls--now why do you suppose nurses always eat an egg +and two rolls for breakfast? But I'm sure they do.” + +Gloria was in fine spirits. The “play” on the eve of beginning was sure +to be an entertaining one, and for novelty could anything be better? +She meant to go all the rounds with brisk little Miss Winship. She was +prepared to sweep floors and wash faces if it should prove to be in her +part of the play. “I may have to be prompted,” she thought, “but you +won't catch me having stage-fright!” + +She had sent a note across the street by a maid to prepare the District +Nurse, and that cheerful little person was waiting for her as she +tripped down the McAndrews' doorsteps after her hurried meal. + +“Am I late? Did I keep you waiting?” she cried. + +“Not more than a piece of a minute. I've been trying to scrape +acquaintance with your beautiful cat, but he is above District Nurses.” + +“If I had time I'd give him a good scolding. He's got to get used to +nurses if I'm one! Do you hear that, you Old Handsome? Good-by, and be +a good boy while I'm gone!” And Gloria waved her hand affectionately to +the big silver fellow on his silken cushion. She and the District Nurse +walked away together. + +“I feel as if I were setting sail for a foreign land,” laughed the girl, +daintily tripping along. + +“My dear, you are.” The voice of Gloria's companion was suddenly grave. +“I don't know as I'm doing right to let you embark--I ought to send you +back to your beautiful home.” + +“Send me back! No, I'm set on 'sailing.'” In sheer exuberance of spirits +Gloria's laugh bubbled out again, then as quickly stopped. “Oh, you will +think me such a silly! I ought not to laugh, ought I?” + +“Yes, keep on all the way, dear; you won't feel like it, I'm afraid, +coming back. The first time I 'came back' do you want to know what I +did?” + +_“Cried,”_ Gloria said softly. A new mood was upon her now, and a gentle +solemnity gave her piquant face a new attraction. Gloria's moods were +wont to follow each other with surprising swiftness. + +“Yes, I did. I saw so much that I could not help, that it made my heart +ache. Children that needed attention and love and care, and mothers +with tired hands, and wives whose faces wore a hopeless look. Yes, I +_cried_.” + +After this the two walked on in silence. But Gloria's eyes were bright +and her breath was coming in quick, strong waves through her red lips. +The picture her companion had given set her tingling, and then came the +thought she had up in the mountains--Couldn't she help? + +Seeming to think she had said too much, the District Nurse began +chatting in a cheery way, as though to turn her companion's thoughts +into a different channel. In this mood, the one chatting lightly, the +other listening, they drew near to “Dinney's House.” But no sooner had +they entered the neighborhood than they noticed that something exciting +was going on, and shrill voices came to them. + +“Something has happened!” cried Miss Winship, hurrying her footsteps. +“I'm afraid someone is hurt.” + +But then, the District Nurse was “always afraid” in that locality. There +were so many pitfalls where accidents could happen. As they drew near a +boy ran from the crowd toward them. It was Dinney. + +“What is it, Dinney? Quick!” asked the nurse. + +“Sal went over the stairs--the railing broke. She hain't got up either!” + the boy answered, breathlessly. + +As the two drew nearer the crowd a chorus of voices greeted them. + +“Miss District! Here's Miss District!” + +The throng made way for the nurse. Down in the heap of fallen stair +railing lay poor Sal. Immediately Miss Winship was beside her. + +Gloria never quite knew what happened the next half hour. It was +mercifully always a bad dream to her. At its end something like order +and quiet reigned in the old house, thanks to the quiet self-command +of the District Nurse. Sal had been removed in the ambulance to the +hospital, the little crowd of women sent back to their work, and the +curious children scattered to their homes. Not until then did the +District Nurse have time to look at Gloria. + +“Why, you poor dear! You're white as a sheet! I ought to have thought +how it would make you feel! Come with me up to Rose's room. That's the +quietest place around here. It's a little haven to us all. She's got +Dinney's baby with her now. Since the mother died she's about adopted +it. But Dinney pays for it. Dinney's a brave one!” + + +They now passed up the stairway, and as they came to the gap in the +railing that had been the ruin of poor Sal, the nurse paused with a look +of anxiety sweeping over her face. + +“It mustn't