“Yes, I would,” said Gloria. “At first I thought I'd tear it down. But I don't believe now I would, it's been home for so many. I'd just like to see it fixed up the way it should have been years and years and years ago.” “And you'd fix the hole in the ceiling?” asked the boy. Evidently that break in the ceiling over the bed that had been his mother's had left a deep impression on him. “Wouldn't I, Dinney!” And now the girl's eyes shone. “It is a secret worth keeping,” she said. “I should say!” answered Dinney. “And I'll find out if--if--it takes my life, I will.” Dinney was young in years, but old in experience. His small figure now straightened with determination, and over his face swept a look of honest manliness far beyond his years. Gloria, looking down upon him, felt glad she had taken him for a helper. “I wish mother had waited,” Dinney said quietly, and then the two parted. After her late luncheon, eaten alone, her uncle having returned to the office, Gloria was ready for the District Nurse, who had promised to go with her to the hospital. Aunt Em was taking a nap, so Gloria did not disturb her. As the two walked along, Gloria's impatience broke forth afresh. “A coat of tar and feathers would serve the one right that allows such things to exist!” she said. “Don't, Gloria!” cried the nurse, in the same tone of terror she had used in the hallway when trying to quiet Sal's mother. “But I mean it!” said Gloria. “I don't see how the owner of that building with all those trippy places can sleep nights. Think of anyone taking rent for a house like that! I never knew such places were allowed in the market.” “I don't believe I would be so hard, Gloria, if I were you. Let it rest.” There was a strange note of wistful pleading in the nurse's voice. But Gloria did not heed it. “Let it rest? Never!” she answered. The hospital reached, the neatly-uniformed interne who came down to answer the District Nurse's inquiry, assured them that their patient was resting quietly. He even went so far as to say that possibly the fall might work good in the end. “I only say might in a general way. If the poor creature's mental apathy has been due to an injury of the head, it may possibly be. Do you know the cause of her mental condition?” he inquired of the nurse. The nurse gave the information desired. “If that is so, then the second blow may neutralize the first. It is certainly an interesting case.” But at the end he assured his visitors that time only could prove what the outcome might be. “Poor Sal!” said the nurse, as they left the large building, and went quietly down the stone steps. “I wonder if it would be comforting to her to know she is an 'interesting case.' Sal was never interesting before.” [Illustration: “I WILL GET THE MONEY FOR YOU, DINNEY,”]