PART ONE - CHAPTER VI

by Kathleen Norris

　　The Alexander Toland Neighbourhood House, familiarly known by all whohad anything to do with it as The Alexander, was small, as neighbourhoodhouses go, but exceptionally pretty and complete, and financially sowell backed by a certain group of San Francisco's society women as to beentirely free from the common trouble of its kind. Miss Toland had builtit, and had made it her personal business to interest some of herfriends in its success, but she now found herself confronted by anunexpected problem: it seemed impossible to get an experienced woman asresident worker with whom Miss Toland could live in peace. The few womenwho had been qualified to try the position had all swiftly, quietly, andfirmly resigned, with that pained reticence that marks the trainedworker. Miss Toland told her committees, with good-humoured tolerance,that Miss Smith or Mrs. Brown had been a splendid person, perfectlysplendid, but unable to understand the peculiar conditions that madesocial work in San Francisco utterly—and totally—different from socialwork elsewhere. Meanwhile, she did the best she could with volunteerworkers, daily bewailing the fact that, without the trained worker, hergirls' clubs and classes, her boys' and mothers' clubs, had beendifficult to start, and maintained but a languishing existence. She wasa sanguine woman, and filled with confidence in the eventual success ofThe Alexander, and with energy to push it toward a completely fruitfulexistence, but she herself was inexperienced, and Julia had chanced uponher in a thoroughly discouraged mood.

　　Julia's first aid—in climbing through a transom and opening a stubborndoor—being entirely successful, Miss Toland kept her to show her thelittle establishment, and was secretly soothed and pleased by the girl'sdelight.

　　The front door opened into a wide square hall, furnished with neatMission chairs and tables, and with a large brown rug. There were twodoors on each side, and a large double door at the back. One door on theright led to a model kitchen, floored in bright blue-and-whitelinoleum, and with a shining stove, a shining dresser full ofblue-and-white china, a tiled sink, a table, and two chairs. The otherright-hand door opened into a little committee room, where there werewall closets full of ginghams and boxes of buttons and braid, and moreMission furniture. On the left each door opened into a bedroom, oneoccupied by Miss Toland and littered by her possessions, one empty andimmaculate. The two were joined by a shining little bath. Julia lookedat the white bed in the unoccupied room, the white bureau, the whitechairs, the white dotted curtains at the windows, the dark-blue rugs ona painted floor, and a gasp of honest admiration broke from her. MissToland gave her a quick approving glance, but said nothing.

　　Through the big double door they stepped straight on the stage thatfilled one end of the tiny auditorium, Miss Toland touching an electricbutton that flooded the room with light, for Julia's benefit. There werewide windows, curtained in crisp dotted white, all about the hall, and adoor at the far end that gave, as Julia afterward learned, on a sidestreet. An upright piano was on the stage, and at one side a flight ofthree or four steps led down to the hall. The main floor was broken bytables and benches, a hundred sewing bags of blue linen hung on numberedhooks on the wall, and at the far end there were two deep closets forkindergarten materials and sewing supplies.

　　The tour of inspection was ended in the kitchen, where Miss Toland putseveral paper bags on the table, dropped into a chair, and asked Juliaalso to be seated.

　　"Well, what do you think of it?" she said, reaching behind her to get aknife from a drawer. With the knife she cut a spongy crust from a loafof bread, without fairly withdrawing it from the bag, and subtracting athin pink slice of ham from some oiled paper in another bag, she foldedit into the crust and began to eat it. "I picnic here—when I come,"said Miss Toland, unembarrassed. "You've had your dinner?"

　　"Oh, yes," said Julia, "but do let me—" And without further words shetook two plates from the dresser, served the ham neatly, cut a slice ortwo of bread, and removed the bags.

　　"Ah, yes, that's much better!" Miss Toland said. "There's tea there. Isuppose you couldn't manage a cup?"

　　A deep and peculiar pleasure began to thrill through Julia. She steppedto the entrance hall, laid aside her hat and jacket, and returned to setabout tea-making with deftness and quickness. She found a wilted sliceof butter in a safe, and set out cups and sugar beside it. Miss Tolandstopped eating, and watched these preparations with great satisfaction.Presently she stood up to pin her handsome silk-lined skirt about herhips, and pushed her face veil neatly above the brim of her hat. Thewater in the white enamelled kettle boiled, and Julia made tea in a blueJapanese pot.

　　"This is much better!" said Miss Toland again. "I get to be a perfectbarbarian—eating alone!" She rummaged in a closet. "Here's some jamSally sent," said she, producing it. "They are always sending me piesand fresh eggs and jelly; they are always afraid of my starving todeath."

　　They began the meal again, and this time Julia joined her hostess, andreally enjoyed her tea and bread and jam. It was dark now, and they drewthe shades at the two street windows and turned on the electric light.Julia knew by some instinct that she need not be afraid of thegray-haired, eccentric, kindly woman opposite; in that very hour sheassumed a maternal attitude that was to be the key to her relationshipwith Miss Toland for many years. The two, neither realizing it,instantly liked each other. Never in her rather reserved little life hadJulia shown her heart as she showed it in this hour over the teacups.

　　"So you like it?" said Miss Toland. "It's small, but it's the mostcomplete thing of the kind in the State. I've been scrambling along hereas best I might for three months, but as soon as I get a resident headworker, we'll get everything straightened out." She gave her nose asudden rub with her hand, frowned in a worried fashion.

　　"Girls—regularly appointed girls ought to take care of all this!" shewent on, indicating the kitchen with a wave of her hand. "But no! Youcan't get them to systematize! Now I tell you," she added sternly, "I amgoing to lay down the law in this house! They do it in other settlementhouses, and it shall be done here! Every yard of gingham, every thimbleand spool of thread, is going to be accounted for! Do you suppose thatat the Telegraph Hill House they allow the children to run aboutgrabbing here and grabbing there—poh! They'd laugh at you!"

　　"Of course," said Julia vaguely.

　　"Classes of the smaller girls should keep this kitchen and bathroom likea pin," said Miss Toland sharply. "And, as soon as we get a regularmanager in here—Now that's what I tell my sister Sally, that is Mrs.Toland," she broke off to say. "Here's Barbara, home from a finishingschool and six months abroad. Why couldn't she step in here? But no!Barbara'll come in now and then if it's a special occasion—"

　　"But she has such wonderful good times at home; she has everything inthe world now," Julia said wistfully. Miss Toland gave her a shrewdglance; it was as if she saw Julia for the first time.

　　"Barbara?" Barbara's aunt poured herself another cup of tea, and fellinto thought for a few moments. Then she set down her cup, straightenedherself suddenly, and burst forth: "Barbara! That's one of the mostabsurd things in the world, you know—the supposition that a girl likeBarbara is perfectly happy! Perfectly wretched and discontented, if youask me!"

　　"Oh, no!" Julia protested.

　　"Oh, yes! Barbara's idle, she's useless, she doesn't know what to dowith herself. No girl of her age does. I know, for my mother brought meup in the same way. She got a lot of half-baked notions in school; shehad a year of college in which to get a lot more; she came home afraidto go back to college for fear of missing something at home, afraid ofstaying home for fear of missing something at college; compromised onsix months in Europe. Now, here she is, the finished product. We've beenspending twelve years getting Barbara ready for something, and, as aresult, she's ready for nothing! What does she know of the world?Absolutely nothing! She's never for one instant come in contact withanything real—she can't. She's been so educated that she wouldn't knowanything real if she saw it! Mind you," said Miss Toland, fixing thesomewhat bewildered Julia with a stern eye, "mind you, I admit it's hardfor people of income to bring a girl up sensibly. 'But,' I've said to mysister-in-law, 'hand me over one of the younger girls—I'll promise youthat she'll grow up something more than a poor little fashionablydressed doll, looking sidewise out of her eyes at every man she meets,to see whether he'll marry her or not!' Of course there's only oneanswer to that. I've never married, and I don't know anything about it!"

　　"Miss Toland will marry," Julia submitted.

　　"Perhaps she will," her aunt said. "Perhaps, again, she won't. But atall events, it's a rather flat business, all this rushing about todinners and dances; it'll last a few years perhaps—then what? I tellyou what, my dear, there's only one good thing in this world, and that'swork—self-expression. It hurts my pride every time I see a nice girlgrowing older year after year, idle, expensive, waiting for some man tomiraculously happen along and take her out of it. I tell you theinteresting lives are those of people who've had to work up from thebottom. A working girl may have her troubles, but they're real. Why,let's suppose that Barbara marries, that she marries the man her motherhas picked out, for example, still she doesn't get away from the tiring,the sickening conventions that all her set has laid down for her! I wishI had my own girlhood to live over—I know that!" finished the olderwoman, with a gloomy nod.

