cellars where Jews kept and sorted over their filthy rags; to dingy
attic spaces where artists made their studios, turning queer,
dilapidated corners into what they called their homes. The third story
of the Randolph house had been let for "light housekeeping apartments";
Keineth herself had helped tack the little black and gilt sign at the
door. The tenants used the side door that let into the brick-paved
alley. Keineth had always felt a great pride in their home--it was
always neatly painted, their steps shone, and there were no papers
collected behind their iron gratings. Even across the park she could
see the bright geraniums blooming in the windows under Madame Henri's
loving care.

Keineth and Tante had two big sleeping rooms facing the square and
Daddy had a smaller room in the back. Dora, the colored maid who kept
the house in order and cooked breakfast and lunch, went away at night.
The rooms were very large, with high ceilings. The windows were long
and narrow and hung with heavy, dusty curtains. The furniture was very
old and very dull and dark, but Keineth loved the great chairs into
which she could curl herself and read for hours at a time.

There were few children in the square for her to play with. Next door
was an Italian family with eight girls and boys, and Keineth sometimes
joined them in the park. Their father kept a fruit stall in the
basement on one of the streets running off from the square. Francesca,
one of the girls, sang very sweetly, often standing on the corner of
the square and singing Italian folk-songs until she had gathered quite
a crowd around her and had collected considerable money. Keineth loved
to listen to her. But Daddy had asked Keineth never to go alone outside
of the square nor out of sight of the windows of their own home, and
Keineth, all her life, had always wanted to do exactly as her father