from 1712, and occupying the site of the home of Anne Hutchinson, banished from the colony for thinking for herself, up School Street to Tremont Street, and thence past King's Chapel built by a royal governor to provide in spite of the Puritans a place for Episcopal worship, past Granary Hill Burying Ground in which are the graves of many distinguished persons, Samuel Adams and Paul Revere, for example, to the Park Street Church, an evidence again of New England loyalty to the past, for it occupies what would be perhaps the best business corner in all Boston, and finally and appropriately to the Common, the heart of the city, to which all streets and by-paths in the old days inevitably led. Up one side towards the gilded dome of the Massachusetts State House runs Park Street, at the top of the hill intersecting Beacon Street, which continues the boundary of the Common on the west. Down the east side runs Tremont Street, next to Washington Street, the most important in Boston, and very beautiful and very typically Boston with its solid wall of business buildings on one side and its tree covered stretches of green on the other.

One part of the Boston subway runs under the Common. Entering at the Park Street Station with the help of a flashing electric light sign, we find a car for Cambridge and after much crowding among the jam of people, we get on it and are soon out of the subway in a dignified part of Boston, passing the new Old South Church, and the great white Boston Public Library, and reaching Massachusetts Avenue, along which, across the Charles on the Harvard Bridge, and through Cambridgeport near the river we speed in Cambridge, our starting point in the morning. The back

ward view, from the bridge especially, is the view of Boston that one does not wish to fade from one's memory,-a great stretch of brown brick houses, edged evenly by the river, marked here and there by towering church spires, broken toward the business centre, first by green, the trees on the Common, and finally by the higher and more irregular business structures, obtaining distinctive character from the high gilded dome of the Massachusetts State House. Cambridge is unpretentious but dignified. Beyond Cambridge, Massachusetts Avenue continues through North Cam

Emerson's Home (at the Top), Lowell's Home (in the Middle), and Longfellow's Home (at the Bottom). Three typical New England homes. Emerson's home is in Concord, the others are in Cambridge. The Longfellow House was formerly the Craigie House; it was Washington's headquarters during the siege of Boston.

bridge, Arlington, Lexington, to Concord. Its present name is new. From North Cambridge it is the historic route of the British soldiers on the Nineteenth of April, 1775.

Nearness to a thing, which is great too often makes us dull to its greatness. A pilgrimage like ours reminds us of the glow of admiration with which a Harvard student from the West first treads the Cambridge streets. Massachusetts Hall in the Harvard College yard, now used as a recitation hall, was built in 1720. With three other Harvard buildings it was used as a barracks by the American soldiers who gathered to besiege Boston after the Lexington and Concord fight. The Wadsworth House, dating back to 1747, formerly the college president's home, was Washington's headquarters before he moved to the Craigie House out on Brattle Street. Brattle Street was Tory Row, and is still the aristocratic street of this old college town. That same Craigie House was afterwards Longfellow's home; it is now the home of his daughter, Miss Alice Longfellow. Leading off Brattle Street further out is

Elmwood Avenue, on which stands Elmwood, James Russell Lowell's old home. Not far beyond is Mt. Auburn Cemetery, the most famous in some ways in America, in which lie buried a mightly host-Longfellow, Lowell, Holmes, Bancroft, the historian, Booth, the actor, Agassiz the scientist, and many others. Across the Across the Cambridge Common from the college yard stands the elm under which Washington took command of his army. Nearer, on the same street, is Christ Church, used as barracks at the opening of the Revolutionary War and lending the lead in its pipe organ for soldiers' bullets. On the Harvard Law School grounds is the site of Holmes's home, in front of which the Americans stopped for prayer on their march to fortify Bunker Hill. All about are the memories of past activity and achievement. All about too is opportunity for present activity, much of which should be achievement, carried on here where memories are rich and where the desire is strong to be worthy of those who have left them.

The strident pound of notes from the big music machine in the skating hall and the click of wheels on the polished floor ceased suddenly, and from across the lake the comparative silver sound of a string orchestra playing in the dancing pavilion came ravishingly sweet to the ears of the two standing on the arched bridge.

Ellice looked over yearningly at the pretty gray building.

"It's a waltz," she said, glancing up temptingly into the strong face leaning with her's over the railing, and as no response came she laughed still more alluringly.

"Almost any one but you would ask me to dance!" she said.

Brent Malvern waited a moment before replying.

"There are so many things other men do for you that I can't do," he said presently. "I can't dance-I can't-well it would take too long to go through the list."

"Can't dance?" Ellice's voice was so genuinely scandalized that Brent laughed-but not Ellice. Not dance! The thing seemed incredible with Brent. Stunning, witty educated-but—.

Well it really all went together. Had he not known her three months -and in all that time shown her no outward attention? No other young man of her acquaintance had ever known her half so long without asking the privilege of taking her to theatres and parties.

There was Conly Steele-she had known him only a month and not a day passed without his seeing her. Auto-rides, parties, theatres, and suppers afterward at the clubs or cafes-with a chaperon always

That was really the whole story in a nutshell-a Sunday School boy! and as a limit to the picture, could not or was it would not-dance!

