“A fright, isn't it? If I ever got time, I could black it, or ink it, or something, but I never shall get the time. I don't wonder you look at it--everybody does.” “Oh!” Gloria hurried apologetically, “I didn't mean to be rude! I was just trying to make up my mind what was in it.” [Illustration: “I DON'T KNOW WHAT I DO SEE.”] “Well, did you?” The face of the small, neat person bubbled with soft laughter. Her hand went out and stroked the old bag's sides affectionately. “Give you three guesses!” “I don't need but one!” laughed Gloria. A pleasant little intimacy seemed already established between the two of them. “Well, guess one, then?” “A--jimmy!” “Gracious!” laughed the Small Person. “Do I look as bad as that? No,” growing suddenly quite grave, “you will have to guess again. I'll give you a cue--absorbent cotton.” “Absorb--” began Gloria in surprise, but stopped. The bag was open under her eyes. She caught a confused glimpse of bottles and rolls of something carefully done up in white tissue, of a dark blue pasteboard box with a red cross on the visible end, of curiously-shaped scissors. “See any jimmy?” queried the one beside her. “No, but I don't know what I _do_ see.” “My dear--there's our car! Let me introduce you. The workbag, if you please, of the District Nurse, Mary Winship. I have not the pleasure--” “Gloria Abercrombie,” bowed Gloria politely, but her eyes danced. She liked this small, neat Mary Winship. They got into the car together. “I live right across the street,” Gloria added, when they were safely seated. “So do I! I've seen you over there rocking a magnificent gray cat. Does it feel good?” “The cat--Abou Ben Adhem? He's the warmest, softest thing!” “No, sitting. I hardly ever do it, so I'm not a good judge. You always look so rested over there--it rests me to see you.” The pleasant laugh jostled with the lurching of the car; it had the effect of being tremulous with some emotion, but there was nothing tremulous about the placid face beside Gloria. “You poor dear!” Gloria burst out impetuously. “How tired to pieces you must get! I've pitied you every one of these hot days.” “Don't!” smiled the other. “Pity my poor folks. Why, here's my street so soon!” She clambered down with her heavy bag and nodded back. Gloria watched her trip away. The street she had stopped at was not a pleasant looking one; Gloria had time to see that it was lined with houses that leaned toward each other in an unattractive manner. And the children--the swift impression Gloria got was of a street lined, too, with little unattractive children. “Not a tree on it,” she mused as the car jolted her on to Uncle Em's. “Think of no trees! And whole mobs of children, and such a day as this!” It was terribly hot. “I wonder what a District Nurse is? Well, I like 'em!”