be left in that way,” she said in dismay. Then she called, +“Dinney! Is Dinney down there?” as she looked down the stairway. +“Someone tell Dinney to bring me a rope--clothesline will do.” + +The rope was brought, and Gloria, standing by in wonder, watched the +deft fingers weave it back and forth across the danger gap. This was an +unexpected type of a nurse's duties. + +“There, that will do as a makeshift. Anyway, nobody but the thinnest of +them can leak through, and Sal isn't here to lean on it; poor Sal!” + +Rose was not in the bare, half-lighted little room they entered. The +tidiness and cleanliness of it, however, bore witness to her recent +occupancy. On the neat bed lay a baby asleep. + +“Hunkie!” Gloria said softly, as she tiptoed across the room and looked +down at the thin little face. + +“It seems a tiny morsel of humanity to get hold of life, doesn't +it?” said the nurse. “But Rose is so careful of it, and Dinney is so +insistent that it shall have everything it needs.” + +Then she turned to Gloria. “Now sit down and make yourself comfortable, +and wait for me. You are not fit to go around with me now. Rose will be +here in a little while, doubtless.” + +Gloria dropped into a chair. Left to herself, she looked around the +plain little room. Her eyes took in the pitiful details--the uneven +boards of the floor, the sagging ceiling, the cracked window panes. How +sharply the room contrasted with her own, and yet this was the room of +Rose--with eyes like hers. A girl who had thoughts and dreams and +aspirations the same as she had. As these thoughts went through +Gloria's mind she leaned back. The strain of excitement had told on her. +Exhaustion took possession of her. She did not intend to sleep, but her +eyes closed against her will. How long she sat thus she did not know, +but in time there came to her a consciousness of whispering in the room +and a baby's laugh. Opening her eyes she saw a pretty picture--a young +girl tossing a baby into the air and catching it again, and the baby +cooing. + +[Illustration: IMMEDIATELY MISS WINSHIP WAS BESIDE HER.] + +Instantly the girl with the baby caught sight of Gloria as she stirred. + +“And so you are awake. You looked so tired,” said the girl. + +Gloria straightened and arranged her hair. The many hairpins felt +uncomfortable. + +The girl with the baby looked at her curiously. + +“Why,” she said, “I thought you wore your hair different.” And then she +flushed. Her own hair was in a braid, and she flushed still more when, +glancing into a little mirror, she looked from her face to Gloria's. She +had put her own hair down into a braid to be like the girl Dinney had +told of. But how different they were! Instantly she realized that hers +was a face without round, girlish curves. But she did not speak of this. +She turned to Gloria and said in her quiet way: + +“You shouldn't take it so hard--Sal's falling. We get used to such +things here.” And she smoothed out Hunkie's dress as she sat down on the +window-sill, there being but one chair in the room. “And then when you +come right down to it,” she said, “Sal will have the time of her life. +I just came from the hospital. She's bad broke, but they can mend her, +they said. And if she can stand the mending, what a time it will be for +her!” + +Gloria's eyes opened wide with astonishment. Rose smiled. It was a smile +that almost made her face look girlish. “It does seem awful to talk that +way, but it's the truth. Just think of it!--Sal never had anything nice +to eat! I saw them bringing a tray to one near Sal, and it held things +Sal never tasted in her life. And she has such a nice room and bed.” + +“Tell me about Sal, please,” said Gloria. “Her mother seemed to feel so +terribly.” + +Rose's face hardened. “Well, she's probably forgotten her grief by now; +that is, if she's got hold of anything to drink. That's the way she'll +celebrate it. She beat poor Sal regular. You know--” Rose's voice +dropped a little, as though she hated to say what she was going to say, +“Sal isn't just the same as the rest of us. She's always had to lean on +things, and sometimes they break with her.” + +Gloria shuddered. + +“Sal's had lots of breaks; but then everything in this house is sort of +uncertain. The ceiling, for instance. The ceiling in Dinney's room came +down once before his mother died, and it just missed her. It would have +killed her then if it had hit her. It nearly killed Dinney, but he's +tough.” + +“They will mend the stair railing!” Gloria cried. + +Rose's face hardened, and she looked down and pressed her lips against +the baby's forehead. It was as though the