　　"Miss Toland seems to me to have everything in the world," Julia said,in childish protest. "She's—she's beautiful, and every one loves her.She's always been rich enough to do what she pleased, and go places, andwear what she liked! And—and"—Julia's eyes watered suddenly—"andshe's a lady," she added unsteadily. "She's always been told how to dothings, she's—she's different from—from girls who have had no chances,who—"

　　Her voice thickened, speech became too difficult, and she stopped,looking down at her teacup through a blur of tears. Miss Toland watchedher for a silent moment or two; despite all her oddities, no woman whoever lived had a kinder heart or a keener insight than Anna Toland. Itwas in a very winning tone that she presently said:

　　"Tell me a little something about yourself, Miss Page!"

　　"Oh, there's nothing interesting about me!" Julia said, ashamed ofshowing emotion. She jumped up, and began to put the kitchen in order.But the recital came, nevertheless, beginning with Chester, and endingwith Julia's earliest memories of the O'Farrell Street house. The girltumbled it out regardless of sequence, and revealing far more than sheknew. Julia told of the episode of Carter Hazzard; she repeated theconversation she had overheard at the club.

　　Miss Toland did not once interrupt her; she listened in an appreciativesilence. They washed and put away the dishes, straightened the kitchen,and finally found themselves standing in the reception room, Julia stilltalking.

　　".... so you see why it sounds so funny to me, your talking about yourniece," Julia said. "Because she—she seems to me such miles ahead—sheseems to have everything I would like to have!" She paused, and thensaid awkwardly: "I'll never be a lady, I know that. I—I wish I had achance to be!"

　　And she sat down at the little Mission table, and flung her arms outbefore her, her face tired and wretched, her blue eyes dark with pain.Miss Toland's face, from showing mere indulgent interest, took on asharper look. She was a quick-witted woman, and this chanced to touchher in a sensitive spot.

　　"As for a lady, ladies are made and not born," she said decidedly."Don't ever let them fool you. Barbara may run around until she's tiredtalking about belonging to the Daughters of Southern Officers; she canstick a sampler up here, and lend a Copley portrait to a loan exhibitionnow and then; but you mark my words, Barbara had to learn things likeany other girl. One sensible mother in this world is worth sixteendistinguished great-grandmothers!"

　　Julia said nothing; she began to think it was time for her to go. ButMiss Toland was well launched in a favourite argument.

　　"Why, look here," said the older woman, who was enjoying herself,"you're young, you're pretty, you're naturally inclined to choose whatis nice, what is refined. You say you're not a lady—how do you know?You may take my word for it—Julia, your name is?—Julia, then, that ifyou make up your mind to be one, nothing can stop you. Now I've beenthinking while we talked. Why couldn't you come here and try this sortof thing? You could keep things running smoothly here; you could workinto the girls' clubs, perhaps; no harm to try, anyway. Do you sing?"

　　Julia had to clear her throat before she could say huskily:

　　"I can play the piano a little."

　　"You see—you play. Well, what do you think of it, then?"

　　"Live here?" stammered Julia.

　　"Certainly, live right here. I want some one right here with me. You canarrange your own work, you can read all the books you want, you'll comein contact with nice people. I'm afraid to be here alone at night verymuch, and I've come to the conclusion that we'll never accomplishanything until I can stay, day out and in. Why don't you try it, anyway?Telephone your grandmother—sleep right here to-night!"

　　Julia struggled for absolute control of her facial muscles.

　　"Here?" she asked, a little thickly.

　　"Right in here—you can but try it!" Miss Toland urged, throwing openthe door of the immaculate, unused bedroom. Julia looked again at thefresh white bed, the rug, the bureau. Her own—her own domain! Just whatentering it meant to her she never tried to say, but the moment was amemorable one in her life. She presently found herself telephoning amessage to the drug store that was nearest her grandmother's home. Sheselected a flannelette nightgown from a deep drawer marked: "Nightgownsand petticoats—Women's." She assured Miss Toland that she could buy atoothbrush the next day, and when the older woman asked her how sheliked her bath in the morning, Julia said very staidly: "Warm, thankyou."

　　"Warm? Well, so do I," said Miss Toland's approving voice from the nextroom. "This business of ice-cold baths! Fad. There's a gas heater in thekitchen."

　　Julia, laying her underwear neatly over a chair, was struck by theenormity of the task she had undertaken. A great blight of utterdiscouragement swept over her—she never could do it! Her mother—allher kin—seemed to take shadowy shape to menace this little haven shehad found. Chester—suppose he should find her! Suppose Mark should!Sooner or later some one must discover where she was.

　　And clothes! These clothes would not do! She had no money; she mustborrow. And how was she to help in sewing classes and cooking classes,knowing only what she knew?

　　".... said to her as nicely as I could, but firmly," Miss Toland wassaying, above the rasp of a running faucet in the bathroom, '"Well, mydear Miss Hewitt, you may be a trained worker and I'm not, but you can'texpect your theories to work under conditions—'"

　　"What a bluffer I am," thought Julia, getting into bed. She snapped herlight off, but Miss Toland turned it on again when she came to the doorto look at Julia with great satisfaction.

　　"Comfortable, my dear?"

　　"Oh, yes, thank you."

　　"Have you forgotten to open your window?"

　　Julia raised herself on an elbow.

　　"Well, I believe I have," said she.

　　Miss Toland flung it up.

　　"We're as safe as a church here," she said, after a moment's study ofthe street. "Sometimes the Italians opposite get noisy, but they'reharmless. Well, I'm going to read—you'll see my light. Sleep tight!"

　　"Thank you," said Julia.

　　Miss Toland went back to her room, and Julia, wide awake, lay staring ather own room's pure bare walls, the triangle of light that fell in thelittle passageway from Miss Toland's reading lamp, and the lights in thestreet outside. Now and then a passing car sent lights wheeling acrossher ceiling like the flanges of a fan; now and then a couple of menpassing just under her window roused her with their deep voices, or atired child's voice rose up above the patter of footsteps like a bird'spipe in the night. Cats squalled and snarled, and fled up the street; asoprano voice floated out on the night air:

　　"But the waves still are singing to the shore As they sang in the happydays of yore—"

　　To these and a thousand less sharply defined noises, to the constant,steady flicking of stiff pages in Miss Toland's room, Julia fell asleep.

　　Miss Toland told her family of the arrangement some three months later.She met her sister-in-law and oldest niece downtown for luncheon one dayin November, and when the ladies had ordered their luncheon and piledsuperfluous wraps and parcels upon a fourth chair, Barbara, staringabout the Palm Room, and resting her chin on one slender wrist, askedindifferently:

　　"And how's The Alexander, Aunt Sanna?"

　　"Why don't you come and see?" asked her aunt briskly. "You've alldeserted me, and I don't know whether I'm on speaking terms with you ornot! We're getting on splendidly. Nineteen girls in our Tuesday eveningclub; mothers' meetings a great success. I've captured a rare littlepersonality in Julia."

　　She enlarged upon the theme: Julia's industry, her simplicity, hernatural sympathy with and comprehension of the class from which thefrequenters of The Alexander were drawn. Mrs. Toland listened smilingly,her bright eyes roving the room constantly. Barbara did not listen atall; she studied the scene about her sombrely, with heavy-lidded eyes.

　　Barbara was at an age when exactly those things that a certain smallgroup of her contemporaries did, said, and thought, made all her world.She wished to be with these young people all the time; she wished fornothing else, to-day she was heartsick because there was to be a weekendhouse party to which she was not invited. A personal summons from thegreatest queen of Europe would have meant nothing to Barbara to-day,except for its effect upon the little circle she desired so eagerly toimpress. Parents, sisters, and brothers, nature, science, and art, werebut pale shapes about her. The burning fact was that Elinor Sparrow hadasked the others down for tennis Saturday and to stay overnight, and hadasked her, Barbara, to join them on Sunday for luncheon—

　　"Tell Aunt Sanna about the wedding, dear!" commanded Mrs. Tolandsuddenly. Barbara smiled with mechanical brightness.

　　"Oh, it was lovely! Every one was there. Georgie looked stunning—everso much prettier than Hazel!" she said, rather lifelessly.

　　"Tell Aunt Sanna who got the bride's bouquet!"

　　"Oh," Barbara again assumed an expression of animation. "Oh, I did."

　　"Jim go?"

　　"Oh, yes, he went with the Russells. That's getting to be quite a case,you know," Barbara said airily.

