whether the decency in me has all evaporated."

"We'll try you; and I'm sure you have lots of reserve force, Hetty,"
cried Patsy, jumping up impulsively to take the artist's soiled, thin
hand in her own. "Come with me to the hotel and I'll get you a room.
Where is your baggage?"

"Didn't bring it. I wasn't sure I'd like the country, or that you'd care
to trust me. In New York they know me for what I'm worth, and I get lots
of work and good advice--mixed with curses."

"We'll send for your trunk," said Patsy, leading the girl up the street.

"No; it's in hock. But I won't need it. With no booze to buy I can
invest my earnings in wearing apparel. What a picturesque place this is!
Way back in the primitive; no hint of those namby-pamby green meadows
and set rows of shade trees that make most country towns detestable;
rocks and boulders--boulders and rocks--and the scraggly pines for
background. The wee brook has gone crazy. What do you call it?"

"Little Bill Creek."

"I'm going to stab it with my pencil. Where it bumps the rocks it's
obstinate and pig-headed; where it leaps the little shelves of slate
it's merry and playful; where it sweeps silently between the curving
banks it is sulky and resentful. The Little Bill has moods, bless its
heart! Moods betoken character."

Patsy secured for Hetty a pleasant room facing the creek.