t when she asked questions, Jane was
cross, and counseled immediate sleep.

"But I'm not a bit sleepy," declared Gwendolyn. "It'll be moonlight
after while, Jane. May I look out at the Down-Town roofs?"

"You may stop your botherin'," retorted Jane, "and make up your mind to
go to sleep. You've give me a' awful day. Now try just forty winks."

"Why do you always say forty?" inquired Gwendolyn. "Couldn't I take
forty-one?"

"_Hush!_"

After supper came the medicine--a dark liquid. Gwendolyn eyed it
anxiously. Thomas was gone. Jane opened the bottle and measured a
teaspoonful into a drinking-glass.

"Do I have to take it now?" asked Gwendolyn.

"To-morrow you'll wake up as good as new," asserted Jane. She touched
her tongue with the spoon, then smacked her lips. "Why, dearie, it's--"

She was interrupted. From the direction of the side window there came a
burst of instrumental music. With it, singing the words of a waltz from
a popular opera, blended a thin, cracked voice.

Before Jane could put out a restraining hand, Gwendolyn bounced to her
knees. "Oh, it's the old hand-organ man!" she cried. "It's the old
hand-organ man! Oh, where's some money? I want to give him some money!"

Jane threw up both hands wildly. "Oh, did I ever have such luck!" she
exclaimed. Then, between her teeth, and pressing Gwendolyn back upon the
pillows, "You lay down or I'll shake you!"

"Oh, please let him stay just this time!" begged Gwendolyn; "I like him,
Jane!"

"I'll stay him!" promised Jane, grimly. She marched to the side window,
threw up the sash and leaned out. "Here, you!" she called down roughly.
"You git!"

"Oh, Jane!" plead Gwendolyn.

The thin, cracked voice fell silent. The waltz slowed its tempo, then
came to a gasping stop.

"How's a body to git a child asleep with that old wheeze of yours
goin'?" demanded Jane. "We don't _want_ you here. Move along!"

"He could play me to sleep," protested Gwendolyn.

A reply to Jane's order was shrilled up--something defiant.

"He'd only excite you, darlin'," declared Jane. She was on her knees at
the window, and turned her head to speak. "I can't have that rumpus in
the street with you so nervous."

Gwendolyn sighed.

"Take your medicine, dearie," went on Jane. She stayed where she was.

Promptly, Gwendolyn sat up and reached for the glass. To hold it, to
shake it about and potter in the strange liquid with a spoon, would be
some compensation for having to drink it