　　"I thought that was Elinor Sparrow and her mother," Mrs. Toland said,bowing to two ladies who were now at some distance, and were leaving theroom. "They were at that table, but I couldn't be sure who they wereuntil they got up."

　　"Was Elinor right there?" Barbara asked quickly.

　　"Why, yes; but as I say—"

　　Barbara pushed back her broiled bird with a gesture of utterexasperation.

　　"I think you might have said something about it, Mother," she said,angry and disappointed.

　　"Why, my darling," Mrs. Toland began, fluttered, "how could Idream—besides, as I say, I couldn't see—"

　　"You knew how I felt about Saturday," Barbara said bitterly, "and youlet them sit there an hour! I could have turned around—I could have—"

　　"Listen to Mother, dear. You—"

　　"And I can't understand why you wouldn't naturally mention it," Barbarainterrupted, in a high, critical voice. Tears trembled into her eyes. "Iwould have given a great deal to have seen Elinor to-day," she saidstiffly.

　　Mrs. Toland, smitten dumb with penitence, could only eye her withsympathy and distress.

　　"Listen, dear," she suggested eagerly, after a moment. "Suppose you runout and see Elinor in the cloakroom? Mother's so sorry she—"

　　"No, I couldn't do that," Barbara answered moodily. "It would have beenall right to have it just seem to happen—No, it doesn't make anydifference, Mother. Please—please—don't bother about it."

　　"I'm sure Elinor didn't see you," Mrs. Toland continued. Barbara,throwing her a glance of utter weariness, begged politely:

　　"Please don't bother about it, Mother. Please. I'd rather not."

　　"Well," Mrs. Toland conceded, with dissatisfaction. An uncomfortablesilence reigned, until Miss Toland began suddenly to talk of Julia.

　　"She's a very unusual girl," said she. "She's utterly and entirelysatisfactory to me."

　　"I think you're very fortunate, Sanna," Mrs. Toland commented absently.She speculated a little as to Julia; there really must be somethingunusual about the girl; Sanna was notoriously difficult to live with.

　　"She's not stiff—she's amenable to reason," Miss Toland said, smilingvaguely. "We—we have really good times together."

　　"I hope she's improved in appearance," Mrs. Toland remarked severely."You remember how dreadfully she looked, Barbara?"

　　Barbara smiled, half lifted dubious brows, and shrugged slightly.

　　"She's enormously improved," Miss Toland said sharply. "She wears anextremely becoming uniform now."

　　"She's evidently got your number, Auntie," Barbara said, watching threeyoung men who were entering the room. "She evidently knows that you'renutty about appearances!"

　　"I am not nutty about appearances at all," her aunt responded, as sheattacked an elaborate ice. "I like things done decently, and I like tosee Julia in her nice, trim dresses. That Eastern woman I tried, MissKnox, wouldn't hear of wearing a uniform—not she! Julia has moresense."

　　"I expect that Julia hasn't an idea in her head that you haven't putthere," Barbara said dryly.

　　"Don't you believe it!" her aunt said with fire. She seemed ready forfurther speech, but interrupted herself, and was contented with a mererepetition of her first words, "Don't you believe it."

　　"Your geese are all swans, Sanna," Mrs. Toland said, with a tolerantsmile.

　　"Very likely," Miss Toland said briefly, drinking off her black coffeeat a draught. "Now," she went on briskly, "where are you good peoplegoing? Julia's to meet me here in the Turkish Room at two; we have topick out a hundred books, to start our library."

　　"It's after that now," Barbara said. "She's probably waiting. Let's goout that way, Mother, and walk over to Sutter?"

　　They sauntered along the wide passage to the Turkish Room, and justbefore they reached it a young woman came toward them, a slender, erectperson, under whose neatly buttoned long coat showed the crisp hem of ablue linen dress. Julia bowed briefly to the mother and daughter, buther eyes were only for Miss Toland. She was nervous and constrained;bright colour had come into her cheeks; she could not speak. But Barbaramerely thought that the cheap little common actress had miraculouslyimproved in appearance and manner, and noted the blue, blue eyes, andthe glittering sweep of hair under Julia's neat hat, and Miss Tolandfelt herself curiously touched by the appealing look that Julia gaveher.

　　"Now for the books, Julia," said she, beaming approval. The two went offtogether, chattering like friends and equals.

　　"What does Aunt Sanna see in her?" marvelled Barbara, watching.

　　"Your aunt is peculiar," Mrs. Toland said, with vague disapproval,compressing her lips.

　　"Well, the way she runs The Alexander is curious, to say the least,"Barbara commented vigorously. "I couldn't stay out there one week,myself, and have Aunt Sanna carrying on the way she does, planning athing, and forgetting it in two seconds, and yelling at the children oneday, and treating them to ice-cream the next! Why, the last time I wentout there Aunt Sanna was in bed, at eleven o'clock, because she feltlike reading, and she'd called off the housekeeping class for no reasonat all except that she didn't feel like it!"

　　"Yes, I know, I know," Mrs. Toland said, picking her way daintily acrossMarket Street. "But she has her own money, and I suppose she'll go herown gait!" But she looked a little uneasy, and was silent for somemoments, busy with her own thoughts.

　　Long before this Julia's whereabouts had been discovered by her ownfamily, and by at least one of her friends, Mark Rosenthal. Mark walkedin upon her one Sunday afternoon, when she had been about a month at TheAlexander. Miss Toland had gone for a few hours to Sausalito, and Juliawas alone, and had some leisure. She put on her hat, and she and Markwalked through the noisy Sunday streets; everybody was out in thesunshine, and saloons everywhere were doing a steady business.

　　"Evelyn told me where you were," Mark explained. Julia made a littlegrimace of disapproval, and the man, watching her, winced.

　　"Are you so sorry to have me know?" he asked, a sword in his heart.

　　"Oh, it's not that, Mark! But"—Julia stammered—"but I only went hometo see grandma Thursday, and it struck me that Evelyn hadn't lost muchtime!"

　　"Wouldn't you ever have written me?" Mark asked, his dark eyes caressingher.

　　"Oh, of course I would. Only I wanted to get a start first. Why do youlaugh?" Julia broke off to ask offendedly.

　　"Just because I love you so, darling. Just because I've been hungry foryou all these weeks—and it's just ecstasy to be here!" Mark's eyes weremoist now, though he was still smiling. "You don't know it, but I justlive to see you, Julie. I can't think of anything else. This—this newjob isn't going to make any difference about our marrying, is it,darling?"

　　Julia surveyed a stretch of dirty street lined with dirty yet somewhatpretentious houses. Women sat on drifts of newspapers on the steps,white-stockinged children quarrelled in the hot, dingy dooryards.

　　"I wish you didn't care that way, Mark," she said, uncomfortably.

　　"Why, dearest?" he said eagerly. "Because I care more for you than youdo for me? I know that, Julie." He watched the cool little cheek nearesthim. "But wait until we're married, Julie, you'll love me then; I'llmake you!"

　　But all his young fire could not touch her. He could only win anoccasional troubled glance.

　　"I want to stay here a long, long time, you know, Mark—if I can. I wantto read things and study things. I want to be let alone. It'll be yearsbefore I want to marry!" Julia raised her anxious, harassed eyes to his."I don't really think of men or of marriage at all," said she.

　　"Well, that's all right, darling," Mark said, smiling down at her, alittle touched. "I'm going to be sent up to Sacramento for a while; I'llnot worry you. But see here, if I go back to the house with you again,do I get a kiss?"

　　Julia gave him a grave smile, and let him follow her into the settlementhouse. But Mark did not get his kiss, for Miss Toland was there, and agroup of eager club girls who had something to arrange for a meeting thefollowing night. Mark left the lady of his delight staidly discussingthe relative merits of lemonade and gingersnaps and two pounds of"broken mixed" candy, as evening refreshments, and carried away atroubled heart. He wrote Julia, at least twice a week, shylyaffectionate and honestly egotistical letters, but it was some monthsbefore he saw her again.

　　Julia's visit to her grandparents, through which Mark had been able totrace her, had taken place some days before, on a certain Wednesdayafternoon. Suddenly, after the daily three o'clock sewing class had hadits meeting in the big hall, the thought had come to her that she mustsee her own people. It was a still autumn afternoon, a little chilly,and Julia, setting forth, felt small relish for her errand.

　　Her grandmother's house presented a dingy, discouraging front. Juliatwisted the familiar old bell, and got the familiar old odours ofcarbolic acid and boiling onions, superimposed upon a basis of thick,heavy, stale air. But the hour she spent in the dirty kitchen wasnevertheless not an unpleasant one. Her grandmother was all alone, andwas too used to similar vagaries on the part of all her family to resentJulia's disappearance and long silence.

