Gloria and Treeless Street

Gloria sat in her favorite chair on the broad veranda. The shadow of the vines made a delicate tracery over her white dress. Gloria was lazily content. She had been comfortable and content for seventeen years.

"There's that queer little thing again, going off with her queer little bag!" Gloria's gaze dwelt on the house across the wide street. Down its steps a small, neat figure was tripping. Gloria recognized it as an old sight-acquaintance.

"I wish I could find out where she goes at just the same time every day! In all the blazing sun--ugh! I'll ask Aunt Em sometime. And that makes me think of what I want to ask Uncle Em!" It was natural that Aunt Em should remind one of Uncle Em. Gloria's thought of the two as the composite guardian of her important young peace and happiness--as well as money. For Gloria was rich.

"I suppose I might go down and ask him this morning. It's a bore, but perhaps it will pay. Abou Ben Adhem, I'll do it!"

Abou Ben Adhem, the great silver cat in her lap, blinked indifferently. He was Gloria's newest pet, so named with the superstitious fancy that it might have the effect of making "his tribe increase," and Abou Ben Adhem's "tribe" was exceedingly valuable. Gloria set the big, warm weight gently down upon its embroidered cushion.

"Good-by, old dear. Be glad you aren't a human and don't have to go down town in a blazing sun!"

A few moments later the dainty girlish figure came out again, gloved and hatted. Aunt Em followed it to the door.

"Walk slowly, dear--just measure your steps! And be sure to take the car at the corner. Perhaps you can bring Uncle Walter back with you."

It was only Gloria who called him Uncle Em. He was not really uncle anyway to Gloria, being merely her kind, good-natured, easily-coaxed guardian. But for ten years he and this sweet-faced elderly woman in the doorway had been father and mother to the orphaned girl.

"Of course he'll come, if I tell him to!" laughed back Gloria from the sidewalk. "Auntie, please ask Bergitta to come out and move Abou Ben's cushion into the shade when the sun gets round to him. He'd never condescend to move without the cushion."

At the corner no car was in sight and Gloria proceeded at a leisurely pace to the settee that offered a comfortable waiting-place a block above. The small, neat person of the House Across the Street was there with her big, shabby bag. She moved over invitingly.

"But you'd better not sit down!" she said laughingly. "If you do, no car will ever come! I've been here a small age."

The shabby bag between them attracted Gloria's curious gaze. It might contain so many different things--even a kit of unholy tools, jimmies and things! It looked decidedly like that kind of a bag.

"A fright, isn't it? If I ever got time, I could black it, or ink it, or something, but I never shall get the time. I don't wonder you look at it--everybody does." "Oh!" Gloria hurried apologetically, "I didn't mean to be rude! I was just trying to make up my mind what was in it."

"Well, did you?" The face of the small, neat person bubbled with soft laughter. Her hand went out and stroked the old bag's sides affectionately. "Give you three guesses!"

"I don't need but one!" laughed Gloria. A pleasant little intimacy seemed already established between the two of them.

"Well, guess one, then?"

"A--jimmy!"

"Gracious!" laughed the Small Person. "Do I look as bad as that? No," growing suddenly quite grave, "you will have to guess again. I'll give you a cue--absorbent cotton."

"Absorb--" began Gloria in surprise, but stopped. The bag was open under her eyes. She caught a confused glimpse of bottles and rolls of something carefully done up in white tissue, of a dark blue pasteboard box with a red cross on the visible end, of curiously-shaped scissors.

"See any jimmy?" queried the one beside her.

"No, but I don't know what I do see."

"My dear--there's our car! Let me introduce you. The workbag, if you please, of the District Nurse, Mary Winship. I have not the pleasure--"

"Gloria Abercrombie," bowed Gloria politely, but her eyes danced. She liked this small, neat Mary Winship. They got into the car together.

"I live right across the street," Gloria added, when they were safely seated.

"So do I! I've seen you over there rocking a magnificent gray cat. Does it feel good?"

"The cat--Abou Ben Adhem? He's the warmest, softest thing!"

"No, sitting. I hardly ever do it, so I'm not a good judge. You always look so rested over there--it rests me to see you."

The pleasant laugh jostled with the lurching of the car; it had the effect of being tremulous with some emotion, but there was nothing tremulous about the placid face beside Gloria.

"You poor dear!" Gloria burst out impetuously. "How tired to pieces you must get! I've pitied you every one of these hot days."

"Don't!" smiled the other. "Pity my poor folks. Why, here's my street so soon!" She clambered down with her heavy bag and nodded back.

Gloria watched her trip away. The street she had stopped at was not a pleasant looking one; Gloria had time to see that it was lined with houses that leaned toward each other in an unattractive manner. And the children--the swift impression Gloria got was of a street lined, too, with little unattractive children.

"Not a tree on it," she mused as the car jolted her on to Uncle Em's. "Think of no trees! And whole mobs of children, and such a day as this!" It was terribly hot. "I wonder what a District Nurse is? Well, I like 'em!"

Arrived at the great building among whose offices was that of Walter McAndrew, Attorney-at-Law, Gloria's thoughts were turned into a new channel. She remembered that she had come down town on important business, and it was up two flights in this office building where she was to transact it. Uncle Em was Walter McAndrew, Attorney-at-Law.

She took the elevator and was presently at the right door. She went in unceremoniously; it was one of her favorite visiting-places. Mr. McAndrew looked up and gravely bowed.

"Take a seat, madam, and I will be at liberty in a few moments," he began politely. But "Madam's" small, white hand, placed over his lips, interrupted. "You are at liberty now--this minute, Uncle Em!" said Gloria.

The man at the desk shrugged his shoulders, then, helping her to a comfortable seat on the arm-chair, said:

"All right. What is it, Rosy Posie?"

"Uncle Em, am I rich?"

"Er--what's that? Oh, well," judiciously, "you'll do."