blushed. That she was one day
to be mistress of the Strata and all it contained was still anything but
"common" to her.

"I'd love to see it, and I'll come gladly; but I'm afraid I won't be
much help, Uncle William," she worried.

"I'll take the risk of that. You see, Harlow says that about half the
time she isn't sure she wants to sell it, after all."

"Why, how funny! Well, I'll come. At eleven, you say, at Park Street?"

"Yes; and thank you, my dear. I tried to get Kate to go, too; but she
wouldn't. By the way, I'm going to bring you home to luncheon. Kate
leaves this afternoon, you know, and it's been so snowy she hasn't
thought best to try to get over to the house. Maybe Aunt Hannah would
come, too, for luncheon. Would she?"

"I'm afraid not," returned Billy, with a rueful laugh. "She's got
_three_ shawls on this morning, and you know that always means that
she's felt a draft somewhere--poor dear. I'll tell her, though, and I'll
see you at eleven," finished Billy, as she hung up the receiver.

Promptly at the appointed time Billy met Uncle William at Park Street,
and together they set out for the West End street named on the paper in
his pocket. But when the shabby house on the narrow little street was
reached, the man looked about him with a troubled frown.

"I declare, Billy, I'm not sure but we'd better turn back," he fretted.
"I didn't mean to take you to such a place as this."

Billy shivered a little; but after one glance at the man's disappointed
face she lifted a determined chin.

"Nonsense, Uncle William! Of course you won't turn back. I don't
mind--for myself; but only think of the people whose _homes_ are here,"
she finished, just above her breath.

Mrs. Greggory was found to be living in two back rooms at the top of
four flights of stairs, up which William Henshaw toiled with increasing
weariness and dismay, punctuating each flight with a despairing: "Billy,
really, I think we should turn back!"

But Billy would not turn back, and at last they found themselves in the
presence of a white-haired, sweet-faced woman who said yes, she was
Mrs. Greggory; yes, she was. Even as she uttered the words, however,
she looked fearfully over her shoulders as if expecting to hear from the
hall behind them a voice denying her assertion.

Mrs. Greggory was a cripple. Her slender little body was poised on two
once-costly crutches. Both the worn places on the crutches, and the
skill with which the little wom