　　"We had your postal," she admitted, in answer to her granddaughter'sembarrassed query. "You look thin, me dear; you've not got your oldbold, stylish look about you."

　　And she wrinkled her old face and studied Julia with blinking eyes. "Thegirls was glad enough to use your dresses. Marguerite looked real nicein the one she took. Your Mama wrote in to know what kind of a job youhad—Sit down, Julia," she said as she poked about the stove with a lidlifter.

　　Julia, who had drawn a long breath to recount her experiences, suddenlyexpelled it. It occurred to her, with a great relief, that hergrandmother was not interested in details. Her hard life had left her nocuriosity; she was only mildly satisfied at finding her granddaughterapparently prosperous and well; Mrs. Cox was never driven to thenecessity of borrowing trouble.

　　Julia learned that her own father and mother were in Los Angeles, whereGeorge was looking for employment. Evelyn had developed a suddenambition to be a dressmaker, Marguerite had a new admirer. Pa, Mrs. Coxsaid, was awful cross and cranky. Julia, with a premonition of trouble,asked for Chester.

　　"He's fine; he's the only one Pa'll speak to," her grandmother said,unexpectedly.

　　"Oh," said Julia eagerly, "he's here?"

　　"Sure, he come back," Mrs. Cox assured her indifferently. "He's got goodwork."

　　Walking home in the early darkness, Julia could have danced for verylightness of heart. She had dreaded the call, dreaded their jealousy ofher new chance, dreaded the possibility of their wishing to share thejoys of The Alexander with her. She found them entirely uninterested inher problems, and entirely absorbed in themselves. Marguerite remarkedthat she did not see why Julia "let them make" her wear the plain linenuniform of which Julia was secretly so proud. Evelyn was frettingbecause dressmakers' apprentices could depend upon such very poor pay,and vouchsafed Julia a moment's attention only when Julia observed thatthe Tolands patronized a very fashionable dressmaker, and might say agood word to her for Evelyn. This excited Evelyn very much, and shesuggested that perhaps she herself had better see Miss Toland.

　　"No—no! I'll do it," Julia said hastily.

　　Mrs. Cox, upon her departure, extended her granddaughter a warminvitation.

　　"If they don't treat you good, dearie, you come right back here andGrandma'll take good care of you," said she, and Evelyn and Marguerite,eying Julia over their cups of tea, nodded half pityingly. They thoughtit a very poor job that did not permit one to come home to this kitchenat night, even less desirable than their own despised employments.Julia's being kept at night only added one more item to the long totalthat made the helplessness of the poor. It was as if Julia, dancing backto The Alexander in the early darkness, hugged to her heart theassurance that these kinswomen were as contentedly independent of her asshe of them.

　　These experiences belonged to early days at The Alexander. There wereother experiences, hours of cold discouragement and doubt, hours ofbitter self-distrust. Julia trembled over mistakes, and made a hundredmistakes of which she never knew. But by some miracle, she never chancedto offend her erratic superior. To Miss Toland there was smallsignificance in the fact of an ill-cut pattern or a lost key. At themothers' meetings, when Julia was dismally smitten with a sense of herown uselessness, Miss Toland thought her shy little attempts atfriendliness very charming, and when she casually corrected the faultsof Julia's speech, she gave no further thought to the matter, althoughJulia turned hot and cold at the recollection for many a day to come.

　　Julia never made any objection, never hinted by so much as a reproachfuleyelid, that Miss Toland's way of doing things was not that usuallyadopted. Julia would show her delight when a shopping tour and a lunchdowntown were substituted for a sewing lesson; she docilely pushed backher boiling potatoes and beef stew when Miss Toland was for delayingsupper while they went out to buy a waffle iron, and made someexperiments with batter. On three or four mornings each week there wereno classes, and on these mornings the two loitered along over theircoffee and toast, Miss Toland talking, Julia a passionately interestedlistener. Perhaps the older woman would read some passage from Meredithor de Balzac, after which Julia dipped into Meredith for herself, butfound him slow, and plunged back into Dickens and Thackeray. It amusedMiss Toland to watch her read, to have Julia burst out, with flamingcheeks:

　　"Oh, I hope Charles Darney won't be such a fool as to go to Parisnow—oh, does he?" or:

　　"You wouldn't catch me marrying George Osborne—a spoiled, selfish pig,that's what he is!"

　　So the months went by, and the day came when Julia, standing shylybeside Miss Toland, said smilingly:

　　"Do you know what day this is, Miss Toland?"

　　"To-day?" Miss Toland said briskly. "No, I don't. Why?"

　　"I've been here a year to-day," Julia said, dimpling.

　　"You have?" Miss Toland, handling bolts of pink-and-white gingham at along table, straightened up to survey her demure little assistant."Well, now I'll tell you what we'll do to celebrate," she said, after athoughtful interval. "I understand that the Sisters over on Lake Merritthave a very remarkable sewing school. Now, we ought to see that, Julia,don't you think so?"

　　"We might get some ideas," Julia agreed.

　　"Precisely. So you put the card—'No Classes Today'—on the door, andwe'll go. And put your milk bottle out, because we may be late. I hateto do it, but I really think we should know what they're doing overthere."

　　"I do, too," Julia said. This form preceded most of their excursions. Afew moments later they were out in the open air, with the long sunny daybefore them.

　　The months sped on their way again, and Julia had been in the settlementtwo years—three years. She was eighteen, and the world did not standstill. She was nineteen—twenty. She changed by slow degrees from thefrightened little rabbit that had fled to Miss Toland for refuge to anobservant, dignified young woman who was quietly sure of herself and herwork. The rumpled ashen glory that had been her hair was transformedinto the soft thick braids that now marked Miss Page's head apart fromthose of the other girls of her day. The round arms were guiltless ofbracelets; Julia wore her severe blue uniform, untouched by anyornament; her stockings and shoes were as plain as money could buy.

　　Her beauty, somewhat in eclipse for a time, presently shone out again.But there were few to see it. Miss Watts, the simple, sweet, middle-agedteacher of the kindergarten, admired it wistfully, and Miss Tolandwatched it with secret pride. But the society girls and young matronswho flitted in once or twice a week to teach their classes never saw itat all, or, seeing it, merely told each other that little Miss Pagewould be awfully pretty in decent things, and the women and girls andchildren who formed the classes at The Alexander never saw her at all.The women were too much absorbed in their own affairs, children areproverbially blind to beauty, and the girls who came to the monthlydances, the evening sewing classes and reading clubs, thought theirsober little guardian rather plain, as indeed she was, when judged bytheir standard of dress, their ruffled lace collars and high-heeledshoes, their curls and combs and coloured glass jewellery.

　　Julia's amazing detachment from the ordinary ideals of girlhood was anunending surprise to Miss Toland.

　　"She has simply and quietly set that astonishing little mind of hersupon making herself a lady," Miss Toland said now and then to hersister-in-law. Mrs. Toland would answer with only an abstracted smile.If she had any convictions at all in her genial view of life, shecertainly believed a lady to be a thing born, not made. But she was notconcerned about Julia; she hardly realized the girl's existence.

　　Miss Toland, however, was keenly concerned about Julia. Julia had cometo be the absorbing interest of her life. It was quite natural thatJulia should love her, yet to the older woman it always seemed amiracle, tremulously dear. That any one so young, so lovely, so ardentas Julia should depend so utterly upon her was to Anna Toland anunceasing delight. Julia had been bewildered and heartsick when sheturned to The Alexander, but she had never in her life known such anaching loneliness as had been Miss Toland's fate for many years. To sucha nature the solitary years in Paris, the solitary return to California,the tentative and unencouraged approaches to her nieces, all made a darkmemory. Rich as she was, independent and popular as she was, MissToland's life had brought her nothing so sweet as this young thing, toteach, to dominate, to correct, and to watch and delight in, too. AsJulia's grammar and manner and appearance rapidly improved, Miss Tolandbegan to exploit her, in a quiet way, and quietly gloried in the girl'salmost stern dignity. When the members of the board of directors werebuzzing about, Julia, with her neatly written report, was a little studyin alert and silent efficiency.

　　"She's a cute little thing," said Mrs. von Hoffmann, president of TheAlexander Toland Neighbourhood House, after one of these meetings of theboard, "but she never has much to say."

　　"No, she's a very silent girl," Miss Toland agreed, with that littlewarmth at her heart the thought of Julia always brought.

　　"You imported her, Sanna?"

　　"Oh, no. She's a Californian."

