Timidly she opened the gate and went in, choosing the side gate instead of the front. It was unusual to have a gate. That was because it was an old-fashioned house. She was glad there was a gate. It made her feel as if she would be more secure in a little house all by herself to have a gate shutting her in. But this was too much like a fairy tale. She must not get up her hopes. Of course these people wouldn’t hear to her request. They would think she was crazy perhaps to dare to ask. There was some one in the diningroom setting the table. The door was open on a side porch, and she could see as she went up the steps that the table was long, and spread with a white cloth, and there were flowers in the middle in a glass bowl, blue violets, quantities of them. The door beyond was open through an airy pantry to a kitchen, and there was a savory odor of broiling meat. She sniffed it hungrily as she put out a timid hand to knock, and thought anxiously that it must be getting late if some one was getting dinner ready so early. A pleasant-looking woman with her hair in crimping pins over her forehead and a long, plain gingham apron covering her dress came to the door with a tea towel and a glass in her hand, polishing as she came. Joyce almost lost her voice at the thought of her own audacity while she looked into the pleasant gray eyes of the elderly woman. This was just the kind of woman she would have chosen if the fairy tale were real. But she remembered that ten minutes of her hour were already gone, and she must hurry. “I’ve just stopped in to see if there is any possibility that I could rent, or perhaps buy, a very few feet of your yard, here at the back. I have a little house and I want to put it somewhere right away.” “A house!” said the woman astonished. “Why no, we don’t want to sell any land. This place has been in the family for four generations and it’ll go on to my son when he comes of age. He’s only in high school yet, but he’s fond of the old place, and we don’t want to give up any more land. We’ve just got about enough. My husband wouldn’t think of selling any, not even a foot.” “Would you rent a little spot? It’s a very little house. I could put it quite close to the fence if it was necessary, and away at the back.” “Mercy, no!” said the woman, “We like our privacy. We wouldn’t want another house so close. It’s bad enough to have all those stores across the street. My husband wouldn’t have sold that land if he’d known they were going to build stores--Mercy! What’s that?” The woman had turned with a start of horror, for a flash of light had blazed up from the kitchen that flickered over the room like a sudden illumination, and a pungent odor of burning meat filled the air at the same instant. Strange what a short interval there is between cooking and actual burning, and what a sudden odor burnt meat can impart to a room. The place was filled with it.