girl, Gloria, beside her was +reaching too far. Lifting her head, she said in a cold voice: + +“They don't mend things around here. But maybe they will the railing. It +costs money to mend, and they say things don't stay mended. Maybe they +don't.” + +Gloria sat looking straight in front of her. What a world it was, +compared with her own world! At last she said in a low tone: + +“Did they mend the ceiling?” + +“No,” answered Rose. “But then, it don't matter. She died soon after, +you know. The hole is there yet.” Gloria rose; she was growing anxious +for a change. Something seemed somehow choking her. + +Out in the hall an angry voice was suddenly heard. It was a woman's +voice pitched high. + +“I tell yez, I'll have the law on thim! It's toime somebody was afther +doin' on't, an' it's up to me, with me poor Sal lyin' in the hospital! +The one that owns this house is a murdherer! I'll tell yez, it's the +truth!” + +Gloria was standing with eyes wide opened and face flushed. She drew a +quick breath of relief as she heard the voice of the District Nurse. + +“Oh, hush! Do hush!” the District Nurse pleaded, and there seemed an +agony of fear mingled with the words. + +Then came in still angrier tones: + +“Hush, is it! Oh, yes, it's hush wid you as wid them all! I tell yez +I'll have the law! I'll foind the murdherin' crachure before I'm a +day older! You needn't be hushin' av me up! I'm goin' now; it's toime +somebody wint!” + +Gloria heard the shuffling of the angry woman's feet, but the nurse +evidently followed her, as she did not enter the room. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +It was on the day of Gloria's visit with the District Nurse that Mr. +McAndrew came home to luncheon, which was rather an unusual proceeding +for the busy attorney during hot weather. Mrs. McAndrew, seated with her +mending on the shady piazza, could see a worried expression upon her +husband's face even before he reached the steps. + +“Something is the matter,” she said, rising hastily, while spools and +scissors fell upon the cat dozing near. “Something is the matter or he +would never have come home in this boiling sun.” + +“What is it, dear?” she asked, as the middle-aged, slightly bent figure +toiled up the steps exhaustedly. + +“Where is Gloria?” was Mr. McAndrew's reply, as he dropped with a sigh +of relief into one of the piazza chairs. + +“Gone with Miss--I can't think of her name--the District Nurse. She +would go--you mustn't blame me. Ask Abou Ben if she wasn't the settest +little thing!” + +“I was afraid so--felt it in my bones. Now, why,” groaned the lawyer, +“must she have selected today? And here I've come up home at the risk of +my life all to no end! I wanted to make sure she wasn't poking round in +that miserable street today, of all days--and you have to tell me she +_is!_” + +“You mustn't blame me,” his wife repeated mildly. “You know yourself +when Glory's _set_--” + +“Yes, but you ought to have been set, too! Why didn't you put your foot +down that she shouldn't go off to such a foolish place? No knowing what +mischief it has done!” worried a look as did her husband's. Then she +added, “If we had explained the whole thing to her at the start, it +would not have been so difficult. But how is anyone to tell her now? She +is so intense, and she's hardly more than a child to reason with. And in +the meantime she's gotten so many ideas into her head that she wouldn't +have had, maybe, if she had known the situation from the first, and +grown up with it.” + +“I acted for the best,” her husband grumbled. “Such things are coming +up in life all the time. But when women are mixed up in 'em, there's +no making them see straight. It wasn't fitting that Gloria should have +everything explained to her at the start. It wasn't businesslike. When +she comes into full control of things herself, it will be different. I +am afraid Richards is not quite the man to have charge of things down +there. I have given him his own way too much. But one has to with +Richards. He's a good collector.” + +“But the stair-rail, dear,” interposed his wife. “Stair-railings should +be secure, above all things.” + +“Yes, Richards ought to have seen that everything was safe. I cannot +understand a glaring negligence like that. He's always given me the +impression that things were kept very fairly shipshape.” Having said +this, Mr. McAndrew rose and began pacing the veranda. + +“Richards said it was a poor, half-witted creature,” he murmured, as +though thinking aloud. + +“But, dear,” interposed his wife, “half-witted creatures can be killed!” + +Aunt Em's thoughts seemed to be keeping pace