　　"Really? And what do we pay her?"

　　"Forty."

　　"Forty? And didn't we pay that awful last creature sixty-five?"

　　"Seventy-five—yes." Miss Toland smiled wisely. "But she had beenspecially trained, Tillie."

　　"Oh, specially trained!" Mrs. von Hoffmann, flinging a mass of richsables about her throat, began to work on the fingers of her whitegloves. "This girl's worth two of her," she asserted, "with her nicelittle silent ways and her little uniform!"

　　"I'll see that she's treated fairly," Miss Toland promised.

　　"Well, do! Don't lose her, whatever you do! I suppose she has beaus?"

　　"Not Julia! She's entirely above the other sex. No; there's a young Jewin Sacramento who writes her now and then, but that's a mereboy-and-girl memory."

　　"Well, let's hope it remains one!" And the great lady, sailing out toher waiting coupe, stopped on the outer steps to speak to Miss Page, whowas tying up some rain-beaten chrysanthemums in the little front garden.

　　"How crushed they are! Do you like flowers, Miss Page?"

　　"Oh, yes," smiled Julia, looking like a flower herself in the cleartwilight.

　　"You must come and see Mr. von Hoffmann's orchids some day," Mrs. vonHoffmann volunteered. Julia smiled again, but did not speak. The olderwoman glanced up and down the desolate street, and shuddered. "Dreadfulneighbourhood!" she said with a rueful smile and a shake of the head,and climbing into her carriage, she was gone. Julia looked about her,but found the neighbourhood only interesting and friendly, as usual, andso returned to her flowers.

　　When her chrysanthemums were trim and secure once more, perhaps—ifthis were one of the club evenings—she put on her long coat, and thehat with the velvet rose, and went upon a little shopping expedition, abrown twine bag dangling from one of her ungloved arms. The bakery wasalways bright and odorous, and at this hour filled with customers. Theperspiring Swedish proprietress and a blond-haired daughter or two wouldbe handling the warm loaves, the flat, floury pies, and the browncookies as fast as hands could move; the cash register behind thecounter rang and rang, the air was hot, the windows obscured with steam.Men were among the customers, but the Weber girls had no time to flirtnow. They rustled the thin large sheets of paper, snapped the flimsypink string, lifted a designated pie out of the window, or weighed poundcake with serious swiftness.

　　From the bakery Julia crossed an indeterminate street upon which shabbyscattered houses backed or faced with utter disregard of harmony, andentered a dark and disorderly grocery, which smelled of beer and broomsand soap and stale cakes. Tired women, wrapped in shawls, their moneyheld tight in bony, bare hands, sat about on cracker boxes and cheesecrates, awaiting their turn to be served. A lamp, with a reflector, gavethe only light. The two clerks, red-faced young men in their shirtsleeves, leaned on the dark counter as they took orders, listening withimpatient good nature to whispered appeals for more credit, grindingcoffee in an immense wheel, and thumping each loaf of bread as theybrought it up from under the counter.

　　Julia, out in the street again and enjoying, as she always did enjoy,the sense of being a busy householder, facing the tide of home-goers,would perhaps have an errand in the damp depth of the big milk depot,would get chops or sausages at some small shop, or stop a fruit cart,driving by in the dimness, for apples or oranges.

　　Then home to the brightly lighted little kitchen, the tireless littlegas stove. Julia, cheerfully attempting to do ten things at once, wouldlook up to see Miss Toland, comfortably wrappered and corsetless, in thedoorway.

　　"Don't forget your window shades, Julie."

　　"I know, but I wanted to get this oven started—if these sweets are tobake."

　　"Give me something to do!" And the older woman, seated, was pleased tocut bread and fill salt shakers at the request of her busy assistant."To-night's the older girls, is it?" she would yawn. "Is Miss Piercecoming? Good! Well, tell me if you need me, and I'll dress and comeout."

　　"Oh, we're not doing much to-night," Julia invariably assured her. MissToland never questioned the verdict that freed her for an evening ofrestful reading. Julia it was who lighted the hall and opened the streetdoor, and welcomed the arriving club girls. Sometimes these young womenbrought their sewing—invariably fancywork. Sometimes there was aconcert to rehearse, or they danced with each other, or stood singingabout Julia at the piano while she banged away at the crudeaccompaniments of songs. Miss Pierce or Miss Watts, older women, usuallycame in for a little while to see what was going on, but again it wasJulia alone who must bid the girls good-night and lock and darken thehall.

　　Once a month there was a dance for the older girls, to which their"friends," a word which meant to each girl her foremost male admirer,were asked, and at which cake and ice-cream were served. Julia alwayswore her uniform to these dances, but she also danced, when asked, andnever attempted to deny that she enjoyed herself. But that there was animmense gulf already widening between her and these other girls, one ofwhom she might have been, she soon began to perceive. They were noisy,ignorant, coarse young creatures, like children unable to see beyond thepleasure or the discomfort of the day, unable to help themselves out ofthe sordid rut in which they had been born. Julia watched them soberly,silently, as the years went by. One by one they told her of theirwedding plans, and introduced the boyish, ill-shaven, grinning lads whowere to be husbands and fathers soon. One by one Julia watched thepitifully gay little weddings, in rooms poisonous with foul air andcrowded with noisy kinspeople. One by one she welcomed old members ofthe Girls' Club as new members of the Mothers' Club. The young mother'sfigure would be curiously shapeless now, her girlish beauty swept awayas by a sponge, her nervous pride in the beribboned baby weakened by herown physical weakness and clouded by the fear that already a secondchild's claim was disputing that of the first. And already her youngvoice would borrow some of the hopeless whining tones of the olderwomen's.

　　Julia was really happiest in her relationship with the children. Shefrequently peeped into the kindergarten during the morning, and had herdearly loved favourites among the tiny girls and boys, and she couldnever be absent from the sewing class every afternoon when some fortysmall girls scattered themselves about the assembly hall, and chatteredand sang as they worked. Volunteers from among the city's best familieswere usually on hand to inspect the actual sewing—vague, daintilydressed girls who alternately spoiled and neglected their classes, whocame late and left early—but Julia kept order, supplied materials,recited the closing prayer, and played the marches by which the childrenmarched out at five o'clock. Now and then she incited some small girl tosing or recite for the others, and two or three times a year the sewingclasses gave an evening entertainment—extraordinary affairs at thememory of which Julia and Miss Toland used to laugh for weeks. To drillthe little, indifferent, stupid youngsters in songs and dances, tospangle fifty costumes of paper cambric and tissue, to shout emphaticdirections about the excited murmurings of the churning performers, tochalk marks on the stage, and mark piano scores, were all duties thatfell to the two resident workers. Julia sacrificed her immaculatebedroom for a green room, the perspiration would stream from her face asshe whipped off one dirty little frock after another, fastened the fairyregalia over unspeakable undergarments, and loosened sticky braids ofblack or yellow hair into something approaching a fairylike fluffiness.One second to straighten her own tumbled hair at a mirror, another towarn her carefully ranged performers in the passage, and Julia was offto light the hall and open the street door to the clamorous audience.Opening the performance with a crash of chords from the piano, fifteenminutes later, she would turn her face to the stage, that the singersmight see her lips framing the words they were so apt to forget, andmanage to keep a watchful eye upon the noisy group of boys that filledthe back benches and the gaslights that might catch a fairy's spear or awitch's wand.

　　"Well, we've had some awful performances in the place, but really Ithink to-night's was about the worst!" Miss Toland might remark, whenthe last dirty little garment had been claimed by its owner, and thelast fairy had reluctantly gone away.

　　"Well, the mothers and fathers thought it was fine," Julia would submit,with a weary grin.

　　"When that awful Cunningham child, with her awful, flat, slapping feet,began to dance the Highland Fling, I truly thought I would strangle,trying not to laugh!" Miss Toland, gazing absently over her book, wouldadd reflectively.

　　"And the Queen of the Elves in those dirty pink stockings! And poorHazel, bursting into tears as usual!" Julia, collapsed in a chair,dishevelled and rosy, would give a long sigh of relaxation and relief.

　　"But we don't do the slightest good this way," Miss Toland sometimessaid with asperity. "We merely amuse them; it goes no further. Now, nexttime, we will make it an absolute condition that every child has a bathbefore coming, and wears clean clothes!"

　　"But we made that a condition this time, and it didn't do any good."

　　"Very well. Next time"—flushed at the merest hint of opposition, MissToland would speak with annoyance—"next time every child who hasn't hada bath will go straight into that tub, I don't care if the performancedoesn't begin until midnight!"

