"Why, the next door people. It would make them feel as though they really had neighbors and, of course, I can’t go over to see the girl till the house is settled." "If you’d been going to do that," Dick said rather reprovingly, "you ought to have baked more than two pans. But then," he added with an evident effort to be generous, "I guess they need them more than we do. Go ahead." The rolls came out of the oven just the golden-brown that Peggy wanted. Peggy might draw a sheep that looked like an own cousin to a Newfoundland dog, but she had the joy of a real artist in her cookery. With shining eyes she gazed upon the work of her hand. "They’re perfect," she announced, with an unsuccessful effort at a judicial air. "They do look good enough to eat," Dick agreed. "Say, give me one. I’m hungry." "And I’m hungry, too," cried Dorothy, edging close. "When the next pan comes out," Peggy promised. "I’ll run over with these so our neighbors will know what they’ve got to depend on for luncheon." She set her rolls on a plate, threw a napkin over them, and without stopping to remove her apron, crossed the yard to the next house. The kitchen window was still open, and as Peggy stood upon the steps she heard the sharp tinkle of broken glass. "There’s something gone to smash. Dear me, what a time they’re having," thought Peggy, wishing her acquaintance with the new arrivals was sufficiently advanced so that she could offer to lend her aid, for her capable fingers fairly itched to assist in bringing order out of the chaos within. She knocked, and, after waiting for some minutes, knocked again, this time a little louder. "Elaine!" a voice cried. "Elaine! Somebody’s at the back door." "O dear!" someone else said distinctly, and Peggy’s color heightened, even though she felt confident that the speaker’s mood would change as soon as she knew her caller’s errand. "So her name is Elaine," Peggy thought, as footsteps slow, and seemingly reluctant, sounded on the bare floors. "Such a pretty name." The door opened violently and a girl looked out. It was the same black-gowned girl Peggy had watched from her window a few days earlier, but, on this occasion, her appearance was decidedly less prepossessing. Apparently she had neglected to comb her hair that morning, or else her forenoon’s occupation had been strenuous enough to obliterate all traces of that ceremony. Her apron was soiled. She wore an expression of weary discouragement, which seemed as incongruous with her girlish face as white hair would have done. The eyes she turned upon Peggy were anything but friendly, and yet at the sight of her, Peggy’s heart swelled with a sympathy that was almost tender. "Good morning!" Peggy extended her offering with a cordial smile. "I know how busy you must be getting settled, and I brought you over a plate of rolls. I live--"