with those of the man +marching up and down the piazza floor. + +“Oh, she won't die. That sort o' folks don't,” her husband answered. + +And at that moment Gloria was standing in Rose's room in No. 80, +listening to the dying away of the footsteps of the angry mother of +Sal, the woman vowing vengeance on the one who could leave a house to +tumble down over people's heads. And in with the angry tones were the +protesting ones of the District Nurse. + +A few moments later Rose's door opened, and the District Nurse, flushed +and worried, entered. + +“Sal's mother has been drinking, and she's wild over the accident,” she +said in tones as steady as she could make them. But Gloria saw that she +was strangely wrought up. + +“Drink or no drink,” said Gloria, with a bridling of her head. “I should +think a mother had cause to be worked up over an accident like that.” A +look of hauteur was on the young girl's face. “That such things can be, +and no note taken of them, is a disgrace to the century.” + +The nurse's face paled, as she looked into Gloria's eyes. + +“Don't, Gloria, don't!” she said pleadingly. “It is pitiful enough. +Don't--” she stopped. + +“And may not one even utter a protest against the existence of such a +thing?” said Gloria. “Well, I shall go to the hospital and see Sal. I +can at least do that.” + +“It can hardly do any good,” said the nurse in a discouraged tone. “But +if you really wish to go, Gloria, I will go with you.” + +“Very well,” said Gloria, “we will go just as soon as we get rested +after luncheon.” + +At the corner near Gloria's home, the District Nurse bade Gloria +good-by, as she had an errand to do on her way home. Gloria watched her +to a car. Then she turned and made her own way back to Treeless Street. +It was on the corner near No. 80 that she came upon the very one she was +wishing for. + +“Oh, Dinney, I am so glad to find you! I want your help. You are a good +business man, and I want you to do something for me.” + +“I a good business man?” said Dinney, grinning from ear to ear. “I +should say! What's your business, Miss?” And having said this, he +doubled up with droll laughter. + +“Don't!” said Gloria, laying her hand beseechingly upon him. “I am +really in earnest.” + +Dinney straightened, and then in as decorous a manner as he could +command, said: + +“I'm your man for business.” + +“Very well. Now, Dinney, you're listening. I want you--to--find--out,” + said Gloria, impressively speaking each word distinctly, “who it is that +owns No. 80. I want you to find it out, and I want you to tell me and +_no one else_. If you will find out and _promise_ not to tell _anyone +else_, and will come to me with the name, then I will give you a +_five-dollar gold piece_.” + +Dinney's breath was fairly taken away. He stood there on the sidewalk +stock still, looking into the face of the girl before him. At last he +said in an awed voice: + +“Honest?” + +“Honest,” answered Gloria. + +The boy drew a long breath. Five dollars! Instantly there came before +him some little red shoes for Hunkie, and some stockings, and maybe a +little red cap. But there was not time to go further into the matter as +to what five dollars might stand for. Gloria's hand was grasping his +shoulders with a firm grip. + +“Will you find it out, Dinney? Will you? Will you come to me straight +with the name and to nobody else?” + +What she saw of honesty and truth in Dinney's face so satisfied the girl +that her hands fell from the thin shoulders, and she in turn drew a +long breath as though she had found at last something she had long +been seeking. Then she looked down at Dinney. “I am going to tell you, +Dinney, just why I am wanting to find out. You would like to know a nice +secret; something we can keep to ourselves--a wonderful secret!” Dinney +was all expectation. At last he said, “Ma used to tell me things. She +told me lots the rest of the folks didn't know. All about pa and how +it was when they first married and lots more. I never told anyone else +around, as she said not to.” + +“And you won't tell this? We will have it all to ourselves, and it will +make you want to help me. Sometimes boys can find out things big folks +can't. It came to me when I was walking along with the District Nurse +that you were just the one to help me. You're so--well, so sharp yet +safe. If they suspected, they would not let us know, maybe.” + +The two were now walking along in a companionable way back in the +direction Gloria had come. + +“Dinney, if you find out who owns that house I will buy it. I've got +money; Uncle Em says I have. I will buy it and we'll fix it up good.” + Dinney's