seem like summer. Hot, spicy smells of good things baking, floated in
from ovens somewhere out of sight.

As Elsie sank down into the little chair, with a deep sigh, Phil
trundled the wheelbarrow into the room, and for the first time the old
woman caught sight of me and the music-box. You should have heard her
exclamations and questions. She laughed at Phil's answers until her
fat sides shook. Little by little she found out the whole truth about
our running away, and seemed to think it very amusing. After we had
rested awhile, Phil offered to give her a private performance. As he
started to wind the music-box, she opened a door into a stairway and
called, "Oh, Meena! Make haste, once already, and bring der baby!"

In answer to her call, a young woman came hurrying down the steps,
carrying a big fat baby, who stared at us solemnly with its round
blue eyes, and stuck its thumb in its mouth. But as the music started,
and I began my dancing, he kicked and crowed with delight. The more he
gurgled and cooed and waved his little fat hands, the broader the
smiles spread on the women's faces. I mention this because the more he
noticed us, the more his grandmother's heart seemed to warm toward us.
When the music stopped, she went out of the room and brought us each a
glass of milk and a little mince pie, hot from the oven.

After we had eaten, Elsie got down on the rug and played with the
baby, although Phil kept insisting that it was time to go. One thing
after another delayed us until it was nearly the middle of the
afternoon before we started out again on the streets. The old woman
pinned Elsie's shawl around her more comfortably, kissed her on each
cheek, and told Phil to hurry home with her, that it was getting too
cold to be wandering around, standing on street corners.