　　"Well," Julia would concede tolerantly. She very speedily learned not todispute these vigorous resolutions. Miss Toland always forgot thembefore morning; she would not have considered them seriously in anycase.

　　"We are the laughing-stock of the city," she would frequently say withbitterness, upon being informed that more thimbles were needed, or thatthe girls hated to sew on the ugly gray ginghams. But sometimes Juliafound her giving out candy and five-cent pieces, without regard for thegirls' merits and achievements, for the mere pleasure of hearing theirthanks.

　　Or sometimes, when for any reason the attendance upon the sewing classeswas poor, Miss Toland bought herself a new blank book, dated itfiercely, and proceeded to ransack the neighbourhood for children in ahouse-to-house canvass. Julia and she would take a car into MissionStreet, eat their dinner at the Colonial dining-room, where all sortsof wholesome dairy dishes were consumed by hungry hundreds every night,and where a white-clad man turned batter cakes in the window.

　　"They do that everywhere in New York," said Miss Toland, therebythrilling Julia. "What, d'you like New York?" asked the older woman.

　　"I've never seen it!" Julia breathed.

　　"Well, some day we'll go on—study methods there. Spring's the time,"said Miss Toland, raising gold-rimmed eyeglasses to study the grimy andspotted menu. "Spring afternoons on the Avenue, or driving in thePark—it's quite wonderful! I see they have chicken pie speciallystarred, thirty-five cents; shall we try that?"

　　After the meal the canvassing began, Miss Toland doing all the talking,while Julia stared about the small, stuffy interiors, and smiled at thebabies and old women. Miss Toland jotted down in her book all thedetails she gathered in each house, and only stopped in her quest whenthe hour and the darkened houses reminded her that the evening wasflying.

　　This might keep up every free evening for two weeks; it would end assuddenly as it began, and Miss Toland enter upon a lazy and luxuriousphase. She would spend whole mornings and even afternoons in bed,reading and dozing, and fresh from a hot bath at four o'clock, wouldsummon her assistant and make a suggestion or two.

　　"Julia, suppose we go down to the Palace for tea?"

　　Julia, standing gravely in the doorway, considered.

　　"The girls won't be gone for another hour, Miss Toland!"

　　"The—Oh, the girls, to be sure. Of course. Who else is there, Julia?"

　　"Miss Parker and Miss Chetwynde. And Mrs. Forbes Foster was here for alittle while."

　　Miss Toland, drawing on silk stockings, would make a grimace.

　　"What did you tell them?"

　　"Sick headache."

　　"Oh, yes, quite right! Well, get through out there, and we'll gosomewhere."

　　The assistant, about to depart, would hesitate:

　　"I have nothing to wear but my tailor-made and a white waist, MissToland."

　　"And quite good enough! No one will notice us."

　　Perhaps truly no one noticed the eagerly talking, middle-aged woman andher pretty and serious little companion, as they sat in a quiet cornerof the big grill-room, eating their dinner, but Julia noticedeverything, and even while she answered Miss Toland politely, her eyeswere moving constantly to and fro. She watched the cellarer, in hisleather apron, the well-dressed, chattering men and women who came andwent; she drank in the warm, perfumed air as if it were the elixir oflife. The music enchanted her, the big room with its lofty ceiling, itsclustered lights and flowers, swam in a glorious blur before her.

　　Miss Toland would bow now and then, and tell Julia about the people towhom she bowed. Once they saw Doctor Studdiford laughing and talking ata distant table with a group of young men, and once it was Barbara,lovely in a blue evening gown, who came across the room to speak to heraunt.

　　"And hello, Julia!" said Barbara pleasantly, on this occasion, restingher armful of blue brocade and eiderdown upon a chair back. "It'sawfully nice to see you two enjoying yourselves!"

　　"What are you doing, dear?" her aunt asked.

　　"Mrs. Maitland's party—and we're going to the Orpheum. I don't caremuch for vaudeville, though" And idly eying Julia, she added, "Do you,Julia?"

　　Julia's heart leaped, her mouth felt dry.

　　"I like plays," she stammered, trying to smile, and clearing her throat.

　　"Well, so do I." Barbara shrugged, gathered up her coat again, anddrifted away. Julia heard nothing else that night but the kindly,insolent little voice that seemed to make a friend and equal of her, andwhen she was alone in bed in the dark, she went over and over the littlescene again, and thrilled again at Barbara's graciousness.

　　Perhaps six times a year Miss Toland went to Sausalito for a few days,and then, during her first year as a settlement worker, Julia went toher grandmother's house. Evelyn was now working with Ryan, the Tolands'fashionable dressmaker, and doing extremely well. Marguerite was engagedto be married, and as foolishly happy as if her eyes had been fixed uponideal unions since the days of her childhood. Nobody paid very muchattention to Julia except Marguerite's promised husband, who disgustedher by hoarsely assuring her that she was a little peach, and attemptingto kiss her. There were several letters from her mother, from whichJulia learned that her father was well again, but that he had left hermother, who had entered, with a friend, upon the boarding-house businessin Los Angeles. She wrote her mother an affectionate letter, and, aftera few months, stopped going to her grandmother's house.

　　Miss Pierce, a delicate, refined, unmarried woman, was a daily teacherin the kindergarten, and grew very fond of the grave, demure, silentMiss Page. Julia felt enormously flattered when Miss Pierce suggestedthat she come home with her during one of Miss Toland's brief absences,and as merry, impulsive, affectionate little Miss Scott followed suit,she usually had the choice of two pleasant places in which to spend herholidays.

　　Miss Pierce lived with her old mother in a handsome upper flat onBroadway. Julia liked the quiet, dignified neighbourhood, and thoughtMrs. Pierce a lovely old lady. She chattered with Adachi, the Japaneseboy, tried the piano, whistled at the canary, and sat watching Mrs.Pierce's game of patience with the absorption of a rosy-cheeked,wide-eyed child. Miss Pierce, glancing up now and then from herneedlework, thought it very nice to see pretty Miss Page there and Mammaso well amused, and wished that she had more inducements to offer heryoung guest. But Julia found the atmosphere, the quiet voices and quietlaughter, inducement enough, and quite touched Mrs. Pierce with hergratitude.

　　The first visit to Miss Scott's house, however, was a revelation, andthe memory of it stood out in such bold colours as made the decorouspleasures of the visit to Miss Pierce turn pale. Julia was rushed intothe centre of a group of eager, noisy, clever young people, six brothersand sisters who had been motherless from babyhood, and were in mourningnow for their father. The Scotts were bold and outspoken in their griefas in everything else; they showed Julia their father's picture beforeshe had been ten minutes in the house, and Kennedy—Julia's "Miss Scott"of The Alexander—flung open the big desk so violently as to bring twovases and a calendar to the floor, and read Julia various notes andletters that had been sent them at the time of their father's death,until tears stood in more than one pair of lovely black eyes. Dinner wassomehow cooked in a Babel of voices, served in a rush, and afterwardtheir chatter rose above the hissing of dishwater and the clash of hotplates. Julia laughed herself tired at the nonsense, the mad plans, anduntrammelled dreams. Kennedy was to be a writer, 'Lizabeth the presidentof a girls' college, little Mary wanted to live in "Venith." The boyswere all to be rich; Peter, the oldest, drew his brothers into a long,serious discussion as to the exact proportions of the ideal private car.

　　"We'll have the finish mahogany, d'ye see?" said Peter, "and the wallsand curtains of dark green velvet."

　　"Dark green velvet!" Kennedy said, from the couch where she was sitting,busy with a torn sleeve lining. "Oh, horrors! Why not red velvet andgold braid!"

　　"Well, what would you have?" Peter asked belligerently.

　　"Oh, grayish blue velvet," 'Lizabeth suggested rapturously.

　　"Very pale, you know, and silvery curtains," Kennedy agreed, "and onegorgeous bluish-grayish-pinkish rug, like the two-thousand-dollar oneat the White House!"

　　"Well," Peter said, satisfied. "And what colour upholstery?"

　　"Dark blue might be beautiful," Julia submitted timidly.

　　"Dark blue—you're on, Miss Page!"

　　"Or a sort of blue brocade," 'Lizabeth said dreamily.

　　"And I'll tell you what we'll name the cars," George, the secondbrother, suddenly contributed; "you know they've got to be named, Pete.We'll call the dining-car, 'Dinah,' and the sleeper, 'Bertha'; do yousee?"

　　The others shouted approval, Peter adding with a grin, a moment later:

　　"And we might call the observation car 'Luke'!"

　　"Oh, Peter!" Kennedy expostulated, laughing. She presently interruptedthe completing details of the private train by general suggestions ofbed. The four girls went upstairs together.

