We walked down the quiet, narrow street to the corner,--a proceeding I had intended to omit that day, as it was always as exciting as an afternoon tea, and I did not feel equal to the social chats that would be pressed upon me by the neighborhood "ladies." One of my good policemen was there as usual, and saluted me profoundly. He had carried the last baby over the crossing, and guided all the venturesome small boys through the maze of trucks and horse-cars,--a difficult and thankless task, as they absolutely courted decapitation,--it being an unwritten law of conduct that each boy should weave his way through the horses' legs if practicable, and if not, should see how near he could come to grazing the wheels. Exactly at twelve o'clock, and again at two each day, in rain or sunshine, a couple of huge fatherly persons in brass buttons appeared on that corner and assisted us in getting our youngsters into streets of safety. Nobody had ever asked them to come, their chief had not detailed them for that special duty; and I could never have been bold enough to suggest that a guardian of the peace with an immaculate uniform should carry to and fro a crowd of small urchins with dusty boots and sticky hands. But everybody loved that Silver Street corner, where the quiet little street met the larger noisy one! Not a horse-car driver but looked at his brake and glanced up the street before he took his car across. The truckmen all drove slowly, calling "Hi, there!" genially to any youngster within half a block. And it was a pleasant scene enough to one who had a part in it, who was able to care for simple people, who could be glad to see them happy, sorry to see them sad, and willing to live among them a part of each day, and bring a little sunshine and hope into their lives. "Good afternoon, Mr. Donohue! All safely across?" "All safe, miss! Sorry you troubled to come down, miss. I can be depended on for this corner, miss, an' ye niver need bother yerself about the childern after ye've once turned 'em loose, miss. An' might I be so bold, seein' as how I might not have a better chance--would ye be so kind as to favor me with yer last name, miss? the truth bein' that ivery one calls ye Miss Kate, an' the policemen of this ward is gettin' up rather a ch'ice thing in Christmas cards to presint to ye, come Christmas, because, if ye'll excuse the liberty, miss, they do regard you as belongin' to the special police!" I laughed, thanked him for the intended honor, which had been mentioned to me before, and gave him my card, not without a spasm of terror lest the entire police force should invade my dwelling.