A SILVER rime glistened all down the street.

There was a drabble of dead leaves on the sidewalk which was
of wood, and on the roadway which was of macadam and stiff mud.
The wind blew sharply, for it was a December day and only six
in the morning. Nor were the houses high enough to furnish any
independent bulwark; they were low, wooden dwellings, the tallest
a bare two stories in height, the majority only one story.
But they were in good painting and repair, and most of them
had a homely gayety of geraniums or bouvardias in the windows.
The house on the corner was the tall house. It occupied a larger
yard than its neighbors; and there were lace curtains tied
with blue ribbons for the windows in the right hand front room.
The door of this house swung back with a crash, and a woman darted out.
She ran at the top of her speed to the little yellow house
farther down the street. Her blue calico gown clung about
her stout figure and fluttered behind her, revealing her blue
woollen stockings and felt slippers. Her gray head was bare.
As she ran tears rolled down her cheeks and she wrung her hands.

"Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh, lieber Herr Je!" One near would have heard
her sob, in too distracted agitation to heed the motorneer of
the passing street-car who stared after her at the risk of his car,
or the tousled heads behind a few curtains. She did not stop
until she almost fell against the door of the yellow house.
Her frantic knocking was answered by a young woman in a light
and artless costume of a quilted petticoat and a red flannel sack.

"Oh, gracious goodness! Mrs. Lieders!" cried she.