he's got a parrot!" cried a ragged, redheaded little boy who was
trying to walk on top of the sharp pickets.

He was barefooted and the pickets were very sharp, so when the
moving--van man, having put down the parrot and its cage on the porch,
pretended to run straight toward him, the boy lost his balance and
fell. He was up in a moment and running down the street as fast as
though the furniture man were really chasing him.

"Sister!" Brother spoke excitedly. "That's the little boy I told you
about. We saw him downtown, Louise and I, when we were buying things
for the fishpond for my birthday; remember? Only he didn't have a rag
on his foot today."

"He used to be in my class at school," said Nellie. "Oh, look at all
the boxes of books!"

Brother meant to ask Nellie what the redheaded boy's name was, but she
had danced out to the van to see how large it was inside, and when she
came back Brother had forgotten his question.

"My father says an old lady is going to live here," volunteered Francis
Rider, a freckle-faced lad of ten or twelve. "She lives all by herself,
and she doesn't like noise. Her name is Miss Putnam."

Neither, they were to learn, did Miss Putnam like company, especially
that of boys and girls.

When the last piece of furniture had been carried in, and the van had
driven creakingly off down the street, the old lady, with her head tied
in the towel, was seen approaching the fence.

"That's Miss Putnam," whispered Francis.

"Get off that fence!" cried Miss Putnam, brandishing her broom. "Get
off! I'm not going to have my fence broken down by a parcel of young
ones. Go on home, I tell you!"

The children scrambled down and scattered like leaves. Francis, when he
was a safe distance up the street, put out his tongue and made a face
at Miss Putnam. The old lady continued to stand by the gate and shake
her broom threateningly as long as there was a child in sight.

"The Collins house is rented at last," said Daddy Morrison at the
supper table that night. "I came through there on my way home from the
station, and there was a light in the kitchen window. I wonder who has
taken it?"

"I know, Daddy," answered Louise quickly. "An aunt of Mrs. Collins has
rented it. She is a Miss Putnam and she makes lovely braided rugs for
the art and craft shops in the city. Sue Loftis told me."

"Well, she's cross as--as anything!" struck in Brother severely. "She
chased us all off her fence this morning; didn't