face was aglow, his eyes shone, his breath was drawn sharp and +quick. + +“Would you put in new stairs and new ceilings and new window panes if +you bought that house?” + +“Yes, I would,” said Gloria. “At first I thought I'd tear it down. But I +don't believe now I would, it's been home for so many. I'd just like to +see it fixed up the way it should have been years and years and years +ago.” + +“And you'd fix the hole in the ceiling?” asked the boy. Evidently that +break in the ceiling over the bed that had been his mother's had left a +deep impression on him. + +“Wouldn't I, Dinney!” And now the girl's eyes shone. “It is a secret +worth keeping,” she said. + +“I should say!” answered Dinney. “And I'll find out if--if--it takes my +life, I will.” + +Dinney was young in years, but old in experience. His small figure now +straightened with determination, and over his face swept a look of +honest manliness far beyond his years. Gloria, looking down upon him, +felt glad she had taken him for a helper. “I wish mother had waited,” + Dinney said quietly, and then the two parted. + +After her late luncheon, eaten alone, her uncle having returned to the +office, Gloria was ready for the District Nurse, who had promised to go +with her to the hospital. Aunt Em was taking a nap, so Gloria did not +disturb her. As the two walked along, Gloria's impatience broke forth +afresh. + +“A coat of tar and feathers would serve the one right that allows such +things to exist!” she said. + +“Don't, Gloria!” cried the nurse, in the same tone of terror she had +used in the hallway when trying to quiet Sal's mother. + +“But I mean it!” said Gloria. “I don't see how the owner of that +building with all those trippy places can sleep nights. Think of anyone +taking rent for a house like that! I never knew such places were allowed +in the market.” + +“I don't believe I would be so hard, Gloria, if I were you. Let it +rest.” There was a strange note of wistful pleading in the nurse's +voice. But Gloria did not heed it. + +“Let it rest? Never!” she answered. + +The hospital reached, the neatly-uniformed interne who came down to +answer the District Nurse's inquiry, assured them that their patient was +resting quietly. He even went so far as to say that possibly the fall +might work good in the end. + +“I only say might in a general way. If the poor creature's mental apathy +has been due to an injury of the head, it may possibly be. Do you know +the cause of her mental condition?” he inquired of the nurse. + +The nurse gave the information desired. + +“If that is so, then the second blow may neutralize the first. It is +certainly an interesting case.” But at the end he assured his visitors +that time only could prove what the outcome might be. “Poor Sal!” said +the nurse, as they left the large building, and went quietly down the +stone steps. “I wonder if it would be comforting to her to know she is +an 'interesting case.' Sal was never interesting before.” + +[Illustration: “I WILL GET THE MONEY FOR YOU, DINNEY,”] + +“But just think if he should be right!” said Gloria, quivering with +excitement. “Wouldn't it be beautiful, just beautiful, if it should come +true! It would almost make me forgive that awful man who did not mend +the railing.” + +“But then,” said the nurse, “unless life changes all through for Sal, it +might be worse to be beaten and starved and feel conscious of it, than +to be beaten and starved in a half-demented condition.” + +“Oh, don't put it that way!” said Gloria. + +“I could not help thinking how little you can see of what her life all +these years has been--you with your young sheltered life.” + +Gloria's face softened. “No; one cannot discern--that is, I mean I +could not before to-day. But anything seems possible after all that has +happened to-day.” + +It was while Gloria was standing on her own steps, having watched the +District Nurse close her door, that she caught sight of a little figure +flying up the street. It was Dinney. She waited impatiently for his +approach. + +“I've got it, Miss Gloria!” he said, coming panting up the steps. “I've +got it! I struck the very man and he told me. He wrote it down for me. +It belongs to an estate. Here it is.” + +Gloria looked down at the card that bore a few lines indifferently +traced. But what her eyes met caused the color to drift from her face. + +“Are you _sure_, Dinney?” she said sharply to the boy. “Are you _sure_? +Quick!” A faintness was seizing her. + +“Sure,” answered the boy. + +The girl laid a trembling hand upon the door. “I will get the money for +you, Dinney, when I know you are dead right.” + +The voice was