and about old-time courtesy, and
about wonderful animals. But sometimes she told him of her home in the
country--of apple trees in bloom, and frail arbutus hiding under the
snow. She told him of coasting parties, and bonfires, and trees to climb.
And he listened, star-eyed and adoring. They made a pretty picture
together--the slim, rosy-cheeked girl and the ragged little boy, with the
pale, city sunshine falling, like a mist, all about them.

Lily and Ella and Bennie--Rose-Marie loved them, all three. But Jim
Volsky was the unsolvable problem--the one that she tried to push to the
back of her mind, to avoid. Mrs. Volsky and Pa she gave up as nearly
hopeless--she kept, as much as possible, out of Pa's way, and Mrs. Volsky
could only be helped in the attaining of creature comforts--her spirit
seemed dead! But Jim insisted upon intruding upon her moments in the
flat; he monopolized conversations, and asked impertinent questions, and
stared. More than once he had offered to "walk her home" as she was
leaving; more than once he had thrust himself menacingly across her path.
But she had managed, neatly, to avoid him.

Rose-Marie was afraid of Jim. She admitted it to herself--she even
admitted, at times, that the Young Doctor might be of assistance if any
emergency should arise out of Jim's sleek persistence. She had noticed,
from the first, that the doctor was an impressive man among men--she had
seen the encouraging swell of muscles through the warm tweed of his coat
sleeve. But to have asked his help in the controlling of Jim would have
been an admission of deceit, of weakness, of failure! To prove her own
theory that the people were real, underneath--to prove that they had some
sort of a code, and worth-while impulses--she had to make the reformation
of the Volsky family her own, individual task.

Yes--Rose-Marie was busy. Almost she hated to give up moments of her time
to the letters she had to write home--to the sewing that she had to do.
She made few friends among the teachers and visitors who thronged the
Settlement House by day--she was far too tired, when night came, to meet
with the Young Doctor and the Superintendent in the cosy little
living-room. But often when her activities lasted well along into the
evening, often when her clubs gave sociables or entertainments, she was
forced to welcome the Young Doctor (the Superintendent was always
welcome); to make room for him beside her own place.

It was during one o