There were changes at the upper end as well. The Weirs had gone from next door, and two families with small children had taken the house. The babies seemed so pudgy and untidy that the little girl did not fancy them much. Frank Whitney was married with quite a fine wedding-party, and had gone to Williamsburg to live. Mrs. Whitney had rented two rooms in the house to a dressmaker. Delia was almost grown up. She had shot into a tall girl, though she would have her dresses short; she despised young ladyhood. She was smart and capable. She helped with the meals; often, indeed, her mother did not come down until breakfast was ready, when she had had a "bad night." That was when she read novels in bed until two or three o'clock. Delia swept the house--she often did wash on Saturday, though her brother scolded when she did it. She was the same jolly, eager, careless girl, and delighted in a game of tag, but she could so easily outrun the smaller children. She and Jim sometimes raced round the block, one going in one direction, one in the other, and Jim didn't always beat, either. Then she would sit out on the stoop with a crowd of children and tell wonderful stories. She didn't explain that they were largely made up "out of her own head." Next door above the Deans two new little girls had come, very nice children, who played with dolls. There was quite an array when five little girls had their best dolls out. Nora generally brought Pussy Gray, and they were always entertained with her talking. Some boys had invaded the Reed's side of the block. Charles had strict injunctions not to parley with them. But one went in an office as errand boy, and the other quite disdained Jane Robertine Charlotte, as he called him. It did begin to annoy Mr. Reed to have his son made the butt of the street. He was a nice, obedient, upright, orderly boy. What was lacking? In some respects he was very manly. Mr. Reed suddenly concluded that a woman wasn't capable of bringing up boys, and he must take him in hand. For two weeks Mrs. Reed had been threatening to cut his hair. The boys said, "Sissy, why don't your mother put your hair up in curl papers?" It looked so dreadful when it was first cut that Charles always spent these weeks between Scylla and Charybdis. He knew all about the rock and the whirlpools. But something had been happening all the time, even to this Saturday afternoon, when all the silver had to be scoured. Mr. Reed inspected his son as he sat at the supper-table. He had a rather poetical appearance with his long hair curling at the ends, but it was no look for a boy. "Don't you want to take a walk down the street with me?" said his father. Charles started as if he had been struck. "I'm dead tired and I want him to wipe my dishes. I haven't been off my feet since five o'clock this morning only at meal-time. Then he must go to the store." "I'll wait until then."