moved, and far above the Harlem
River, where birds sang under blue skies and the south breeze swept into
our top-floor windows, we set up our household goods and gods once more.
They were getting a bit shaky now, and bruised. The mirrors on sideboard
and dresser had never been put on twice the same, and the middle leg of
the dining-room table wobbled from having been removed so often. But we
oiled out the mark and memory of the moving-man, bought new matting, and
went into the month of June fresh, clean, and hopeful, with no regret
for past errors.

And now at last we found really some degree of comfort. It is true our
neighbors were hardly congenial, but they were inoffensive and kindly
disposed. The piano on the floor beneath did not furnish pleasing
entertainment, but neither was it constant in its efforts to do so. The
stairs were long and difficult of ascent, but our distance from the
street was gratifying. The business center was far away, but I had
learned to improve the time consumed in transit, and our cool eyrie was
refreshing after the city heat.

As for the janitor, or janitress, for I do not know in which side of the
family the office was existent, he, she, or both were merely lazy,
indifferent, and usually invisible. Between them they managed to keep
the place fairly clean, and willingly promised anything we asked. It is
true they never fulfilled these obligations, but they were always eager
to renew them with interest, and on the whole the place was not at all
bad.

But the Precious Ones had, by this time, grown fond of change. We were
scarcely settled before they began to ask when we were going to move
again, and often requested as a favor that we take them out to look at
some flats. We overheard them playing "flat-hunting" almost every day,
in which game one of them would assume the part of janitor to "show
through" while the other would be a prospective tenant who surveyed
things critically and made characteristic remarks, such as, "How many
flights up?" "How much?" "Too small," "Oh, my, kitchen's too dark,"
"What awful paper," "You don't call that closet a room, I hope," and the
like. It seemed a harmless game, and we did not suspect that in a more
serious form its fascinations were insidiously rooting themselves in our
own lives. It is true we often found ourselves pausing in front of new
apartments and wondering what they were like inside, and urged by the
Precious Ones entered, now and then, to