not the voice Dinney knew. Looking at the girl, he saw +that tears had sprung to her eyes. She was fumbling blindly with the +latch-key. + +“Miss Gloria,” he said, in an awed voice, as he took the key and fitted +it for her, “don't you go to feeling like that.” Suddenly he was a man +in his protective earnestness. “It ain't nothin' to you.” + +But Gloria had passed him and was already ascending the broad flight of +stairs leading from the reception hall. She had forgotten her key, she +had forgotten to close the door. Dinney thoughtfully took the key out +and placed it on a stand near. Then closing the door after him, he went +slowly down the steps. + +Somehow the brightness had gone from the day--he knew not why. But +it was gone. He turned toward Pleasant Street--Gloria's “Treeless +Street”--but there was no whistle now upon his lips. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +It was a white-faced girl that appeared before Walter McAndrew and his +wife as they were seated at the dining-room table. Gloria had stood what +seemed to her an age by the window in her room, looking down upon the +card Dinney had left with her. At last she threw off her hat and jacket, +and, turning, went below. + +As Mr. McAndrew caught sight of the white, strained face of the girl he +pushed back his chair and sprang to his feet. + +“What is it?” he exclaimed. + +But his wife gave one startled look and then bowed her head as though +waiting for a storm to pass. + +“I've found it out, Uncle Em!” said Gloria, in a voice that was not +Gloria's. “Found out about Pleasant Street and No. 80.” Not a jot did +her voice falter. She was looking straight into her guardian's eyes. “I +don't suppose you could have helped it. It was my property and you kept +it in trust. But--” There was a little wail, and the girl buried her +face in her hands and burst into sobs. + +“Gloria, don't!” begged Mr. McAndrew, while his wife let the tears of +sympathy drip slowly from her face. _“I could have helped it--I could +have helped it!_ It is a miserably mean thing.” Mr. McAndrew was drawing +his breath sharply. “As you say, the property was left in my trust for +you by your father, but I had no need to turn it over to Richards. It +should have been fixed up. It serves me right that this has come upon +me.” It was the lawyer's voice that broke now. + +Gloria raised her head and wiped her drenched face. To hear the words +her uncle spoke was a relief to her. Still the fact remained. All she +had thought to do toward righting a wrong of somebody's must be done to +right a wrong that lay at her own door. + +She tried to stand up bravely under it, this girl who had been sheltered +and petted and cared for, but it was a hard task. And then there was +the shock to all the dreams she had had of playing Lady Bountiful to +another. For a few days she struggled and kept up, but a cold she had +taken on the last day of her travel, aggravated by excitement, settled +into a downright ailment. Very tenderly they coaxed her to stay within +the blankets and among the soft pillows for the first few days, and then +she stayed without coaxing. The District Nurse was at her side, and +another was placed as substitute on her district. + +The weeks went by, and gradually the white face took on a tinge of +color. Still more weeks went by and the pillows were forsaken for the +chair, and gradually Gloria crept back to the life waiting for her. +Uncle Em and she had had little snatches of talks. + +“It shall be straightened; it shall be made beautiful, this crooked way +of ours!” her guardian assured her. + +And Gloria had answered with a smile. In the olden days it would have +been a laugh, but Gloria must wait for strength to laugh. + +It was on a clear early September morning that Uncle Em and Aunt Em took +Gloria on her first drive. The small figure of the District Nurse sat +beside Aunt Em on the back seat. Gloria sat with Uncle Em. + +“Which way?” Uncle Em awaited orders. He did not look at Gloria, but +Gloria looked at him. Her eyes were shining. + +“As if you didn't know!” she cried. “As if I hadn't been holding my +breath to go to the New Street!” But at the corner, as they were about +to turn, she caught at the reins. “No, let's leave that for the dessert, +the New Street. I'd rather, after all. We'll go to Dinney's House +first, Uncle Em.” + +[Illustration: “OH, UNCLE EM, NEW EVERYTHING.”] + +Uncle Em nodded gravely. “So much the better,” he said. “Gives 'em time +to lay a few more bricks on New Street.” + +The radiance of the day seemed to have entered into Gloria. Her laugh +ran on in a little silver stream, and