The bedrooms were in better shape, although the bedding was somewhat wet. But the kitchen was ruined. "Of course," thought Lyddy, "there wasn't much to ruin. Everything was cheap enough. But what a mess to clean up!" She looked out of the window across the air-shaft. There was the boy! He nodded and beckoned to her. He had his own window open. Lydia considered that she had no business to talk with this young man; yet he had played the "friend in need" the evening before. "How's your father?" he called, the moment she opened her window. "I do not know yet. They told me not to come to the hospital until nine-thirty." "I guess you're in a mess over there--eh?" he said, with his most boyish smile. But Lyddy was not for idle converse. She nodded, thanked him for his kindness the evening before, and firmly shut the window. She thought she knew how to keep _that_ young man in his place. But she hadn't the heart to do anything toward tidying up the flat now. And how she wished she might not _have_ to do it! "If we could only take our clothing and the bedding and little things, and walk out," she murmured, standing in the middle of the little parlor. To try to "pick up the pieces" here was going to be dreadfully hard. "I wish some fairy would come along and transport us all to Hillcrest Farm in the twinkling of an eye," said Lyddy to herself. "I--I'd rather starve out there than live as we have for the past three months here." She went to the door of the flat just as somebody tapped gently on the panel. A poorly dressed Jewish man stood hesitating on the threshold. "I'm sorry," said Lyddy, hastily; "but we had trouble here last night--a fire. I can't cook anything, and really haven't a thing to give----" Her mother had boasted that she had never turned away a beggar hungry from her door, and the oldest Bray girl always tried to feed the deserving. The man shook his head eagerly. "You ain't de idee got, lady," he said. "I know dere vas a fire. I foller de fires, lady." "You follow the fires?" returned Lyddy, in wonder. "Yes, lady. Don'dt you vant to sell de house-holdt furnishings? I pay de highest mar-r-ket brice for 'em. Yes, lady--I pay cash." "Why--why----" "You vas nodt insured--yes?" "No," admitted Lyddy. "Den I bay you cash for de goots undt you go undt puy new--ain'dt idt?" But Lyddy wasn't thinking of buying new furniture--not at all. She opened the door wider. "Come in and look," she invited. "What will you pay?" "Clodings, too?" he asked, shrewdly. "No, no! We will keep the clothing, bedding and kitchenware, and the like. Just the furniture." The man went through the flat quickly, but his bright, beady eyes missed nothing. Finally he said: "I gif you fifteen tollar, lady." "Oh, no! that is too little," gasped Lyddy. She had begun to figure mentally what it would cost to replace even the poor little things they had. And yet, if she could get any fair price for the goods she was almost tempted to sell out.