there was Miss Dillingham, and her friend who took
me out in the country to see the autumn leaves, and her friend's
friend who lent me books, and Mr. Hurd, who put my poems in the
"Transcript," and gave me books almost every time I came, and a dozen
others who did something good for me all the time, besides the several
dozen who wrote me such nice letters. Friends? If I named one for
every block I passed I should not get through before I reached home.
There was Mr. Strong, too, and he wanted me to meet his wife and
little girl. And Mr. Pastor! I had almost forgotten Mr. Pastor. I
arrived at the corner of Washington and Dover Streets, on my way home,
and looked into Mr. Pastor's showy drug store as I passed, and that
reminded me of the history of my latest friendship.

My cough had been pretty bad--kept me awake nights. My voice gave out
frequently. The teachers had spoken to me several times, suggesting
that I ought to see a doctor. Of course the teachers did not know that
I could not afford a doctor, but I could go to the free dispensary,
and I did. They told me to come again, and again, and I lost precious
hours sitting in the waiting-room, watching for my turn. I was
examined, thumped, studied, and sent out with prescriptions and
innumerable directions. All that was said about food, fresh air, sunny
rooms, etc., was, of course, impossible; but I would try the medicine.
A bottle of medicine was a definite thing with a fixed price. You
either could or could not afford it, on a given day. Once you began
with milk and eggs and such things, there was no end of it. You were
always going around the corner for more, till the grocer said he could
give no more credit. No; the medicine bottle was the only safe thing.

I had taken several bottles, and was told that I was looking better,
when I went, one day, to have my prescription renewed. It was just
after a hard rain, and the pools on the broken pavements were full of
blue sky. I was delighted with the beautiful reflections; there were
even the white clouds moving across the blue, there, at my feet, on
the pavement! I walked with my head down all the way to the drug
store, which was all right; but I should not have done it going back,
with the new bottle of medicine in my hand.

In front of a cigar store, halfway between Washington Street and
Harrison Avenue, stood a wooden Indian with a package of wooden cigars
in his hand. My eyes on the shining rain pools, I walked plum