was a baby. Their mother was the busy, worried, overworked director of a large French dressmaking establishment on Fifth Avenue. By her earnings she supported her family in moderate comfort and maintained the little house in Charlton Street, which had always been their home. She went away to business early every morning, and often did not arrive home till late in the evening, especially in the "rush" seasons. Thus she saw little of her children except on Sundays, and then she was usually too tired to enjoy their company, though she loved them devotedly.

It was big, loyal Sarah McKinstry who really ran and directed the household. She had lived with the family ever since Mrs. Bronson had come to the Charlton Street house, a bride, and considered it her own. Little, frail, ailing Margaret she adored with a passionate22 and jealous devotion. Margaret never teased her, as did the twins, and many a weary night had she spent sitting up with the little sufferer when the pain was worse than usual. Her sharp tongue she used on the others unsparingly, but never on the delicate child in the invalid-chair. Nevertheless, as a matter of fact, she was really devoted to them all. And though they, perhaps, never expressed it in quite that way, they knew that the heart of Sarah McKinstry was as a precious jewel in a setting of cast-iron.

22

So on this sunny afternoon sat Margaret in her window, wondering much about the coming visit,—wondering for the hundredth time if she would really like this queer Corinne Cameron, and—which was even more important—would she be liked in return.

The clock on the mantel chimed three, and Margaret began to crane her neck in order to see as far down the street as possible. They would come from the Varick Street end of the block, she knew, because they always walked down that way, in preference to the shorter but23 not so pleasant route through Macdougal Street.

23

At three-fifteen precisely they swung into view. The twins, who looked very much alike, were walking one on each side of a tall girl, who topped them by almost a head. Margaret gave a little gasp and leaned far out of her chair. In one swift glance she scanned the new acquaintance, as the three came abreast of the house.

"Oh, I'm going to like her—surely!" she whispered, as she waved in answer to the triple salute. Then she drew back suddenly behind the curtains in a new access of shyness, now that the encounter was really so close.

But if 

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