Other people also became a delight to her. With that one defiant and releasing cry of hers, she had defied people, and found freedom; but now that she was free, she no longer held any grudge against them. Indeed, one of the keenest delights in her new existence was a fearless and easy intercourse with the rest of the world. Her happiness and vividness of life was such that it could not be contained within their own two personalities, but must flow forth in a warm friendliness to all the people with whom she came in contact--to the children in the street, the clerks in the shops and at market, and to the other lodgers in the house. With these last she found herself on friendly terms almost at once. They were ordinary enough people, but to Julie they seemed different from any she had ever known. There was Mrs. Watkins, who had the rooms across the hall from Julie on the first floor. She was a frail and tired little woman, wilted by the heat, and burdened with the care of four small children. She generally managed to get herself into a tidy dress late in the afternoon, but most of the day she went about in a wrapper, her hair in curl-papers, and her constant complaint, “My Lord, _ain’t_ it hot!” To help her with her sewing for the children was a delight to Julie. She did it so eagerly and so well, that even Mrs. Watkins’ fretful discouragement was pierced by gratitude. “My, but you’re kind! Why, you couldn’t be kinder to me if you was my own sister,” she burst out one day, as Julie held up a completed dress with pretty summer ruffles. “I never did think I’d get that dress finished for poor little Nell. Looks like the heat always drags me down so--but you! Why, you ain’t been at it no time, an’ now it’s all done. Nell!” she called out of the window into the hot street, “Nelly! run here a second; momma’s got something to show you, dearie.” The little girl entered the cluttered bed-sitting-room, a languid and pale little creature of eight years, but when Julie held up the little frock before her, her eyes lighted with joy. “Oh, momma!” she breathed, turning to her mother. “Oh, it’s done, ain’t it!” She seized the dress, and holding it up under her chin, danced away to look at herself in the faded mirror. “Oh, momma! Let me wear it this evening,” she pleaded, turning about from side to side, preening before the glass. “You better take time to thank Mis’ Freeman, ’stead er primpin’ like that,” her mother admonished her. “She’s the one finished it for you, she’s your friend.” “Thank you, thank you, marm,” the child said, turning toward Julie. The words were constrained and inadequate, spoken in obedience to her mother’s command; but as she stood there with the pink folds of the frock caught close to her and her pinched face flushed with happiness, she was a little point of color and joy that lighted up the discouraged room and made her mother’s eyes linger upon her fondly a moment, then turn for sympathetic understanding to Julie.