With the coming of June, Jeanne began to yearn more than ever for the lake. She told Miss Wardell about it the day she had to stay after school to redraw her map. "Jeannette," asked the teacher, "what possessed you to draw in all those extra lakes? You know there are no lakes in Kansas." "That's why I put them in," explained Jeanne, earnestly. "There ought to be. If there were a large lake in the middle of each state with all the towns on the shore, it would be much nicer. But I didn't mean to hand that map in, it was just a play map. You see, when you can't have any real water you like to make pictures of it." "Are you lonesome for Lake Superior?" "Oh, yes. Last Sunday, when the minister read about the Flood I just hoped it would happen again. Not enough to drown folks, you know, but enough to make a lot of beautiful big lakes--enough to go round for everybody." "You've been to the park?" "Yes, but the lake there isn't as big as our Cinder Pond, and its brick edges are horrid. It looks _built_." "Of course it is artificial; but it's better than none." "Ye-es," admitted Jeanne, very doubtfully. "I guess I like real ones best." Along toward spring, when her "past" had become a little more comfortably remote, Jeanne had made a number of friends among her classmates. She had particularly liked Lizzie McCoy because Lizzie's red hair was even redder than that of the young Duvals, and her freckles more numerous than Sammy's. And Lizzie had liked Jeanne. But when Lizzie had ventured to present herself at Mrs. Huntington's door, she had been ushered by James into the awe-inspiring reception-room, where Mrs. Huntington inspected her coldly. "I came," explained Lizzie, nervously, "to see Jeanne." "I don't seem to recall your name--McCoy. Ah, yes. What is your father's business?" "He's a butcher," returned Lizzie. "Where do you live?" "Spring Street." Mrs. Huntington shuddered. Fancy anyone from Spring Street venturing to ring at her exclusive portal! "Jeannette is not at home," said she. Susie Morris fared no better. Susie was round and pink and pleasant. Everybody liked Susie. Several times she had walked home with Jeanne; but they had always parted at the gate. "Do come in," pleaded Jeanne. "I'll show you my new party dress. It's for the dancing school party; next week, you know." "All right," said Susie. The dress was lovely. Susie admired it in her shrill, piping voice. The sound of it brought Mrs. Huntington down the hall to inspect the intruder. "Jeannette," she asked, "who _is_ this child?" "Susie Morris. She's in my class." "What is her father's business?" "He's a carpenter," piped Susie. "Where do you live!" asked Mrs. Huntington. "Spring Street," confessed Susie. Mrs. Huntington shuddered again. _Another_ child from that horrible street! A blind child could have seen that she was unwelcome. Susie, who was far from blind, stayed only long enough to say good-by to Jeanne.