　　"Oh, Mary, you've fixed everything, you little angel, you!" saidKennedy, seeing that hats and wraps had been put away, and a couch madeup in a large shabby bedroom. 'Lizabeth, professing that she loved acouch, settled herself upon it with great satisfaction, Julia had asingle bed, and Kennedy and the little Mary shared a somewhat largerone.

　　Julia watched the sisters with deep admiration; they were all tired, sheknew, yet vigorous ablutions went on in the cold little bathroom, andclothes were brushed and made ready for to-morrow's need. Their joyoustalk was pitifully practical, Mary raising the dread topic of new shoesfor Stephen, the youngest, and Kennedy somewhat ruefully conceding thatthe shoes must be had, even at the cost of the needed gallon of oliveoil.

　　"No salads for a month, and they're so cheap!" she mourned. "And thatyoung terror seems to me to need shoes every week! Don't ever have sons,Miss Page, they're a heart scald wid the bould ways av thim! Stephen hadnine pairs of shoes in eight months—that's true, isn't it, 'Lizabeth?For we were keeping accounts then—while Dad's will was in probate, wehad to."

　　"A good thing to have a will to fall back on," said Julia.

　　"Even if we only inherited one hundred and sixteen dollars apiece,"'Lizabeth added.

　　"Dad had had losses—it wasn't any one's fault—everything went tosmash," Kennedy supplemented instantly. "And of course when we foundthat Steve had been braking his coaster with his feet, that helped. Butme—I'm going to have only girls—five darling little gray-eyed girlswith brown hair!"

　　"I'd like a boy to start off with," 'Lizabeth said. "He could take hissisters to parties—"

　　"Yes, but they never do; they take other girls to parties!" thefifteen-year-old Mary said suddenly, and the older girls laughedtogether at her sapience.

　　"Peter has a girl," Kennedy said. "But naturally he won't desert thebunch. Next year, when some bills we simply couldn't help—"

　　"Doctor and nurse when George and Mary had typhoid," 'Lizabethexplained.

　　"—are paid off," Kennedy continued. "Then, if he still likes her, hemight. But he never stays in love very long," she ended hopefully.

　　The four girls talked late into the night, and after a picnic the nextday, a Sunday, Julia felt as if she loved them all, and she and Kennedybegan shyly to call each other by their given names. Peter and Georgedid not go on the picnic, having plans of their own for the day, but theothers spent a dreamy day on Baker's Beach, and the two older boys,joining the group at dinner, ended the holiday happily. Julia carriedaway definite impressions to be brooded over in her quiet times. TheScotts were "ladies," of course. Somehow, although they were very poor,they all worked very hard, and all dressed very shabbily, they were"ladies," and knew only nice people. The sisters were really strongerand braver than the brothers, and loved their brothers more than theywere loved. Julia wondered why. Also she came a little reluctantly tothe conclusion, as girls at twenty, whether they be Julias or Barbaras,usually do, that if there were a great many nice young men in the world,there were a great many marriageable girls, too. No girl could expect avery wide choice of adorers, there were too many other girls. Andaffairs of the heart, and offers of marriage, occurred much more oftenin books than in life.

　　Two or three times a week Miss Toland liked to rise early and go to thebeautiful eight o'clock mass at St. Anne's, the big institution forunfortunate girls that was not far from The Alexander TolandNeighbourhood House. There was no church in the immediate vicinity, andin asking for permission to come to the convent chapel, Miss Toland hadfelt herself doing no extraordinary thing, had felt almost within herrights.

　　But the good nuns in charge of St. Anne's had whetted her appetite forthe experience by interposing unexpected objections. Their charges, theyexplained, about two hundred in number, were very impressionable, veryeasily excited. A stranger in the chapel meant a sensation. Of course,the lay workers of the institution and the old people from the Homeacross the way sometimes came in, but they were so soberly dressed.Perhaps if Miss Toland and Miss Page would dress in dark things, andassure Good Mother that they would not speak to the girls—

　　"Oh, certainly!" Miss Toland had agreed eagerly. Julia, awed by theairy, sombre interior of the great building, the closed doors, thefar-away echoes of footsteps and subdued voices, was a little pale.

　　"And this is your little assistant?" said Good Mother, suddenly, turninga smile of angelic brightness upon Julia. "Well, come to mass by allmeans, both of you. And pray for our poor children, dear child; we arealways in need of prayers."

　　"You must have extraordinary experiences here," Miss Toland said.

　　"And extraordinary compensations," said the nun. "Of course, some of ourpoor children are very wild—at first. We do what we can. I had a littlepet of mine here until yesterday, Alice, ten years old; she is—"

　　"Ten!" ejaculated Miss Toland.

　　"Oh, yes, my dear! And younger; she was but eight when she came. What Iwas going to say was that her mother took her away yesterday, and SisterPhilip Neri was amused to see how sad I was to have her go. She remindedme that when Alice first came here she had bitten my hand to the bone,so that I could not use it for three weeks. Ah, well!" And Good Mothergave the sweet toneless laugh of the religious. "That is not the worstof it—a clean bite on the hand!"

　　Miss Toland bought an alarm clock on the way home, and she and Juliawent to early mass on the very next morning. Julia found this firstexperience an ordeal; she and Miss Toland were in a side pew before thebig gong struck, and Julia did not raise her eyes from her book as thegirls filed in. The steady rustle of frocks and shuffle of feet made herfeel cold and sick.

　　A day or two later she could watch them, although never without profoundemotion. Two hundred girls, ranging in years from ten to twenty, withroughly clipped hair, and the hideous gray-green checked aprons of theinstitution. Two hundred faces, sullen or vacuous, pretty, silly faces,hard faces, faces tragically hopeless and pale. These young things wereoffenders against the law, shut away here behind iron bars for the goodof the commonwealth. Julia, whose life had made her wise beyond heryears, watched them and pondered. Here was an almost babyish face; whatdid that innocent-looking twelve-year-old think of life, now that shehad thrown her own away? Here was a sickly looking girl a few yearsolder, coughing incessantly and ashen cheeked; why had some woman borneher in deathly anguish, loved her and watched her through the years thatleast need loving and watching? This thing that they had all done—thistreasure they had all thrown away—what did they think about it?

　　She would come out very soberly into the convent garden, and walk home,through the delicious airs of a spring morning, without speaking,perhaps to break out, over her belated coffee:

　　"Oh, I think it's horrible—their being shut up there, the poor littlethings!"

　　"They have sensible work, plenty to eat, and they're safe," Miss Tolandmight answer severely. "And that's a great deal more than they deserve!"

　　"Nobody worried about them until it was too late," Julia suggested once,in great distress. "Lots of them never would have done anything wrong ifthey'd had work and food then!"

　　"Well, the nuns are very kind to them," Miss Toland answeredcomfortably; and Julia knew this was true, as far as possible.

　　One morning, when Julia slipped into her place in St. Anne's, she saw,two feet away from her, on an undraped trestle, a narrow coffin, and inthe coffin the rigid form of a girl who had been prayed for a fewmornings earlier as very ill. There was not a flower on the still, flatyoung breast, and no kindly artifice beautified the stern face or thebare, raw little hands that protruded from the blue-green ginghamsleeves. The ruined little tenement that had served some man's pleasureand been flung aside lay there as little beholden to the world in deathas it had been in life. And as if the usual silence of the chapel wouldbe too hard to bear, the living girls chanted to-day the "Dies Irae" andthe "Libera me."

　　When winter came, the little trestle was often in requisition, for theinmates of St. Anne's were ill-fitted to cope with any sickness. Once itwas a nun, in her black robes, who lay there, her magnificent still facewearing its usual deep, wise smile, her tired hands locked about hercrucifix. For her there were flowers, masses of flowers, and more thanone black-robed priest, and a special choir, and Julia knew that theother nuns envied that one of their number who had gone on to other workin other fields.

　　She grew grave, who was always grave, thinking of these things, andtalked them over with Kennedy Scott. Kennedy was deeply, evenpassionately, concerned for a while, and she and Julia decided toestablish a home some day for girls who were still to be saved.

　　Time went very swiftly now: years were not as long as they used to be,one birthday was in sight of another. Sometimes Julia was astonished anda little saddened, as is the way of youth, at the realization of theflying months. She was busy, contented, beloved; she was accomplishingher ambition—but at what a cost of years! The great moment might comenow at any time—Prince Charming might be on his way to her now, butmeantime she must work and eat and sleep—and the birthdays came apace.Sometimes she grew very restless; this was not life! But a visit to hergrandmother's house usually sent her back to The Alexander with freshcourage. No possible alternative offered itself anywhere.

