NO, I will not," said Beatrice decidedly.

"But the children will be so disappointed. They will have their reports all ready, and there will be almost no one here to hear them. Neither mother nor father can be present. And the little ones are so fond of you."

Even this mixture of pathos and diplomacy failed to touch Bea's flinty heart. "I don't wish to be here," she replied.

"But you said last night you would."

"That was before I knew you were going to invite every Tom, Dick and Harry in the neighbourhood."

Miss Billy was roused immediately. "I suppose by that you mean Mr. Francis Lindsay," she said with spirit; "I invited him here on purpose. I want to be especially nice to him just because you were so mean and sniffy to him the night of our call. That was my blunder, and you needn't empty the vials of your wrath on him. He was as gentlemanly and pleasant as he could be, and did his very best to make us forget that we were two girls calling upon a boy. Besides, he is interested in this kind of work—he told me so himself. And the children all adore him,—and mother said I might."

The speaker paused, breathless.

"It is none of my affair whom you choose to invite to the house," said Beatrice coldly. "But I prefer not to see him."

"All right, don't, then," retorted Miss Billy wrathfully. "I'll ask Marie Jean, instead. She'll be glad to come, I guess. But I don't understand you at all, Bea. It isn't like you to be so petty and small."

Beatrice walked away without another word, and Miss Billy marched defiantly to the Hennesy fence, and vaulted lightly over. It was wicked of Miss Billy, for she knew that this tomboyish expression of independence would be most irritating to Beatrice.

Marie Jean Hennesy, sitting with her embroidery on the back porch, looked amazed at the breathless apparition which appeared over the fence.

"You're the very one I wanted to see," said Miss Billy. "The Street Improvement Club is going to meet in our yard this morning, and the children are going to read reports of what they have accomplished. I'm sure you'd be interested, and I do wish you'd come and hear them."

Marie Jean was not so enthusiastic. "I don't know," she said doubtfully. "I was intending to finish this work to-day."

"I do wish you'd come," urged Miss Billy. "There will be no one there besides the children, except Mr. Lindsay,—the young man staying at Mr. Schultzsky's. I think you'd enjoy it."

Marie Jean folded her linen slowly. "Maybe I'll come," she decided, "if I can get my dress changed in time."

"Don't stop to fix up," cautioned Miss Billy. "Come as soon as you can."

"You'd betther be makin' haste, Mary Jane," called Mrs. Hennesy from the foot of the stairs ten minutes later. "I seen the children go trapesing into Miss Billy's a minute ago, an' I guess maybe they're waitin' on you."

Marie Jean deigned no reply. She tipped her mirror at a more satisfactory angle, as she applied Mde. Juneau's Bloom of Youth to her freckled nose, and gave a sigh of satisfaction at the result. Then she surveyed the vision before her with a pleased smile. A dream in blue smiled back at her from the glass,—a dream in a striking costume of brilliant blue foulard, with pointed neck and elbow sleeves. A faded blue hat was perched sideways upon the heavy reddish hair, and a pair of long silk mitts in another shade of blue completed the attire.

Marie Jean pursed up her lips to produce an elongated dimple in one cheek. "If I could only remember to do that every once in a while!" she said to herself. From the hush that pervaded the hall below Marie Jean suspected that her mother, with her nose pressed tightly against the window pane, was assuring herself as to the condition of affairs in the next yard. Her suspicions were confirmed by the call that followed:

"Young Mr. Lindsay has came now, Mary Jane. He's all in white, close, hat, shoes an' all. Sure ol' man Schultzsky'll be worryin' about his laundry bills. They're all a sittin' round on the grass with him an' Miss Billy. You'd best make haste."

This had the desired effect. There was a hurried moving about in the room upstairs, and two minutes later the daughter of the family appeared, fluffing her frizzes to their widest extent, and giving a final hitch to her openwork stockings.

"Whose sun shade is that yer afther carryin'?" asked the mother.

"It's one I borrowed from Lily Corcoran to match my suit," answered Marie Jean cautiously. "Don't be lettin' the neighbours know about it, either."

Mrs. Hennesy withered beneath the reproof. "Of course I'll not spake of it," she said. "It was a slipsy of the tongue, Mary Jane."

Her daughter accepted the apology in the spirit in which it was given, for her time was too limited for haughtiness. "All right," she said condescendingly, as she hurried down the walk.

There was a commotion in the Lee yard as the vision in blue appeared around the corner of the house. Marie Jean in her usual clothes was not to be lightly regarded, but in this new and startling costume the effect was electrifying to the spectators. Little Aaron Levi, who was holding the floor, became suddenly affected with stage fright, and the small Canarys stared open mouthed. Fridoline alone arose to the emergency and inquired in a loud and interested tone, "Hallo, Mary Jane. Where'd you get that hat?"

