The house in First Street seemed very queer. It had a front area and two basements, two parlors on the next floor with folding-doors and a long ell-room, rather narrow, so that it would not darken the back room too much. Up-stairs there were three large chambers and one small one, and on the fourth floor, that did not have full-size windows, three more. That there was no "garret" caused endless lamentation. They could not bring old Mary, indeed she would not come, but they had a rather youngish countrywoman whose husband had deserted her, and who was looking for a good home. Mary thought she would stay a while with the "new folks" and get them "broke in," as she phrased it, and then go and live with her son. The little girl stood on her own front stoop looking up and down the street. It was queer the houses should be just alike--six brown-stone steps, and iron side railings, and an iron railing to the area, that was paved with brick. You would always have to be thinking of the number or you might get into the neighbor's house. Oh, no. Here was a sure sign, the bright silver door-plate with black lettering--"Vermilye F. Underhill." She looked at it in amazement. It made her father suddenly grand in her estimation. Could she sit in his lap just the same and twist his whiskers about her fingers and comb his hair and read out of her story-books to him? And where would she go to school? Were there any little girls around to play with? How could she get acquainted with them? While she was considering this point, two girls went by. Both had straw gypsy hats with flowers and ruffled capes of black silk. They looked up at her. She was going to smile down to them in the innocent belief that all little girls must be glad to see each other. One of them giggled--yes, she absolutely did, and said: "Oh, what a queer-looking thing! Her frock comes down to her shoe-tops like an old woman's and that sun-bonnet! Why she must have just come in from the backwoods!" CHAPTER III FINE FEATHERS FOR THE LITTLE WREN The little girl stood still a moment as if transfixed. There came the passionate desire to run and hide. She gave the door-bell a sharp pull. Martha Stimis answered it. "Goodness sakes, is it you, ringin' as if the world wouldn't stand another minnit? Next time you want to get in, Haneran, you jest come down the _aree_! And me a-mouldin' up the biscuit!" The little girl walked through the hall with a swelling heart. She couldn't be allowed to ring the door-bell when her own father's name was on the door!