ought to marry first, Sally; you're the older," Martie said, with
averted eyes and a sort of delicious shame.

"Oh, I don't mind that, Martie, if only we begin!" Sally answered
fervently. "When I think of what the next ten years MEAN for us, it
just makes me sick! Either we'll marry and have our own homes and
children, or we'll be like Alice, and the Baxters, and Miss Fanny--"

"I'd just as soon have a good job like Miss Fanny," Martie said
hardily. "She gets sixty a month."

"Well, I wouldn't!" Sally protested in a sudden burst. "Being in an
office would KILL me, I think! I just couldn't do it! But I believe I
COULD manage a little house, and children, and I'd like that! I
wouldn't mind being poor--I never really think of being anything
else--but what I'm so afraid of is that Len'll marry and we'll just
be--just be AUNTS!"

Such vehemence was not usual to Sally, and as her earnestness brought
her to a full stop on the sidewalk, the two sisters found themselves
facing each other. They burst into a joyous laugh, as their eyes met,
and the full absurdity of the conversation became apparent.

Still giggling, they went on their way, past the old smithy, where a
pleasant breath of warmth and a splendid ringing of hammers came from
the forge, and past the new garage of raw wood with the
still-astonishing miracle of a "horseless carriage" in its big window,
pots of paint and oil standing inside its door, and workmen, behind a
barrier of barrels and planks, laying a cement sidewalk in front. They
passed the Five-and-Ten-Cent Store, its unwashed windows jammed with
pyramids of dry-looking chocolates, post cards, and jewellery, and
festoons of trashy embroidery, and the corner fruit stands heaped with
tomatoes and sprawling grapes. At the Palace Candy Store a Japanese boy
in his shirt-sleeves was washing the show window, which was empty
except for some rumpled sheets of sun-faded pink crepe paper. By the
door stood two large wooden buckets for packing ice cream. The ice and
salt were melted now, and the empty moulds, still oozing a little
curdled pink cream, were floating in the dirty water.

"Why aren't you girls at home sewing for the poor?" demanded a pleasant
voice over their shoulders. The girls wheeled about to smile into the
eyes of Father Martin. A tall spare old man, with enormous glasses on
his twinkling blue eyes, spots and dust on his priestly black, and a
few teeth missing from his kindly, big, homely mouth, he