The street consisted of a single sorry-looking row of houses with narrow box-like yards shoved up close to the road, as though there were not acres and acres of open free meadow land behind them. The hills upon which Algonquin was situated ceased abruptly here, and the land spread away in a flat plain along the lake shore. The ground was low and damp, and every house in Willow Lane that had the misfortune to possess a cellar was the abode of disease. A deep ditch ran parallel to the rickety board side-walk. There had just been a week of unceasing rain and it was full of green water. "Oh dear!" said Helen, in distress. "I had no idea there was such a place as this in Algonquin." "People have lived here for years and still seem to have no idea," said Madame. She paused and looked back. "Do you see that house 'way up on the hill yonder? The one with the tower sticking up between the trees? That's Alexander Graham's mansion. And he makes a good deal of his money out of the rents of these houses, and nobody seems to care very much. The people of the churches send down turkeys and plum puddings, and everything good at Christmas time, and seem to think that will do for another year. But the only man who tries to do anything all the time is Angus McRae. I suppose you know that Lawyer Ed calls him the Good Samaritan, and this the Jericho Road." The first house in the dreary row was the turbulent home of Mr. Cassidy, the gentleman who commanded so much of Lawyer Ed's attention. Mrs. Cassidy was on the front veranda washing. It was a pastime she seldom indulged in, for there was never much water in the old leaky rain barrel at the corner of the house. For while Willow Lane had water, water everywhere, the inhabitants had not any drop in which to wash themselves. But the overflowing rain-barrels had tempted Judy to-day, and so her little figure was bobbing up and down over the washboard like a play Judy in a show. She was scrubbing her own clothes, but not her husband's, for Mr. Cassidy and his wife lived each an entirely independent life. They occupied different sections of the house even, and the lady saw to it that her husband's apartments were the coldest in winter and the hottest in summer. This arrangement had been held to, ever since the day that Mike thrashed Judy. It had not been without some provocation, it is true; for though very small, Mrs. Cassidy had a valiant spirit, and had many and varied ways of exasperating her husband's inflammable temper. But Lawyer Ed had appealed to Father Tracy, and that muscular shepherd of his flock had come down upon Willow Lane and thrashed Mike thoroughly and soundly. Since then there had been a sort of armed neutrality in the home of the Cassidys. "Good day, Mrs. Cassidy," called Madame over the little fence. "It's a beautiful day after the rain."