from one end of our apartment to the other. Just as I hung the last damp
garment, the bell rang, and there stood an immaculate gentleman in a
cutaway and silk hat, who had come to call--an old friend of my
mother's. He ducked under wet clothes, and we set two chairs where we
could see each other, and yet nothing was dripping down either of our
necks; and there we conversed, and he ended by inviting us both to
dinner--on Marlborough Street, at that! He must have loved my mother
very dearly to have sought further acquaintance with folk who hung the
family wash in the hall and the living-room and dining-room. His house
on Marlborough Street! We boldly and excitedly figured up on the way
home, that they spent on the one meal they fed us more than it cost us
to live for two weeks--they honestly did.

Then there was the dear "Jello" lady at the market. I wish she would
somehow happen to read this, so as to know that we have never forgotten
her. Every Saturday the three of us went to the market, and there was
the Jello lady with her samples. The helpings she dished for us each
time! She brought the man to whom she was engaged to call on us just
before we left. I wonder if they got married, and where they are, and if
she still remembers us. She used to say she just waited for Saturdays
and our coming. Then there was dear Granny Jones, who kept a
boarding-house half a block away. I do not remember how we came to know
her, but some good angel saw to it. She used to send around little bowls
of luscious dessert, and half a pie, or some hot muffins. Then I was
always grateful also--for it made such a good story, and it was true--to
the New England wife of a fellow graduate student who remarked, when I
told her we had one baby and another on the way, "How interesting--just
like the slums!"

We did our own work, of course, and we lived on next to nothing. I