She got up and walked from the tiny parlor, where she had been sitting, into a tiny bedroom where a large baby doll lay on the bed she and her mother shared. Hazel took the doll up, shook it severely, and put it down again. She was growing to care very little for dolls; they were not warm and dimpled and you had to do all the talking for them. She left the tiny bedroom and stepped into a tiny kitchen thus making the tour of the apartment. “Mother,” she said to a slender woman who stood at an ironing-board, “may I go around and play with the McGinnis’s baby? It’s such a little way.” Mrs. Tyler looked up. Her face like Hazel’s was gentle and delicate, but the features were finer and the skin lighter in shade. She was ironing an elaborate pink tea gown, and she seemed ill-fitted for such taxing work. “No, Hazel,” she replied. “I’ve told you that you can’t go out in the rain while you have a cold. There is no use in teasing.” Hazel knew this to be true, and for a time was silent, watching her mother. She ran her slender finger along the tucks of the pink gown. “What pretty clothes Mrs. Hollingsworth always has,” she said. “I wish I could have something pretty. I’ve nothing to wear but this blue serge.” Hazel’s mother looked at her a second and the child felt abashed. She knew very well that since her father’s death--her dear, dear father--her mother had had to support them both, and how hard she had worked at whatever would bring in money--at sewing, hairdressing, and even this tiring laundry. She knew, too, that when the rent was paid, and the grocer’s and butcher’s bills settled, the little money left went first to her and her wants. Why, only last week she had had pretty hair ribbons; and her mother’s black dress was growing shabby. She bent over and kissed the hand that was patting the pink wrapper into place. “I’ll go into the parlor and make my picture-puzzle,” she said. “That’s right, dear,” Mrs. Tyler answered. The little girl worked for a time at the elaborate puzzle spread out on the parlor table; but its green trees were perplexing, and she soon returned to the kitchen to find the pink dress finished and on the top of a pile of speckless linen in the laundry basket. Her mother stood with hat and coat on. “I’m going to run out to make sure that John comes to-night to get the clothes,” Mrs. Tyler said. “Now, don’t look so woe-begone, dear. I’ll cook waffles for supper, and we’ll have the maple syrup that Mrs. Brown brought us from the country.” Hazel’s face brightened. “May we eat off the pretty china?” she asked. “Yes, you may set the table with it when I get back.” And Mrs. Tyler went out into the narrow hall, down the dark stairs and into the narrow street. She could hardly have reached the corner when Hazel heard a knock at the door, and opened it to a little black girl who at once stepped gaily into the room. “Where you been all day, Hazel?” she asked.