Small sin it was to annoy my neighbor by getting in his
way, as I stared over my shoulder, if a grown man knew no better than
to drop a word in passing that might turn the course of another's
life, as a boulder rolled down from the mountain-side deflects the
current of a brook.

CHAPTER XIV

MANNA

So went the life in Chelsea for the space of a year or so. Then my
father, finding a discrepancy between his assets and liabilities on
the wrong side of the ledger, once more struck tent, collected his
flock, and set out in search of richer pastures.

There was a charming simplicity about these proceedings. Here to-day,
apparently rooted; there to-morrow, and just as much at home. Another
basement grocery, with a freshly painted sign over the door; the broom
in the corner, the loaf on the table--these things made home for us.
There were rather more Negroes on Wheeler Street, in the lower South
End of Boston, than there had been on Arlington Street, which promised
more numerous outstanding accounts; but they were a neighborly folk,
and they took us strangers in--sometimes very badly. Then there was
the school three blocks away, where "America" was sung to the same
tune as in Chelsea, and geography was made as dark a mystery. It was
impossible not to feel at home.

And presently, lest anything be lacking to our domestic bliss, there
was a new baby in a borrowed crib; and little Dora had only a few more
turns to take with her battered doll carriage before a life-size
vehicle with a more animated dolly was turned over to her constant
care.

The Wheeler Street neighborhood is not a place where a refined young
lady would care to find herself alone, even in the cheery daylight. If
she came at all, she would be attended by a trusty escort. She
would not get too close to people on the doorsteps, and she would
shrink away in disgust and fear from a blear-eyed creature careering
down the sidewalk on many-jointed legs. The delicate damsel would
hasten home to wash and purify and perfume herself till the foul
contact of Wheeler Street was utterly eradicated, and her wonted
purity restored. And I do not blame her. I only wish that she would
bring a little soap and water and perfumery into Wheeler Street next
time she comes; for some people there may be smothering in the filth
which they abhor as much as she, but from which they cannot, like her,
run away.

[Illustration: WHEELER STREET, IN THE LOWER SOUTH END OF BOSTON