Miss Billy hurried forward to greet her guest.

"We were afraid you were not coming," she said cordially, "so we went on with our reports. Won't you sit down." She cast a rueful look at the gay costume. "I'm afraid you won't dare to sit on the grass with the rest of us. Let's begin over again, Aaron."

Marie Jean took the garden chair that Francis offered and smiled sweetly at him, not forgetting to exhibit the elongated dimple; Miss Billy settled back on the grass; and Aaron Levi took up his half-finished sentence.

It was the first meeting of the Civic Improvement Department of the Child Garden. The Street Improvement Club, as they had chosen to call themselves, had been successfully organised and valiantly living up to their motto of "Be clean and keep clean." The life of a missionary is never easy, and Cherry Street had made it particularly hard for the little band of workers who fought so bravely against the dirt, disorder and disease in their surroundings. It would have been hopeless to try to interest the older people, but the children were all enthusiastic little citizens, and their interest in the work had won over many of the fathers and mothers who had opposed the idea of cleanliness as "putting on airs." Already the street had begun to show improvement, and the reports of the children plainly told under what difficulties some of the sturdy members had worked.

Aaron Levi, with a long sheet of soiled foolscap, which effectually concealed a large portion of his anatomy, read the first report in loud and distinct tones:

"Very good," said Miss Billy heartily, as Aaron, flushed with emotion and heat, took his place on the grass. "Aaron, I'm proud of you. If we all do work of that kind there won't be need for our club always. Ginevra, have you something to read to us?"

Ginevra twisted her apron about in her small brown hands.

"I didn't write mine," she murmured faintly. "It's only about an orange peel, anyway."

"Can't you tell us, then?" encouraged Miss Billy.

"There was a man goin' up Cherry Street last night, an' he was eatin' a orange, an' droppin' the peelin' right on the sidewalk. An' I said to him 'Mister, please don't drop those on the walk.' And he didn't pay no attention to me, an' so I walked along behind him an' just picked them up myself."

Ginevra's patient little story was most touching, and Miss Billy and Francis exchanged quick glances of sympathy. Marie Jean settled the folds of her gown, and smiled. "How perfectly lovely," she remarked to no one in particular.

"Isn't it interesting?" asked Miss Billy proudly. "Frank Murphy, you come next. What have you done?"

Frank's report was brief and to the point. "There was a dead rat out in the street. It was big and smelt awful. I poked it with a stick, but it was so smelly I couldn't take it in my hands. So I brought the cat out and she et it up."

The fastidious sense of Marie Jean was much offended by the story, but she bravely accepted the custom of the Romans, and only indicated her disgust by a slight elevation of the nose, as Frank's successor was announced, and Launcelot, in a high state of excitement and a huge red necktie, took the floor.

"Our slop barrel was running over. And ma wanted to give some of it to Hennesy's chickens, and I wouldn't let her because it ud make Hennesy's yard look worse than ever. And she said it was the slop collector's fault and that Cherry Street was always neglekted. And I said I'll see to it. And I went to see the slop gentleman at the city hall and told him about the slop running over, and the germs that were just flying round loose inside, and I spoke fierce and he said he'd 'tend to it. And I said he'd better and he said he would and he did. An' we've smelled nice ever since.

"And Johanna who lives with old man Schultzsky threw tin cans into the street, and we kids waited till night an' then stuck them all along on the pickets to his fence, an' she don't do it any more. An' I asked ma not to wash me and Mike in the same water, and she said all right if I'd carry in fresh water and I did.

"An' there was a grocery boy dropped a egg on our walk, and I made him clean it up.

"An' I got two kids to sign our pledge, and they'll come to every meetin' where there's going to be grub."

Launcelot's recital was followed by a chorus of admiration. Francis' face was hidden, but his shaking shoulders showed his emotion, and Miss Billy's eyes danced as she patted the small workman upon the shoulder, exclaiming, "Bravo, Launcelot! You're our Master Constable."

"Now me," begged little Mike.

"Are even the babes in arms mustered into service?" asked Francis.

"To be sure they are," responded the hostess. "Mike is one of our best workers. Tell us about it, dear."

"A boy camed and shaked our new 'ittle twee. An' I said 'No, no, boy,' and he wunned away. And Fwiddie helped me make a fence wound it," lisped the little lad.

Even Marie Jean was delighted with the childish recital, and she joined enthusiastically in the applause which followed. Little Mike buried his face in his sister's lap, and only glanced out shyly when Friddie began his report.

"I'm using my ecspress wagon to clean up the streets with," he began. "I go out early every morning, and Aaron Levi helps me. We pick up all the trash in the street an' pile it in my wagon, and sometimes there's two loads of it. We sell it to Mr. Hennesy for fillin' holes with. He gives us a cent a load. We bought nine cents worth of taffy on a stick last week, an' we're goin' to save up to buy a patrol wagon."

