They turned to accompany her, one on each side, and piloted her safely across the busy avenue. Then, in the quiet stretch of the next block, they proceeded together in complete and embarrassing silence. It was a silence that Marcia and Janet had fully expected their companion to break--possibly to reveal some reason for her errand and her strangeness in the streets. They themselves hesitated to say much, for fear of seeming curious or anxious to force her confidence. But she said not a word. The strain at last became too much for Janet. "I don't blame you for feeling nervous in these city streets," she began. "I'm a country girl myself, and I act like a scared rabbit whenever I go out alone here." The girl turned to her with a little confiding gesture. "I've never been out in them alone before," she said. Then there was another silence during which Marcia and Janet both searched frantically in their minds for something else to say. But it was the girl herself who broke the silence the second time. "Thank you for your music the other day," she said, turning to Marcia. "I heard you. I often hear you and listen." "Oh, I'm so glad you liked it!" cried Marcia. "Do you care for music?" "I adore it," she replied simply. "Look here!" exclaimed Marcia, suddenly; "how did you know it was I that played the violin?" "Because I've watched you often--through the slats!" Marcia and Janet exchanged glances. So the watching was not all on _their_ side of the fence! Here was a revelation! "That last thing you played the other day--will you--will you tell me what it was?" went on their new companion, shyly. "Why, that was Schumann's 'Träumerei,'" answered Marcia. "I love it, don't you?" "Yes but I never heard it before; that is, I never _remember_ hearing it, and yet--somehow I seemed to _know_ it. I can't think why. I don't understand. It's as if I'd _dreamed_ it, I think." Marcia and Janet again exchanged glances. What a strange child this was, who talked of having "dreamed" music that was quite familiar to almost every one. "Perhaps you heard it at a concert," suggested Janet. "I never went to a concert," she replied, much to their amazement. And then, perceiving their surprise, she added: "You see, I've always lived 'way off in the country, in just a little village--till now." "Oh--yes," answered Janet, pretending enlightenment, though in truth she and Marcia were more bewildered than ever. But by this time they had reached the little grocery-shop, and all proceeded inside while their new friend made her purchases. These she read off slowly from a slip of paper, and the grocer packed them in her basket. But when it came to paying for them and making change, she became entangled in a fresh puzzle. "I think you said these eggs were a shilling?" she ventured to the grocer. "Shilling--no! I said they were a quarter," he retorted impatiently. "A quarter?" she queried, and turned questioning eyes to her two friends.