"I'm afraid I was rude," she apologized.

"Never mind that. Tell me what you meant. I've thought of it so many
times since."

For a moment the girl was silent; then, a little bitterly she said:

"'Twas because I knew a girl once, and I was thinkin' of her. She came
from my town, and she was pretty and good, but she wa'n't over strong.
For a year we pulled together, sharin' the same room, boiling our eggs
over the same gas-jet, and eatin' our hash and fish balls for supper
at the same cheap restaurant. There was never anything to do evenin's
but to walk in the Common, or go to the movies, if we had the dime to
blow in, or just stay in our room. Well, our room wasn't very
pleasant. It was hot in summer, and cold in winter, and the gas-jet
was so measly and so flickery that we couldn't sew or read, even if we
hadn't been too fagged out to do either--which we 'most generally was.
Besides, over our heads was a squeaky board that some one was always
rockin' on, and under us was a feller that was learnin' to play the
cornet. Did you ever hear any one learn to play the cornet?"

"N-no, I don't think so," murmured Mrs. Carew.

"Well, you've missed a lot," said the girl, dryly. Then, after a
moment, she resumed her story.

"Sometimes, 'specially at Christmas and holidays, we used to walk up
here on the Avenue, and other streets, huntin' for windows where the
curtains were up, and we could look in. You see, we were pretty
lonesome, them days 'specially, and we said it did us good to see