"That was lovely of you, Pete," said the elder girl. A surreptitious glance from Murray, and a frank stare from Shirley, proved her to possess a very attractive face, indeed, as she smiled at the stoutly built young man before her. "Yes, everything has come, and mother can keep you busy every minute. Window-washing would n’t _seem_ to come first, but we thought we ’d get at least this little front room in order by night, so that when you all came home----" Her voice was growing indistinct as the passers-by moved reluctantly on. But the younger girl at this point broke in, and her voice, high and eager like Shirley’s own, carried farther: "O Petey, Jane and I are to have the dearest, littlest room you ever saw, right under the eaves. Jane can’t stand up all over, but I can--except close to the wall. It’s so little, Jane thinks we can paper it ourselves. If we can only----" Here the deeper voice of the youth interrupted, and nothing more was distinguishable. Murray and Shirley walked on, both, it must be confessed, wishing they had eyes in the backs of their heads. "Oh, do let’s turn and go back!" begged Shirley, with one quick glance behind. But Murray made her keep on to the corner, and then insisted on crossing the street. "Even now they may guess that we ’re watching them," he said. "Don’t stare so at them, child." "But they’re going in. Oh, look,"--she clutched his arm--"there’s the mother! I’m sure she is. Look! Isn’t she dear?" She did look "dear." She was enveloped in an apron, and her sleeves were rolled up to the elbows revealing a pair of round, white, capable arms. Her abundant gray hair rolled and puffed about her face in a most girlish fashion, her bright, dark eyes were set under arching eyebrows, and her face, almost as fresh in colouring as her daughter’s, was full of charm. The young man, laughing, put an arm about her shoulders, and drew her back with him into the house. The two girls, gathering up their pails and cloths, and exchanging low, gay talk, followed, and the door was closed. The April sunshine suddenly faded out of the narrow side street and left it as commonplace as ever. Yet not quite. Murray and Shirley, gazing across at the dull little brown house. were longing to enter it. It was quite evident that life of a sort they hardly knew was about to be lived within. With this new interest to stimulate him, it was perhaps not strange that Murray should have found it rather easier than usual to get out for his afternoon walk, or that it should have ended by a slow progress through Gay Street. There were somehow so few young people he cared for, and the faces of the three he had seen had struck him as so interesting, that he wondered, as he tapped along with his cane, by what means he could learn to know them. Just as Murray came along the street, the younger of the two girls he had seen opened the door, and holding it ajar, addressed somebody inside in her childishly penetrating voice: