at she caught
it up with the dish-towel and ran a block to Mrs. Hemphill's, to display
the golden-brown beauties before allowing one of the family to touch
them. But, a few days later, Mrs. Hemphill, not to be outdone, invited
Mother Flaherty in to tea, and they were served to a neat little meal by
Tirza and Polly, where every article, from the smoking-hot croquettes to
the really delicate custard and cakes, was the work of these two little
girls. It was an honest rivalry, which hurt nobody, and the men, better
fed at their evening meal, began to linger at home to join in the
children's geographical and other games, picked up at school, or to
accompany their families over to the Social-house, to listen to the
orchestra made up of their older sons, to hear Miss Lavillotte play and
sing, to witness an exhibition of kinetoscope pictures, or sometimes
just to meet other friends and simply bask in the light and ease of the
pretty rooms. They almost forgot Lon's place, even, as they gazed
contentedly about, and enjoyed the bright open fire in the immense hall
grate, which these cool nights made welcome.

While the pendulum of our narrative has been swinging back and forth
through these many months of effort, the children whom we left playing
in the arcade are still awaiting us, enjoying their out-door freedom,
but well protected by its roof from the damp weather. Their modes of
playing are not quite the same as those of a year ago. There is
boisterousness, to be sure, but less cruelty, and far less profanity.
The dogs join merrily in the frolics, now, with no dread of old tin-can
attachments, and even little crippled Dosey Groesbeck lingers about on
his crutches, not expecting them to be knocked from under him, as used
to be the case.

They are cleaner, also, for it is not true that the poor naturally love
dirt. They get used to it, because often they have no conveniences for
bathing, and sometimes every drop of water must be sought at a distant
hydrant, and carried up two or three rickety flights of stairs before
available for use. This makes it so precious that they learn to do
without it. Joyce never forgot the picture of one little waif of two
years, brought in from the streets, taking its first warm bath in a tub,
an embodiment of delight, splashing, laughing, dipping, screaming, in a
very ecstasy of happiness. Repeatedly, the attendant tried to remove
her, only to yield to her cries and entreaties against her own judgm