emembered we cross
Twenty-fourth Street, and the conductor was a foreigner who doesn't
pronounce his words distinctly. She is possessed to know why, if the
world is round, the houses on the other side don't fall off; and why,
when we lift our feet to step, they always come down to the earth again
instead of staying in the air. Why is it we can't pick ourselves up in
our own arms; why don't women's shoes hook up like men's; what is the
reason policemen's clothes are always blue and the grass is never
anything but green; why don't mules look like horses and what makes them
kick?"

Cecile stopped for breath, and Frances screamed with delight. "Maybe we
better stop and consult the doctor while we are in town," she suggested.

"No, I guess that won't be necessary now, for I have resigned them to
your tender mercies, and you must answer their questions after this. If
you don't get enough of it, Frances Sherrar, before tomorrow morning--"

"Don't prophesy, Cecile! If they can hold a candle to Marion and Sara,
I'll give you my opal ring."

"I stand a pretty good chance of getting the ring, then," answered
Cecile, half-laughing, half-serious; but at that moment Mrs. Sherrar
hustled down the stairway, with the two children in her wake, and the
merry group set out for town.

"This is the corner, mamma," said Frances, as the car came to a
standstill at one of the busiest streets; "and, oh, if there aren't Mrs.
Tate and Lucy! I haven't seen them for an age. Hurry, mamma, you know
you are as anxious to see them as I am."

Peace and Allee found themselves bundled hurriedly down the steps,
jerked through the surging crowd of people, teams and automobiles in
street, and landed on the opposite corner breathless, but game.

"Stay right here," they heard Mrs. Sherrar say; and the next instant the
older members of the party were wholly absorbed with those
unexpectedly-met friends. The children listened impatiently for a few
moments, but finding the conversation very uninteresting, looked about
them for other more congenial amusement.

Just then a wheezy old hand-organ behind them began a familiar melody,
and Peace beheld the player, a bent, white-haired, blind man, sitting in
the shadow of a lamp-post on the edge of the curbing, slowly, patiently
turning the crank of the little machine. She was at his side in an
instant, staring into the sightless face with her great, brown, pitying
eyes. His clothes were very shabby, his cheeks we