It was on the first warm evening in early June that Miss Flora
Blaisdell crossed the common and turned down the street that led to
her brother James's home.

The common marked the center of Hillerton. Its spacious green lawns
and elm-shaded walks were the pride of the town. There was a trellised
band-stand for summer concerts, and a tiny pond that accommodated a
few boats in summer and a limited number of skaters in winter.
Perhaps, most important of all, the common divided the plebeian East
Side from the more pretentious West. James Blaisdell lived on the West
Side. His wife said that everybody did who WAS anybody. They had
lately moved there, and were, indeed, barely settled.

Miss Blaisdell did dressmaking. Her home was a shabby little rented
cottage on the East Side. She was a thin-faced little woman with an
anxious frown and near-sighted, peering eyes that seemed always to be
looking for wrinkles. She peered now at the houses as she passed
slowly down the street. She had been only twice to her brother's new
home, and she was not sure that she would recognize it, in spite of
the fact that the street was still alight with the last rays of the
setting sun. Suddenly across her worried face flashed a relieved
smile.

"Well, if you ain't all here out on the piazza!" she exclaimed,
turning, in at the walk leading up to one of the ornate little houses.
"My, ain't this grand!"

"Oh, yes, it's grand, all right," nodded the tired-looking man in the
big chair, removing his feet from the railing. He was in his shirt-