Gloria's second letter to the District Nurse ran thus:

“Dear Miss Winship: I keep thinking of those dreadful houses. Every time I look in a daily paper I expect to read that one of them has tumbled down, and I'm afraid it will be Dinney's house, where that poor, sick woman is—or Straps' house! They ought to tumble down, every one of them, but not till they are emptied of their poor loads of humanity. If they are half as bad inside as they are outside! I keep and keep thinking of them. Think of a girl named Rose being in a house like that, and another girl with Rose for her middle name in a beautiful, great hotel here, or Uncle Em's lovely house at home—both of them Roses. It isn't fair!

“Do you know, I have a plan, but I'm 'most afraid to divulge it—I wouldn't to Uncle Em for the world, yet! He'd laugh the roof off. He says women have no heads for business, and as for girls!—But if not heads, I suppose they might have hearts, and the hearts might ache, the way mine does every time I think of those houses and Straps and Dinney and Hunkie—and the girl with eyes like mine. Yes, I'll tell you. I mean to tear down some of those houses—Dinney's, at any rate. Now, go outdoors and laugh!

“I don't suppose you know it, but Uncle Em's keeping a lot of money for me when I get of age. I'm seventeen now. I never asked how much money I'll have, but it's a lot, I'm sure of that. What I've been planning out in my mind is to use some of that money in building decent houses for Dinney and Straps, and some of the rest you are working for. I can have the old ones torn down. I asked uncle for a runabout, but I'll give that up. I wish I dared ask him how much it costs to tear a house down—I wonder if you couldn't find out for me?

“Aunt Em and I picked out the kind of automobile for me in an advertisement—a little beauty. Last night I dreamed I had it, and the first ride I took it turned into That Street—I couldn't help it; it would go. It—it ran over little Hunkie. Aunt Em heard me scream, and went in and waked me up.

“I'll give up having an automobile.

“Please try to find out who owns Dinney's house—that is the worst block of all, isn't it? Whoever does own that place couldn't ask very much for it. It's such a rickety thing. You see, I've set my heart on having one nice straight human house, anyway, on that street.

“With love,

“GLORIA ROSE.”

The answer to this second letter was not as long as the first letter from the District Nurse. It bore evidence of hurry.

“Dear Gloria: I am getting ready to go back this afternoon—no, my vacation isn't done, but Dinney's poor mother is. She can't wait any longer. I shall be there to-night.

“About the houses—my dear, oh, my dear! It will surprise you to know that those houses are very valuable. It would cost a good deal to buy even one of them, I am afraid. Let me tell you—I'll count up as nearly as I can remember how many rents there are just in Dinney's house; that is five stories high—the basement is the first one.

“Fourteen rents. Some of the rents are just one room or two rooms, you see. Fourteen families pay for living in that house. The entire rental of that one house helps fill somebody's pocketbook 'plum' full.' It was a lovely plan—I cried instead of laughing over it—and when I see you I am going to hug you for it! But, dear, I'll see if I can find out who Somebody is, if you still want to know. It will be a simple matter, I should say. I have never asked who owned any of the 'Pleasant Street' property—I did not seem to want to know. But I'll find out if you really wish me to.

“With love,

“MARY WINSHIP.”

The District Nurse found Dinney's mother was “waiting” when she at last reached her. But her release came soon. With a smile she left them, and Dinney, seeing it, surprised the Nurse by a look of gladness. Then he took Hunkie into his arms and turned away with him as the door opened and a young girl entered. It was Rose. It seemed somehow to Dinney as though a sweet peace filled the room now that his mother's hard-drawn breath was no longer there. He looked through the window and hugged Hunkie close. He was his baby sure, now. In a way that he could not understand, it seemed as though something good had come to his mother. Loving her as he did, he was glad, and realized not his bereavement.

The District Nurse, a day or two later, found time to attend to Gloria's commission. It was at first a little difficult, because she did not apply to the right party, but she persevered, as she wished to tell Gloria in the letter she meant to write that night. She was told of someone who might know, and to that person she repaired at her first leisure. There she was at last successful.

But she did not write to Gloria that night. Her pen would have refused to trace the name she had found—no, no, no, in very mercy it could not! Poor Gloria—dear child! For already the District Nurse loved Gloria. No, she could not tell her who it was owned Dinney's home. Mr. McAndrew's law case concluded, that gentleman was minded to treat himself to a little recreation. It was not fair, he said, for the women folks to have all the fun—they were to turn to now and see that he had his share. With Gloria's willing aid, he made out a modest little itinerary that would give them a sight of several places of interest.

“The more the better!” Gloria said. “We're good for any number of 'em, aren't we, auntie?”

And dear, patient Aunt Em smiled splendidly, and saw the longed-for arrival home pushed farther away. Gloria was innocently selfish; she could not have comprehended easily how anyone could help enjoying this pleasant dallying from place to place.

The trip finally ended several weeks later than was originally planned. The District Nurse's vacation was dimmed by the many days of hard work that had succeeded it; by this time it was more a beautiful memory than a reality. She must have dreamed of sitting lazily rocking, shut in by a circle of blue hills! So many things can happen to a person in a matter even of days—when the person is a busy District Nurse, with a city to take care of.

Gloria, back in her favorite piazza-chair, surveyed the world with rested vision. Very soon she would take up her adopted worries about barren streets and rickety houses, but for the moment she would rock and smooth Abou Ben Adhem's beautiful back.

“You've been lonesome, Old Handsome—needn't tell me! I don't believe you purred a note while I was gone. And I never missed you, sir!” She pulled the low, far-set ears gently. “There was a lovely cat at the hotel,” she added with deliberate malice. “He purred grand operas.” But in her lap the great cat sat unjealously. Gloria's gaze wandered across the street. She wished she knew which was the District Nurse's window. “I'd wave you at it, Abou Ben, just to show her I've got home —but there, she may be district-visiting, and you'd be wasted. We'll watch for her.”

At that very moment the District Nurse was in Rose's room helping to cut out a tiny calico dress. Rose herself was running little sleeves together in a motherly way.

“Tell me some more,” she pleaded. “Is she pretty? Does she do up her hair? What kind of eyes has she?”

“One at a time! You take my breath away,” laughed Miss Winship over her calico breadths. “Yes, she is pretty—I think you will say so. Her hair? I'm sure I don't know what kind of hair she has. Now you may begin again, my dear.”

But Rose's eyes were wistfully musing. They were beautiful eyes, but the rest of Rose, oh, how pinched and meager!

“I kind of thought,” Rose said, “I didn't know but—there now, the idea! Of course I don't want her to be like me!” Rose's voice quivered. “I'd be ashamed of myself to want her to be like me. I was only thinking, that's all. It isn't bad to think, is it? And anyway, we're both Rosies, you say. But they call her Gloria. But she has Rose for one name. I've got that to be glad of!”

Snip—snip—the scissors cut steadily through the crisp cotton goods. “Yes, indeed, you've got that!” the District Nurse said with loving tenderness. She did not look up from her work; at that minute she did not want to see the small, stunted figure sewing tiny sleeves for Dinney's baby.