Arrived at the great building among whose offices was that of Walter McAndrew, Attorney-at-Law, Gloria's thoughts were turned into a new channel. She remembered that she had come down town on important business, and it was up two flights in this office building where she was to transact it. Uncle Em was Walter McAndrew, Attorney-at-Law. She took the elevator and was presently at the right door. She went in unceremoniously; it was one of her favorite visiting-places. Mr. McAndrew looked up and gravely bowed. “Take a seat, madam, and I will be at liberty in a few moments,” he began politely. But “Madam's” small, white hand, placed over his lips, interrupted. “You are at liberty now--this minute, Uncle Em!” said Gloria. The man at the desk shrugged his shoulders, then, helping her to a comfortable seat on the arm-chair, said: “All right. What is it, Rosy Posie?” “Uncle Em, am I rich?” “Er--what's that? Oh, well,” judiciously, “you'll do.” “Very rich? How rich, Uncle Em?” The big swing-chair revolved with rapidity, to the peril of the young lady on its arm. The face of Walter McAndrew, Attorney-at-Law, expressed surprise. “What's the drive?” he asked. “That's what I want to know. How am I to drive? Uncle Em, see here. I want a runabout--wait, please wait! A nice, shiny runabout, that I can 'run' myself. I'll take you some of the time. Now, when can I have it?” “You talk as if I had one concealed about me somewhere, and could produce it at a moment's notice.” “All right, hand over my nice, shiny little auto!” laughed the young woman. “Honest, I'm in earnest, Uncle Em. I dreamed I had one last night, and I intended to ask you at breakfast, but I was sound asleep. Don't say anything for answer just now. Just think about it, then drop into the place where they keep 'em, on your way to supper, and order one! That's all--I'll let you off easy!” Gloria got up and wandered about the little room. Its barrenness reminded her of Treeless Street, lined with little children, and her busy thoughts traveled back to that. “What's a District Nurse, Uncle Em?” she asked suddenly; “with a rusty-black bag full of bottles and absorbent cotton? There's one across the street from us.” “Bag or nurse?” “Both. She's a dear, but what does she do?” “Why,” explained Uncle Em, “she visits the poor and takes care of them if they are sick, you know. It's rather a new institution here in Tilford, but seems to be working finely. The city pays the nurse's salary, or else it's done by private subscriptions.” “But I don't see how one nurse gets time to take care of a whole city--mercy!” Gloria's personal experience with nurses had been two to one girl. She remembered them now--the gentle day-nurse and the gentle night-nurse, who had moved soft-footedly about her bed, performing soothing little offices. Uncle Em smiled at her puzzled face.