g. It has been lonely so long for the glad sound of running feet
and laughter. It has been childless so many years.

But once children's feet played there and romped through the short
winter afternoons. A rope hung from post to post and furnished forth a
circus. Here giant swings were hazarded. Here children hung from the
knees until their marbles and other wealth dropped from their pockets.
And for less ambitious moments there were toys--

The little toy dog is covered with dust,
But sturdy and stanch he stands;
And the little toy soldier is red with rust,
And his musket moulds in his hands.
Time was when the little toy dog was new,
And the soldier was passing fair;
And that was the time when our Little Boy Blue
Kissed them and put them there.

And now Little Boy Blue again climbs the long stairs. He stretches up
on tiptoe to turn the door-knob at the top. He listens as a prudent
explorer should. Cook rattles her tins below, but it is a far-off
sound as from another world. Somewhere, doubtless, the friendly
milkman's bell goes jingling up the street. There is a distant barking
of familiar dogs. Will it not be better to return to the safe regions
and watch the traffic from the window? But here, beckoning, is the
great adventure.

The brave die is cast. He advances with outstretched arms into the
darkness. Suddenly, behind him, the door swings shut. The sound of
cooking-tins is lost. Silence. Silence, except for branches scratching
on the roof. But the garret hears the sound of feet, and it rouses
itself and rubs its dusky eyes.

But when darkness thickens and the sunlight has vanished from the
floor, then comes the magic hour. The garret then tears from its eyes
the blind bandage of the day. Strange creatures lift their heads. And
now, as you wait expectant, there comes a mysterious sound from the
darkest corner. Is it a mouse that stirs? Rather, it seems a far-off
sound, as though a blind man, tapping with his stick, walked on the
margin of the world. The noise comes near. It gains in volume. It is
close at hand. Dear lad, you have come upon the magic hour. It is the
tread of the friendly giants that is sounding in the dark....

On Spending a Holiday.

At a party lately a worn subject came under discussion.

Our host lives in a triangular stone-paved courtyard tucked off from
the thoroughfare but with the rattle of the elevated railway close at
hand. The building is o