th of relief that Gloria emerged again
upon the main street. She filled her lungs with the cleaner air, and
gazed with a new admiration at the well-to-do buildings.

The grotesque little figure of Dinney tramping back into Treeless Street
with his rattling cart lurching behind him, was all that remained of
what seemed to Gloria now must have been a dream. She glanced up at
the street's name, at its juncture with the main street, and started
suddenly, in very astonishment. The name she read pointed playful,
jeering letters at her. She had always known there was a street in
Tilford by that name--but not this, _this_ street! Pleasant Street!
Gloria walked the rest of the way as in a dream.

* * * * *

"Uncle Em, aren't tenements unsafe to live in," Gloria asked at supper,
"when they lean every which way? Oughtn't there to be a law to tear them
down?" Gloria was too intent on her own musings to intercept the swift
glance her guardian gave her.

"Supposing one tumbled down, with little children in it and outside it!
What did they name that awful street Pleasant Street for?"

Aunt Em's comely face wore a queer expression. She began to speak, then
stopped.

"Don't you want to hear what kind of a runabout I ordered on the way
home, Rosy-Posie?" What freak of fate made Uncle Em call her Rosy-Posie?
Gloria winced as if with pain at thought of the girl Rosie--with eyes
like hers--on Treeless Street.

"There's a girl named Rosie with eyes like mine, on Pleasant Street!"
she cried. "A boy told me so. I hate that street!" She got up suddenly
and went away.

The two left behind exchanged glances. Aunt Em's eyes were troubled.

"Walter, whatever started the child up to go round exploring streets?"
she said.

"Goodness knows! But don't get worked up over nothing."

"Poor child--you know I've always felt just the way she does, Walter."
Aunt Em's gentle sigh came once more.

The next morning Aunt Em appeared in Gloria's room before that leisurely
young person had decided to get up. She was lying in one of the pleasant
intervals between dozes, drowsily conscious that the sunshine was
streaming across her feet in a warm flood, and that somewhere children
were playing.

'"Lazy girl!" cried Aunt Em in the door. The lazy girl turned without
surprise. She was used to early visits. "Perhaps you might like to know
the time of day--"

"Oh, say it's 'most bedtime, auntie, then I won't have to get up