Lucy Olcott had been a frequent visitor of late. Through Mrs. Wiggs
she had gotten interested in Mrs. Schultz, and often stopped in to
read to the bedridden old lady. Here, of course, she heard a great
deal about the Eichorns, the elite of the Cabbage Patch, whose
domestic infelicities furnished the chief interest in Mrs. Schultz's
life. Lucy had even stood on a chair, at the invalid's earnest
request, to count the jars of preserves in the Eichorn pantry. Later
she had become acquainted with Miss Hazy, the patient little woman
in monochrome, whose whole pitiful existence was an apology when it
might have been a protest.

In fact, Lucy became an important personage in the neighborhood. She
was sought for advice, called upon for comfort, and asked to share
many joys. Her approach was usually heralded by a shout, "That's
her a-comin'!" and she was invariably escorted across the commons by
a guard of ragged but devoted youngsters. And the friendship of
these simple people opened her eyes to the great problems of
humanity, and as she worked among them and knew life as it was, the
hard little bud of her girlhood blossomed into the great soft rose
of womanhood.

"Didn't you meet Mr. Bob up the street?" asked Mrs. Wiggs, as she
led the way into the kitchen. "Him an' Billy have jes' left, goin'
out to the fair grounds. Mr. Bob's jes' naturally the best man I
ever set eyes on, Miss Lucy! Got the biggest heart, an' always doin'
something kind fer folks. Jes' now talkin' 'bout gittin' Asia a
place at the tile fact'ry. I don't see how you missed 'em! If he'd
a sawn you with them vi'lets in yer belt, an' them roses in yer
cheeks, I bet he wouldn't 'a' went."