She turned to him with the wilful and disdainful air which too often spoiled her loveliness.

"It's frightfully dull standing here by ourselves, isn't it?" she asked. "Do you mind taking me over to the pavilion to my companions? I don't enjoy sitting-or standing out dances.'

39

She remembered the look on his face all through her waltz with Con Steele, and how solemnly he had said good-by-as if the thing was final. And if it were? Well, yes, she would regret it, of course. There had been something more. than passing in the attraction he had. exercised for her. But it must have been his good looks and stalwart frame. She had always. liked "big" men.

Strange though, how the thought

of him clung! That night and the next day and—

"Did you see Brent Malvern before he went away?" It was a week later, and Aunt Florence put the question rather eagerly.

Ellice's pause was only momentary before replying.

"No. Called on a mission, I suppose?" she asked carelessly.

"A mission to support his mother and the two fatherless little ones," flashed Aunt Florence.

"It could be only that of course— outside the mission," drawled Ellice. "Even that sounds rather worldly for Brent-though, doesn't it?"

"He may be counted on to do the things worth while-worldly or spiritual, I imagine." said Aunt Florence. Ellice yawned and went to the piano. Would she be like Would she be like Aunt Florence when she grew old she wondered, idly touching the ivory keys when "the things worth while" meant more than the things they meant to her now?

"Where is the place of exile?" she asked, suddenly whirling on the stool. "Klondike, or the African diamond fields?"

"Nothing half so foolish could tempt Brent Malvern. He is not the kind who go rainbow chasing. He accepted the first honorable position offered him, and a humble one at that."

"Humble first and the rest afterward, with Brent's kind," laughed Ellice.

"It's a proud humility that will take a man into honest work rather than let him lie around idly waiting for something high-toned enough to "turn up." Aunt Florence's tone was almost a snap.

Ellice turned back to the piano. It was a sore point Aunt Florence so adroitly touched. Frank Stone -but that was all over. Even she had quailed before Frank's elegant

shiftlessness. Con Steele was twice the man-besides he was wealthy. No fear of ever wanting for anything with Con. He was not half bad in other ways, either. What did a little off grammar stand for, and a few social ignorances? She might do worse-and Con was only waiting the chance to speak.

"Can't wait a mitute, dear. I'm out on a case. Just had a telephone from the superintendent that my patient's baby died a half hour ago. Yes, its a charity case-I left my relief nurse there this morning after being up all night. The baby had bronchitis and only three weeks old. This morning it was better

the doctor thought it would live. The mother hasn't been out of bed yet-a frail little sort she is—and kept ill with financial worries. Husband out of work-two other children to took after and the Relief Society help the only present outlook. It's no wonder she can't get well-trouble enough even without the baby to keep her sick. I can't bear to think how she will take this blow.

"Is it possible such things can be true?" Ellice was walking side by side with her old school companion and involuntarily quickened her pace.

The other turned to her and laid a persuading hand on her arm. "Come with me and see for yourself, dear," she said.

There was only one room and this a tiny, low, ceilinged one with a poor bedstead in one corner holding a white-faced tearless woman, vainly trying, as the friends entered, to soothe two boys of six and four years respectively who were hanging on the bedside with pitiful whinings. In the far corner stood a

little crib, its tiny occupant forever still from the quick cares of life.

The relief nurse went away almost immediately after they came, and Ellice went dazedly about trying to keep the children still while Fannie talked with the mother.

"Yes," the latter was saying in her faint, hopeless tone, "the doctor said she'd live, and Jim he went off up town, thinking the danger was over, and he'd look up a job. It wasn't a hour after he went that she choked up-and-and I can't bear to think how he'll stand it. She's our one baby girl-and he seemed to set more store by her even than the boys." The faint voice broke with tears for the first time and the frame that had gone to the portal of death for the boon given and withdrawn shook with pity for the strong man's coming woe.

"I'm afraid he won't get back to see her before they take her away," the woman sobbed on. "The doctor said he'd send the undertaker in an hour-and it's almost that now. It'll kill him to find her dead and gone out of the house."

thing handed down from the first two babies. The relief nurse, in ignorant but kindly intent had starched this pitiful best gown into boardlike stiffness, a shroud so incongruous for the little flowerlike form that both girls groaned aloud.

"Let me make something, Fan," pleaded Ellice. "I'm quick with my needle, it won't take long."

"If you'll do that, dear, I'll telephone the superintendent about having the baby kept here till afternoon. I'm sure she can manage

Ellice almost ran home. There was a roll of sheer muslin and lace in her dresser that was to have been taken to her sewing club next day to be made into dainty lingerie

and from these scissors and needle soon fashioned a tiny robe.

She was back at the house just as the flat black wagon drew up to the door, but at a word from Ellice the man sat quietly outside on his box till summoned inside. The father had come, and, the first paroxysm of grief spent, sat still and subdued by the wife's bedside.

The ward Relief president was there, too, and the half dozen held a brief funeral service, Ellice singing a hymn in her clear, strong young voice after the president's prayer.

It all brought evident comfort to the bereaved couple,and when Ellice went home from the graveyard whither she had followed the undertaker on the street car-she felt as if a new force had taken hold of her life.