pling down upon the city in tremendous
detonations of thunder and weltering avalanches of rain. But it broke
only to reform, and no sooner had the thunder ceased, the rain
intermitted, and the sun again come forth, than one received the vague
impression of the swift rebuilding of the vast, invisible column that
smothered the city under its bases, towering higher and higher into the
rain-washed, crystal-clear atmosphere.

Then the aroma of wet dust, of drenched pavements, musty, acute--the
unforgettable exhalation of the city's streets after a shower--pervaded
all the air, and the little out-door activities resumed again under the
dripping elms and upon the steaming sidewalks.

The evenings were delicious. It was yet too early for the exodus
northward to the Wisconsin lakes, but to stay indoors after nightfall
was not to be thought of. After six o'clock, all through the streets in
the neighbourhood of the Dearborns' home, one could see the family
groups "sitting out" upon the front "stoop." Chairs were brought forth,
carpets and rugs unrolled upon the steps. From within, through the
opened windows of drawing-room and parlour, came the brisk gaiety of
pianos. The sidewalks were filled with children clamouring at "tag,"
"I-spy," or "run-sheep-run." Girls in shirt-waists and young men in
flannel suits promenaded to and fro. Visits were exchanged from "stoop"
to "stoop," lemonade was served, and claret punch. In their armchairs
on the top step, elderly men, householders, capitalists, well-to-do,
their large stomachs covered with white waistcoats, their straw hats
upon their knees, smoked very fragrant cigars in silent enjoyment,
digesting their dinners, taking the air after the grime and hurry of
the business districts.

It was on such an evening as this, well on towards the last days of the
spring, that Laura Dearborn and Page joined the Cresslers and their
party, sitting out like other residents of the neighbourhood on the
front steps of their house. Almost every evening nowadays the Dearborn
girls came thus to visit with the Cresslers. Sometimes Page brought her
mandolin.

Every day of the warm weather seemed only to increase the beauty of the
two sisters. Page's brown hair was never more luxuriant, the exquisite
colouring of her cheeks never more charming, the boyish outlines of her
small, straight figure--immature and a little angular as yet--never
more delightful. The seriousness of her straight-browed, grave,
gre