oad shoulders and slender hips,
were dancing a decorous tango. But, if they tired of that, they had
only to move on a section, to find a party of four young people
playing tennis in appropriate costumes against a trellis of crimson
ramblers. Strange to say, a mere wall divided this summer scene from
sports in the high Alps. There was gorgeous fun going on in this
portion of window world, where men and girls were skeeing,
tobogganing, and snowballing each other in deep cotton snow. Next door
they were skating on a surface so mirrorlike that, in fact, it _was_ a
mirror.

A little farther on a young wax mother of no more than eighteen was in
a nursery, caressing an immense family of wax children of all ages,
from babyhood up to twelve years. A grandmother was there, too, and a
hospital nurse, and several playful dogs and cats. In another house
they were having a Christmas tree, and Santa Claus had come in person
to be master of ceremonies. How the children on the other side of a
partition, engaged in learning lessons at school desks, must have
envied those whose Christmas had prematurely come! But best of all was
the automobile race; or, perhaps, the zoo of window world, where
Teddy bears and Teddy monkeys and Teddy snakes and Teddy everythings
disported themselves together among trees and flowers in Peter Rolls's
conception of Eden.

Win had often glanced into these windows before, hurrying nervously
past, but now she lingered, trying to fill her heart with the waxen
peace of that luxurious land of leisure. She walked very slowly all
around the great square, three sides of which were crystal, the fourth
being given up to huge open doors, through which streamed men and
parcels and hurled themselves into motor vans. The idea flashed into
the girl's head that here was the cemetery of window land. In those
big boxes and packages that men furiously yet indifferently carried
out, were the dolls or animals that had smiled or romped behind the
plate glass, or the dresses and hats, the tennis rackets and toboggans
they had fondly thought their own.

This promenade of inspection and introspection put off the evil minute
for a while; but the time came when Win must hook herself on to the
tail of a procession constantly entering at an inconspicuous side
door, or else go home with the project abandoned.

"_Of course_ I shall never see Peter Rolls or his sister here," she
told herself for the twentieth time, and passed through the