"It's because of Reginald. He lives under my--under your bureau. He's
really not troublesome; but he's building a nest under the bureau, and if
you don't know about him, it's rather unsettling to see a paper pattern
from the sewing-room, or a piece of cloth, moving across the floor."

Mr. Le Moyne thought it might be very interesting. "Although, if there's
nest-building going on, isn't it--er--possible that Reginald is a lady
ground-squirrel?"

Sidney was rather distressed, and, seeing this, he hastened to add that,
for all he knew, all ground-squirrels built nests, regardless of sex. As a
matter of fact, it developed that he knew nothing whatever of
ground-squirrels. Sidney was relieved. She chatted gayly of the tiny
creature--of his rescue in the woods from a crowd of little boys, of his
restoration to health and spirits, and of her expectation, when he was
quite strong, of taking him to the woods and freeing him.

Le Moyne, listening attentively, began to be interested. His quick mind
had grasped the fact that it was the girl's bedroom he had taken. Other
things he had gathered that afternoon from the humming sewing-machine, from
Sidney's businesslike way of renting the little room, from the glimpse of a
woman in a sunny window, bent over a needle. Genteel poverty was what it
meant, and more--the constant drain of disheartened, middle-aged women on
the youth and courage of the girl beside him.

K. Le Moyne, who was living his own tragedy those days, what with poverty
and other things, sat on the doorstep while Sidney talked, and swore a
quiet oath to be no further weight on the girl's buoyant spirit. And,
since determining on a virtue is halfway to gaining it, his voice lost its
perfunctory note. He had no intention of letting the Street encroach on