ing up to an oriole window,
a man-servant swung back two sets of trellised doors; bowed them
noiselessly shut again.

The quick cold of December bit them at the threshold. Opposite lay the
Park, its trees, in their smooth bark whipped bare, and gray as nuns,
the sunlight hard against their boles. More sunlight lay cold and
glittering down the length of the most facaded avenue in the world and
on the great up-and-down stream of motor-cars and their nickel-plated
snouts and plate-glass sides.

Women, with heads too haughty to turn them right or left, moved past in
closed cars that were perfumed and upholstered like jewel-boxes; the
joggly smartness of hansom cabs, their fair fares seeing and being seen
behind the wooden aprons and their frozen laughter coming from their
lips in vapor! On the broad sidewalks women in low shoes that defied
the wind, and men in high hats that the wind defied; nursemaids trim as
deaconesses, and their charges the beautiful exotic children of pure
milk and pure sunshine!

One of these deaconess-like nursemaids, walking out with a child whose
black curls lay in wide sprays on each shoulder, detached herself from
the up-town flow and crossed to the trellised threshold.

"Good afternoon, Madam Meyerburg. Mademoiselle, _dites bonjour a madame
votre grand'maman_."

"_Bonjour, grand'maman_."

In the act of descending her steps, Mrs. Meyerburg's hands flew outward.
"Ach, du little Aileen. Come, Aileen, to grandma. Mrs. Fischlowitz, this
is Felix's little girl. You remember Felix--such a beautiful bad little
boy he was what always used to fight your Sollie underneath the sink."

"_Gott in Himmel_, so this is Felix's little girl!"

"Ja, this is already his second. Come, Aileen, to grandma and say good
afternoon to the lady."

The maid guided the small figure forward by one shoulder. "_Dites
bonjour a madame, Mademoiselle Aileen_."

"_Bonjour, madame_."

"Not a word of English she can speak yet, Mrs. Fischlowitz. I tell you
already my grandchildren are so smart not even their language I can
understand. _Aber_ for why such a child should only talk so in her own
country she can't be understood, I don't know."

"I guess, Mrs. Meyerburg, it's style now'days that you shouldn't know
your own language."

"Come by grandma to-morrow, Aileen, and upstairs I got in the little box
sweet cakes like grandma always keeps for you. Eh, baby?"

"Say thank you, grandmother."

"_Merci bien, grand'maman_