people plodding up and down the +sidewalks turned and laughed in sheer sympathy. + +“It feels so good to get back!” Gloria cried. “As if I had been a long +way off. Why doesn't somebody point out the 'sights'? That big stone +building, now--” + +“The library,” said Uncle Em, and again Gloria's sweet-toned laugh +rippled out. + +“I don't care, it looks different! I believe it's _grown_. And that +block of brick houses--did I ever see that before?” + +“You took music lessons in it every week for two years, my dear,” + remarked Aunt Em, gently prosaic. + +“Oh, I suppose so, in another age! I've never seen it in this one. This +is the Golden Age!” + +Passing the hospital they saw Sal. She was sunning herself with other +convalescents before the door. Her childlike face expressed only calm. +She gazed at them, unsmiling. + +“Oh, yes, she is about well,” an attendant volunteered, “but we can't +bear to send her home. She's having such a good time in her way. No, she +will never be any different. It was hoped she might be.” + +“Sal!” Gloria called gently, “I'm going to No. 80 Pleasant Street. Do +you want to send a message?” + +“Number Eighty?” Sal repeated slowly. + +“Yes, where mother is, Sal. Shall I take a message to your mother for +you?” + +“Tell her I ain't been beat once--not nary.” + +Pleasant Street was still “Treeless Street,” to Gloria's regret. And +they passed the same dreary succession of tenements. The same old little +children played in the street. But at Dinney's House Gloria's eyes +shone. + +“Oh, Uncle Em! New windows, new steps, new everything!” She was helped +gently down, and Rose was there to greet her. How happy Rose looked! +And there was Sal's mother in the background, and then came Dinney and +Hunkie. + +“Ain't it fine!” cried Dinney. Gloria looked at the boy and laughed. +“Look at the new stairs!” + +They took her here and there, then made her rest a moment in Rose's +room. + +But it was not for long that Gloria was allowed to linger even in her +own house. Her eyes were growing tired, and Aunt Em pressed forward +solicitously. + +“Yes, yes, now for the dessert, Uncle Em!” said Gloria. She was helped +back to the carriage, and then they drove through streets with trees +bright in their September dress. At last Gloria bowed her head and +pressed her fingers over her eyes. + +“You say, Uncle Em, there is green grass at the new house, and trees?” + +“Trees,” answered Uncle Em. + +The girl still had her head bowed and her fingers pressed upon her eyes. + +“I used to shut my eyes as I am shutting them now, Uncle Em, when I +wanted to open them just at a right place. You count three when you are +ready for me to open my eyes.” + +The carriage bowled along over new and smoother roads. Gloria was +conscious that it was making several turns. + +“One!” Uncle Em said, and Gloria drew in whiffs of warm September air. + +“Two!” + +Gloria was sure she heard a bird singing--of course, in a tree. “Hurry, +hurry!” she said. “Say 'Three,' Uncle Em!” + +“Th-ree!” + +It was, after all, not much more than a hole in a wide stretch of green +grass, with an uneven wall of bricks defining the excavation. But it was +the beginning! The beginning! + +And trees were dropping gold leaves down upon the men as they worked. +The little singing bird was in one of the trees. + +“Oh!” murmured Gloria, shutting her eyes again, “I can see better with +my eyes shut! I can see a beautiful big house, Uncle Em--my house! It's +straight and whole and--_happy_. I can see Rose and Hunkie at one of the +windows and Sal coming down the stairs. 'Miss Districk,' you're there, +too. And Dinney, don't you see, is playing on the grass!” + +Mary Winship laughed a sweet, indulgent laugh. + +“Yes, I see all of it, Gloria, just as you do.” She was gazing with the +eyes of faith at the small beginning of Gloria's model tenement house. +But gentle, prosaic Aunt Em saw only the hole in the ground and the +untidy litter around it. + +“I guess we've seen it all,” Aunt Em said. “I'm afraid Gloria will get +too tired, Walter. Oughtn't we to go home now?” + +“In a minute, dear Aunt Em. Just a little minute more!” pleaded Gloria. +“I want to take another look--it's such a beautiful house!” + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Gloria and Treeless Street +by Annie Hamilton Donnell + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GLORIA AND TREELESS STREET *** + +This file should be named 9398-0.txt or 9398-0.zip + + +Produced by Joel Erickson, David Widger and PG Distributed Proofreaders + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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