One by one the other reports followed. Lena Engel had burned a pile of rubbish in the alley; Moses Levi had gathered all the old rags on the street and sold them to the ragman; Mary O'Shea had planted grass seed in her yard; Pius Coffee had cut down "eight stacks of weeds"; the little Moriaritys had "filled up a sink hole" on their premises; Jacob Kohn had stopped putting ashes in the street; and two of the larger boys had placed a box on the corner, for the disposal of rubbish. Even the tiniest children had their small stories to tell, and Miss Billy glowed with pride as the last member of the Street Cleaning Brigade was heard from.

"Isn't that splendid?" she said, with face aglow, as she turned to her two older guests. "Just think what it will mean to Cherry Street to have citizens of this kind growing up on it!"

Francis had risen from his place on the grass, and was facing the small audience. "May I give my report?" he asked, his brown eyes twinkling mischievously through his sedate glasses.

Miss Billy's pleased face was consent enough.

"You all know how long I have lived on Cherry Street," began Francis; "just long enough to be greatly interested in your work, and yet not long enough to accomplish much. During that time I have had two sidewalks repaired, a new one laid, and some curbing reset. I have taken down three fences. I have cleared my uncle's yard of weeds, and we are beginning repairs on his house. I don't know what one's qualifications must be to belong to your club, but I should like to join,—here and now."

The members of the Street Improvement Club cheered with enthusiasm at this delightful addition to their number. But there was a greater surprise in store for them.

"And so would I," said Marie Jean unexpectedly.

Whether it was Francis' example, or the reports of the little ones, that had inspired the action, it would be hard to say; but the cause of Marie Jean's conversion was not inquired.

The pledge was brought out, and amid vociferous applause the names of Marie Jean Hennesy and Francis Wilde Lindsay were added to the roll.

"The feast of reason and the flow of soul has come to an end," announced Miss Billy, as she collected the written reports, and laid them in a neat pile on the grass. "But our mundane bodies are yet to be fed. On yonder porch there sits a jug, and in the jug there is some beer—only root, however. Launcelot, if I pour the drink which cheers but not inebriates, will you pass the cakes?"

"Yes-um," replied the boy with alacrity.

Marie Jean's face was expressive of a little disappointment as Francis rose from the grass and followed Miss Billy and Launcelot to the porch.

"I wonder if I can help her," she said to Ginevra.

Ginevra's unchildish eyes turned upon the speaker. "She don't need no help," she said slowly. "Mr. Francis needn't 'a' gone. He just went 'cause he likes her company-ship."

The children had finished their root beer, and noisily rounded the corner of the house; and Marie Jean had reluctantly departed with repeated assurances of her aid in the future, when Miss Billy and Francis sat down in the deserted yard.

"It has been a great success," he said. "I cannot thank you enough for permitting me to enjoy the morning with you. It's a fine work, Miss Lee."

The girl looked up brightly. "It was interesting," she admitted. "The little ones have worked so faithfully and well. I am proud of them all. But there is so much yet to accomplish. I think Cherry Street has been effectually aroused, and we can depend on the children to keep it awake. But it will take so much money to do what we wish, and our hands are practically empty."

Francis was silent for a few moments. "Are there no ways of raising money?" he said finally. "Seems to me there's energy enough in this club to earn some."

"We're going to do that," said Miss Billy. "We are planning a lawn fÊte now. The mothers are all going to help us, and the children have been working like Trojans. It will be held in our yard, and we shall demand your attendance, and maybe your services. Everybody on the street will be roped in to help. Of course we will raise some money in this way, but there are so many things to spend it for. It won't go half way round."

Francis pondered.

"Why don't you try for the Hanson prize?" he asked finally.

"What is the Hanson prize?"

"Why, haven't you heard? The papers are full of it to-day. Peter Hanson, the New York florist, offers a prize of one hundred dollars to be voted to improvements on any city street which makes the greatest change for the better during this year. The money is to be awarded about December 25, and the judges are to decide from photographs,—the 'before and after taking' style, you know."

Miss Billy's eyes sparkled.

"I wish we could," she exclaimed.

"Well, why can't you? Look what fine work you've done in short time. Think what you can accomplish in almost four months. You won't have to do much to make a great improvement here, for every little thing will show. I'll bring out my camera, and we'll take our first picture to-morrow morning. Then we'll go to work together."

"Will you help me?" asked Miss Billy delightedly.

"To be sure I will. Am I not the agent on Cherry Street, and will not every improvement benefit my uncle's property? It's all a matter of business, you see. You'll let me help you, won't you?" He held out his hand questioningly. The brown eyes looked into the grey ones steadily and earnestly. Miss Billy put her hand into his with a grateful look that spoke volumes.

"I shall be glad of help," she said simply.