　　Just at first she had hoped for inspiring frequent glimpses of heradored Tolands, but these were very few. Sometimes Barbara or theyounger girls would come to Easter or Christmas entertainments at thesettlement, but Julia, always especially busy on these occasions, saw nomore than Barbara's pretty, bored face, framed in furs, across a roomfull of people, or returned a dignified good-bye to Sally's hasty,"Mother and the others have gone on, Miss Page; they asked me to saygood-bye!" But then there was the prospect of a day with Kennedy Scott,to console her, or perhaps the reflection that little Mr. Craig, whocame out on Tuesday evenings to the meetings of the Boys' Club, was inlove with her. She did not wish to marry Mr. Craig, still it was nice ofhim to admire her; it was nice to have a new hat; it was pleasant tovisit the San Jose convent, with Miss Toland, and be petted by the nuns.So Julia cheated herself, as youth forever cheats itself, with thelesser joys.

　　She went home for three or four days at the time of her father's death,and afterward deliberately decided not to accompany her mother on a tripsouth. Emeline had nine thousand dollars of life insurance, and thoughtof buying a half interest in a boarding-house in Los Angeles.

　　"All the theatrical trade goes there," said Emeline, "and you could geta berth as easy as not!"

　　"Yes, I know," Julia said, gently, concealing an inward shudder. Shewent quietly back to The Alexander, when the funeral was over, to hermother's disgust. Emeline did not go south, but lingered on at home,drinking tea and gossiping with her mother, quarrelling with her oldfather, and gradually eating into her bank account. She called upon herdaughter, to Julia's secret embarrassment, though the girl introducedthis overdressed, sallow, hard-eyed mother with what dignity she couldmuster to Miss Pierce, Miss Scott, and Miss Toland. Emeline laughed andtalked with an air of ease, was forced into silence when Julia said theclosing prayer, and burst out laughing at its close.

　　"That does sound so funny, dolling! But I mustn't laugh," said Emeline."I'm sure you do wonders for these girls, and they need it," she addedgraciously to Miss Toland. She followed Julia into the little kitchen.

　　"Don't she help you cook?" she asked in a low tone, indicating MissToland with a jerk of her much-puffed head.

　　"Sometimes she does," Julia answered, annoyed.

　　"H'm!" Emeline said. And she asked curiously a moment later, "Why you doit is what gets me! Here's Marguerite going to get married, and Ev hasan elegant job, and I want you to go south with me; you'd have a grandtime!"

　　She stopped on a complaining note, her eyes honestly puzzled. Juliaclosed the oven door upon some potatoes, and stood up.

　　"I'm perfectly satisfied, Mama," said she briefly. "I'm doing what Iwant to do."

　　"Lord!" Emeline ejaculated, discontentedly, vaguely baffled by thegirl's definiteness and dignity. She left soon after, Julia dutifullywalking with her to her car. Miss Toland said nothing of the visitorwhen Julia came back, but she knew the girl was troubled, and lay awakea long time herself that night, conscious that Julia, in the next room,was restless and wakeful.

　　Besides a certain troubled consciousness of her failure to please herown people, Julia had in these years a more definite source of worry.Mark Rosenthal was still her patient adorer, and if, like Julia, heallowed the flying months to steal a march upon him, and drifted alongin the comfortable conviction that "a little while" would bring a changein Julia's feeling, still he was none the less a watchful and ardentlover, with whom she sometimes found it very difficult to deal.

　　Mark, always tall, was broad as well now, an imposing big fellow,prosperous, shrewd, and self-confident. He had handsome dark eyes, andshowed white teeth when he laughed; he dressed well, but notconspicuously; his shoes might be well worn, but they were alwaysbright; and if his suit were shabby, still he was never without gloves.He liked to talk business; he had long ago given up his music anddevoted himself with marvellous success to his work. He was no longerwith the piano house, but had an excellent position as adjuster ofdamages, out of court, for one of the street railway companies. Thehistory of his various promotions and his favour with his employers wasabsorbing to him; but the time came, when Julia was about twenty-two,when his determination to win her became a serious menace to her peace.

　　His manner, which had once been boyish and uncertain, was in these daysgood-humouredly proprietary. He laughed at little Julia's earnestexplanations, and would answer her most eager appeal only with a lover'sfond comment upon her eyes.

　　"Yes, darling, I wasn't listening—forgive me!" he said one day, when,with a spark of real anger, Julia had begged him to make his calls atthe settlement house a little less frequent and less conspicuous. "Whatwas it?" And with twinkling eyes he caught up the hand that lay near himon the table and kissed it.

　　"I want you not to do that, Mark," said Julia gravely, moving a littlefarther away, "and please don't call me darling!"

　　"All right, darling!" smiled Mark.

　　"I'm not joking," Julia said resentfully, two red spots in her cheeks.

　　Mark moved to lay his hand over hers penitently, and said, in the low,gentle voice Julia dreaded:

　　"Do you know what's the matter with you, Julie? I'll tell you. You loveme and you won't admit it. Girls never will. But that's what makes youso unhappy—you won't let yourself go. Ah, Julia! be fair to yourself,darling! Tell me that you care for me. I've waited seven years for you,dear—"

　　"Oh, you have not!" Julia said impatiently.

　　"I'd like to know why I haven't!" Mark said challengingly. "Ah, but youknow I have, darling. And I want my wife." It was a Saturday afternoon,and Miss Toland was dozing in her own room. Julia and Mark were alone inthe deserted assembly hall. Suddenly he slipped on his knees beside her,and locked one arm about her waist. "You will, won't you, Julia?" hestammered.

　　Julia, scarlet cheeked, tried to rise, and held him off with her hands.

　　"Oh, please, please," she begged. "I can't, Mark. You are awfully goodto me—I'm not worth it, and all that—but I can't. I—it's not my faultI don't want to, is it? It would be wrong to do it, feeling this way—"

　　She was on her feet now, and Mark stood up, too. Both were breathinghard; they looked at each other through a widening silence. Flies buzzedagainst the closed windows, a gust of summer wind swept along the streetoutside. Suddenly Mark caught Julia fiercely in his arms, and felt herheart beating madly against him, and forcing up her chin with a gentlebig hand, kissed her again and again upon her unresponsive lips.

　　"There!" he said, freeing her, a laugh of triumph in his voice. "Now youbelong to me! That's the kind of a man that's in love with you, my girl,and don't you think for one instant that you can play fast and loosewith him!"

　　Julia sat still for a long time after the street door banged, staringstraight ahead of her. She was going for this week-end to the littlehouse the Scotts had been loaned in Belvedere for the season, and shedressed and packed her suitcase very soberly. Miss Toland went with herto the ferry, both glad to get the fresh breath of the water, and Juliahad a riotous dinner with the Scotts, and a wonderful evening driftingabout in their punt between the stars in the low summer sky and thestars in the bay. When they were in their porch beds she told Kennedyall about Mark, and Kennedy commented that he certainly was agratifyingly ardent admirer.

　　"Ardent? I should think so!" sighed Julia, and went to sleep, notill-pleased with her role of the inaccessible lady. But the fact thatMark's persistence could not be discouraged fretted her a good deal. Herarely gave her a chance for a definite snub; if she was ungracious, hishumble patience waited tirelessly upon her mood; and if she smiled, heshowed such wistful delight that even Julia's cool little heart wasstirred. That he never stirred her in any deeper way, that his kissesdid not warm her, was not a serious trouble to Mark. She would be allthe sweeter to win; he would wake her in his arms to the knowledge thatshe loved him! And Julia won, as his little wife, would be dearer eventhan the demure and inaccessible Julia of to-day. Mark fed his hungryheart on love tales; many a man had won a harder fight than his; thesecold, shy girls made the best wives in the world!

　　Julia began seriously to consider the marriage. She visioned a safe andpleasant life, if no very thrilling one. Mark was handsome, devoted, hewas making money, he would be faithful to his wife and adore hischildren. Julia would have no social position, of course. She sighed.She would be a comfortable little complacent wife among a thousandothers. She would have her silk gowns, her cut glass; she could affordan outing at Pacific Grove with the children; some day she and Markwould go to New York—

　　No, not she and Mark! She couldn't; she didn't love him enough to sitopposite him all the mornings of her life, to sell her glowing dreamsfor him! She had come so far from the days that united her childhoodwith all the Rosenthals—she had not seen Mrs. Tarbury, nor Rose, norConnie for years. She was climbing, climbing, away from all those oldassociations. And she could climb faster alone!