and fell back on the telegrapher and the cigar-
maker and his canaries for companionship. I
remember I took a melancholy pleasure in
hanging a May-basket for Nina Harling that
spring. I bought the flowers from an old Ger-
man woman who always had more window
plants than any one else, and spent an after-
noon trimming a little work-basket. When
dusk came on, and the new moon hung in the
sky, I went quietly to the Harlings' front door
with my offering, rang the bell, and then ran
away as was the custom. Through the willow
hedge I could hear Nina's cries of delight, and
I felt comforted.

On those warm, soft spring evenings I often
lingered downtown to walk home with Fran-
ces, and talked to her about my plans and
about the reading I was doing. One evening
she said she thought Mrs. Harling was not
seriously offended with me.

"Mama is as broad-minded as mothers
ever are, I guess. But you know she was hurt
about Antonia, and she can't understand why
you like to be with Tiny and Lena better than
with the girls of your own set."

"Can you?" I asked bluntly.

Frances laughed. "Yes, I think I can. You

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v?