It was only for a few minutes, and meanwhile Lewis, the coachman, had returned, and the matter of the loose saddle-girth had been fully discussed by all three. Then Peter took his way home. Jane met him at the door. "Did you find where the plasterer lives?" she asked, eagerly. Peter stared at her, turned about, and gazed across the street, as if he expected to see a plasterer following in his path, trowel and float in hand. Then he burst into a laugh. He mumbled something which sounded like a very peculiar name, if it was a name, and rapidly retraced his footsteps across the street, to make his inquiry of Lewis, the coachman. CHAPTER III PETER SEES A LIGHT The Bells had been at home for a fortnight in Gay Street. The little house was in order from cellar to roof, and its occupants had settled down to the routine of their daily living, well content with the new abode. In a way they missed the larger house and freer environments of the remote suburban place they had left, but the early hour at which Mr. Bell and the boys were now able to reach home, and the later one at which they could leave in the morning, amply compensated for the more cramped quarters made necessary by the higher rates of rental in the city. "It’s not a very friendly neighborhood, though, is it, Janey?" commented Peter one evening, as he and Jane stood on the porch, enjoying the mild mid-April evening. "How many calls have you had? Two?" "Three," corrected Jane, cheerfully. "The two old ladies on the right, the mother of six the left, and one odd person from Westlake Street. The rest are still looking us over." "Nobody from Worthington Square?" Peter’s tone was quizzical. "Absolutely nobody," Jane laughed. "But we have one acquaintance in Worthington Square, Peter--the little Townsend girl with the sweet, pale face. She wants to know us dreadfully, and she’s such a dear, democratic little person the smiles positively tremble on her mouth when I meet her--which I do almost every day. So does Nancy. It ’s the oddest thing! Nan says she almost never stirs out that the Townsend child does n’t appear." "She wants to get acquainted. I don’t blame her. They ’re the dullest lot over there. There seems to be one stirabout--the good-looking chap who ’s off on horseback every day. But the other son ’s a paleface, and the daughter--hum--well----" Peter’s pause was eloquent. "I think she’s---- Hello! What’s that?"