lonely house, occupied now only by Selwyn and his younger brother
Harrie, then again hurried on. The Avenue with its great width and
unbroken length, its crystal-coated trees and handsome houses, was
now deserted save for hurrying limousines and an occasional
pedestrian; and safe in the fierceness of the snow, from encounter
with old friends, I decided to walk home through the section of the
city which was the only part I once knew well, and just as I decided
I knocked into some one turning a corner as I approached it.

"Oh, Miss Heath!" The woman drew back. "The snow was so thick I
didn't see you. Did I hurt you?"

"Not a bit." I wiped my face, damp with melted flakes which had
brushed it. "What are you doing up here? You look as frozen as I
feel. Have you got on overshoes?"

The woman shook her head. "I haven't got any. I wouldn't have come
out, but I had to bring some work back to Mrs. Le Moyne. If she'd
paid me I'd have bought a pair of rubbers. But she didn't pay me.
She said she'd let me have the money next week."

"Next week! You need it this minute. How much does she owe you?"

"Four seventy-five for these last things, and four twenty-five for
those I made last week. I don't know what I'm going to do." The
woman's hands, cold and stiff, twisted nervously. "I don't reckon
she's ever had to think about rent, or food, or fuel, or overshoes.
People like that don't have to. I wish they did, sometimes."

"So do I. Come on; it's too cold to stop. We'll go down to Benson's