* * * * *

"Uncle Em, aren't tenements unsafe to live in," Gloria asked at supper,
"when they lean every which way? Oughtn't there to be a law to tear them
down?" Gloria was too intent on her own musings to intercept the swift
glance her guardian gave her.

"Supposing one tumbled down, with little children in it and outside it!
What did they name that awful street Pleasant Street for?"

Aunt Em's comely face wore a queer expression. She began to speak, then
stopped.

"Don't you want to hear what kind of a runabout I ordered on the way
home, Rosy-Posie?" What freak of fate made Uncle Em call her Rosy-Posie?
Gloria winced as if with pain at thought of the girl Rosie--with eyes
like hers--on Treeless Street.

"There's a girl named Rosie with eyes like mine, on Pleasant Street!"
she cried. "A boy told me so. I hate that street!" She got up suddenly
and went away.

The two left behind exchanged glances. Aunt Em's eyes were troubled.

"Walter, whatever started the child up to go round exploring streets?"
she said.

"Goodness knows! But don't get worked up over nothing."