accepted all its comforts and love. Yet Gloria was not selfish--only
young. Gloria's father had been a keen business man, and the investments
of his money as he earned it had been of the kind that fatten men's
pocketbooks, however lean they may make the bodies of other men.

For the time, Treeless Street, lined with little children, vanished from
Gloria's mind. The journey she began so promptly was a new one to her,
and with the first appearance of daylight the first morning she was
ready to enjoy it. Unlike Aunt Em, she was fresh and vigorous after the
night in the sleeper; she did not even dream of her recent discoveries
in streets. No old-faced little boys in reefed man-trousers appealed to
her sleeping pity.

[Illustration: It would be something interesting to do.]

"Best thing we could have done," whispered Uncle Em to his wife,
watching the girl's animated face. "But I'm afraid it's going to be
tough on you, my dear."

"Never mind me," smiled back his wife cheerfully. She was at that moment
warm and wearied, with a dull headache with which to begin the day. But
Aunt Em was the sort of woman who courts discomforts which to her loved
ones masquerade in the guise of comforts. She had never been given a
daughter of her own to make sacrifices for; she must make the most of
Gloria.

"I wish you liked to travel as well as Gloria and I do, my dear." His
wife did not like to travel at all; it was a species of torture to her.

"I like to have you and Gloria like it," she smiled.