boy shelter in his cave for the night. "The dear!" exclaimed
Kathleen.

"But it's so improbable," Hertha whispered as the piano played Nevin's
lullaby while the bear rocked the youth in his arms.

"Not half so improbable as the rest," Kathleen whispered back. "You can
trust the brutes to do the right thing enough sight better than the
men."

As the light went up Kathleen yawned.

"Haven't we got our money's worth of romance, infant?" she asked.
"There's a meeting on Peonage to-night at Cooper Union. Let's go there."

CHAPTER XV

They walked briskly down lower Broadway to where Grace Church lifted its
delicate spire into the night, the electric light from the street
casting long shadows upward on its white stone. Once or twice Hertha
from pure pleasure gave a little skip as they went along.

"I don't know how it is," she said confidentially, "but I never felt so
well before in all my life. You'd suppose I'd be tired from my work."

"That will come later," said Kathleen dryly. "Now you're living on the
strength you've put away in your long country life."

"I think it's the air," Hertha went on. "It's such wonderful air to
breathe, it's like--well, it's like food when you're hungry. It's fresh
and cold so that you can taste it."

"It's too cold for that thin suit of yours, I wouldn't wonder."

"I'm not cold in the least. Perhaps I have a lot of warmth stored up in
me; but I promise if it gives out to buy a new coat."

"Like that, now." A young girl passed them clad in brilliant scarlet.
Her face was painted to match her coat; her hat was the latest
extravagance in fashion, immensely brimmed, with a feather that,
extending beyond the broad wake of black velvet, swept against
Kathleen's cheek as she passed. "The dirty style!" Kathleen said
indignantly. "Who knows what germs she hands out every day. The city
government ought to forbid the wearing of them feather dusters; at any
rate, on public highways."

Hertha smiled and presently slipped back into her thoughts, recalling
the story she had just seen and going on with it, which was a way she
had; but Kathleen watched the people. The men strolled along, all alike
in derby hats and readymade clothes; while the women took little steps
in high-heeled shoes, and talked shrilly, striving to be heard above the
city's tumult. They used the slovenly street vernacular which scores of
nationalities have helped to produce, contributing nothing from their
own wea