then she explained how he had written the advertisement while she was
waiting for the storm to be over.

"Partially furnished--it might do. I mean, of course, if it is nice,"
said Mrs. Morrison.

"It is too far down town," objected her husband.

"Oh, father, no, it isn't! It is just a beautiful place, and the
Spectacle Man will show me his Toby jugs and things, and there's the
cat,--please let's go!"

"Of course if there is a Toby jug and a cat, there's nothing else to be
desired," said Mr. Morrison, gravely, pinching the cheek of his
enthusiastic daughter. However, he promised that bright and early next
day they would go to look at this flat.

CHAPTER FOURTH

THEY LOOK AT A FLAT.

The house occupied by Mr. Clark the optician was old-fashioned and
roomy; built in the days when ground was cheap and space need not be
economized. It belonged to his nephew, whose guardian he was, and some
day, when the hard times were over, it was likely to be a valuable piece
of property. At present it could be rented for little or nothing as a
residence, and for this reason he had decided to live in it himself,
taking the first floor and turning the second and third into flats.

The dignified old mansion had the air of having stepped back in disdain
from the hurry and bustle of the street, preserving in its seclusion
between the tall buildings on either side something of the leisurely
atmosphere of other days.

The optician himself was quite in keeping with the house. He loved old
things and old ways; his business methods were those of thirty years
ago, and so perhaps were most of his patrons. There were still many
persons who could remember the time when he had been joint proprietor of
the largest jewellery store in the city, but times had changed. In some
way he had been crowded out and half forgotten, much as the old house
had been.

He kept the place in the best of order; the bit of lawn that lay between
the house and the street was as thrifty and green as care could make it,
and was a pleasant surprise when one came upon it unexpectedly, an oasis
in the desert of brick pavement.

Frances' bright eyes had noticed, in passing, the mammoth pair of
spectacles swinging above the veranda, and so when she found Mrs. Gray,
an old lady who had a room near theirs in the hotel, lamenting over her
broken glasses, she had known where to take them.

The clock struck eleven as the Morrisons entered the shop next morning.
The