“Its coat on?” murmured Gloria. Then by an inspiration she knew that the boy meant cream--milk with the cream on. A sob rose unannounced in Gloria's throat as she looked again at the mite in the cart who would walk when his legs were stronger. “Who is the doctor-woman?” she asked; but as she asked the question she knew the answer and said, “Is she the District Nurse?” “Yes, she is. She's good to my mother, and Hunkie's the baby. Rosy does nice things, too. She showed Rosy how to be nice. Me mother's got de consumption.” The boy spoke as though discreetly proud of the fact. “And who is Rosy?” Gloria asked. “Sure--de girl wot lives 'cross de hall. She's got eyes like your eyes, she has.” Across the hall on Treeless Street. A girl with eyes like hers! It was like finding herself there. Gloria shivered. She had a sudden inward vision of herself living in Treeless Street. A little crowd of interested children had gathered. One, bolder than the rest, had drawn unpleasantly close, and was smoothing Gloria's soft white dress with timid little fingers. Gloria wondered why she did not draw away, but stood still instead. “Are youse a doctor-woman? W'ere's yer bag? Yer ain't t'rew yer bag away?” [Illustration: “And who is Rosy?”] “Huh! She ain't no doctor-woman.” This from Dinney, who had the advantage of early acquaintance. “She's on'y a cuttin' roun' de street. Youse better not be smudgin' up her dress, Carrots--gwan off, now! All o' youse gwan an' let de lady 'lone. Me 'n' Hunkie's de on'y ones as she wants roun'.” Dinney and Hunkie escorted Gloria to the end of the street and back. Gloria returned on the opposite side with the idea of more thoroughly exploring. But she might as well have kept to the one side; both sides were alike in tenements and children--dreariness and poverty. There was no choice. It was with a long breath of relief that Gloria emerged again upon the main street. She filled her lungs with the cleaner air, and gazed with a new admiration at the well-to-do buildings. The grotesque little figure of Dinney tramping back into Treeless Street with his rattling cart lurching behind him, was all that remained of what seemed to Gloria now must have been a dream. She glanced up at the street's name, at its juncture with the main street, and started suddenly, in very astonishment. The name she read pointed playful, jeering letters at her. She had always known there was a street in Tilford by that name--but not this, _this_ street! Pleasant Street! Gloria walked the rest of the way as in a dream. * * * * * “Uncle Em, aren't tenements unsafe to live in,” Gloria asked at supper, “when they lean every which way? Oughtn't there to be a law to tear them down?” Gloria was too intent on her own musings to intercept the swift glance her guardian gave her. “Supposing one tumbled down, with little children in it and outside it! What did they name that awful street Pleasant Street for?”