“of course i’m interested in my neighbour: why shouldn’t i be? that fence between us only whets my appetite.”

a

t the same hour the hennesy family were having six o'clock dinner in the kitchen. mrs. hennesy, marie jean and john thomas were already seated at the table, but mr. hennesy still stood with his head enveloped in the roller towel at the kitchen sink.

"an' ye say her name is billy, john thomas?" inquired mrs. hennesy, serving the corned beef and cabbage with a liberal hand. "sure now, it must be a mistake. maybe it's milly ye're afther hearin' thim call her. sure an' billy's no girl's name at all."

"it's billy," persisted john thomas,-56- between mouthfuls of cabbage. "her real name is wilhelmina, but it was so long and hard they've called her miss billy ever since she was a little girl. the miss is always in front of it though. that makes it feminoine."

"saints have mercy!" ejaculated mrs. hennesy. "wilhelmina! it must be indian! mary jane, you ought to be thankful for your own name, that you ought, afther hearin' this wan."

"an' not be thryin' to copy afther thim frinch quanes that got their heads cut off fer their impidence," put in mr. hennesy, emerging from the towel with every hair on end, and seating himself at the table with the scant ceremony of rolling down his shirt sleeves.

marie jean gave her little head a toss, which was lost upon mr. hennesy as he helped himself to a piece of corned beef from the platter. "was she glad to get the dirt, john thomas?" he inquired good-naturedly.

"glad!" said john thomas. "well, she was that tickled you'd 'a' thought it was gold.-57- she tuk me into the house to make lemonade, an' then upstairs to show me her brother's room. my, yo' ought to see it, mary jane."

"i s'pose it's just grand," said marie jean condescendingly.

"it's all right," replied john thomas, "an' yo' bet i wisht i had one just like it. there ain't no carpets ner tidies ner fixins. the floor is painted kind o' red, an' the walls are red with all kinds of posters stuck 'round. an' there's a border at the top made out of sheet music with pictures on. my, it's great. right in the middle of the room there's a punchin' bag strung,—an' he's got dumb bells, an' boxin' gloves, an' there's a case of all kinds of money, some big name she called it, but it means, anyway, collectin' coins. he uses two hair brushes at a time, without any handles to 'em, an' there's a brush fer his teeth, an' a brush fer his hands, an' one fer his nails, an' a thing to polish his nails, an' two brushes fer his shoes, an' one fer his hat, an' another fer his clo'es."

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mr. hennesy's jaw had dropped lower and lower during this recital. now he closed his mouth with an effort and looked fixedly at his son.

"john thomas," he said warningly, "you kape away from that loonytick. moind me, they're thryin' to take up his moind wid brushes an' punchin' bags, but this kind is cunnin' as foxes, an' there'll be mischief in the end. moind now, what i say."

"why, pa," expostulated marie jean, with a giggle, "he ain't out of his mind."

"he is," insisted mr. hennesy stoutly. "av coorse he is. wid a brush fer his hands, an' a brush fer his nails, an' another fer his teeth, an' two widout handles fer his hair, an' wan fer his clo'es an' two fer his shoes an' another fer his hat! av coorse he is, an' there takin' up his moind wid brushes. moind what i say."

"don't expose yer iggerence, mr. hennesy," put in his wife good-naturedly. "people uses all thim brushes nowadays."

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"well thin, if he ain't crazy, what kind of work does he be doin' to nade all thim brushes to kape clean,—can ye answer me thot, mrs. hennesy?"

john thomas gracefully turned the conversation. "she give me this," he said, putting his hand in his pocket and extracting something wrapped in tissue paper. "she said she had two others an' had been thinkin' of puttin' this one in the box fer the sufferin' savages, an' would i take it just to remember how we worked together over the flower bed. so then i tuk it."

"what do it be for?" inquired mr. hennesy, eyeing the strange object with suspicion.

"it's a nail file, to grind off yer finger nails,—if they grow long enough," answered john thomas, regarding his own broken nails meditatively. "it's silver, too," he added.

mr. hennesy sniffed. "i'll not be borryin' it," he observed. "i'm not nadin' a file to kape me own nails short. the rocks i do be handlin'-60- iv'ry day, john thomas, seems to be all that's required."

marie jean's silvery laugh tinkled on the air as john thomas returned the file to his pocket and passed his plate for more cabbage.

"miss billy's all right, anyhow," he went on, addressing his conversation to marie jean, for the laugh rankled. "she ain't ashamed if her name is wilhelmina, or even miss billy: an' she don't have no big bushy frizzes coverin' up her ears, an' she don't wear feathers in her hat. she told me so herself."

marie jean's laugh tinkled again, and she rose from the table. she did not offer to help her mother wash the dishes, but swept into the hall and took her hat down from the rack, preparatory to going down town. it was a large black hat, heavy with buckles and plumes. she adjusted it coquettishly on her head so that one plume hung directly over her eyes, and took down her gloves.

the vision that gazed back at her from the hall glass was certainly an entrancing one, but-61- marie jean lingered for an experiment. she lifted the heavy hair off her ears, tucked it up out of sight, and holding back the waving plumes, gazed again. then with a shrug of her shoulders, she let hair and plumes fall, and swept out of the house.

on the other side of number 12 cherry street mrs. canary was seated on the doorstep with the baby and the other baby in her lap.

it had been a hard day for mrs. canary, for there had been an unusual amount of deferred mending and cleaning as a grand round up for the sabbath. but now that the supper was over, she felt at liberty to draw her first breath in the cool spring air, while her oldest daughter, holly belle, assisted by ginevra, commonly known as "jinny," cleared away the remains of the evening meal.

on the sidewalk in front of the house, launcelot and fridoline were quarrelling over a catapult, while little mike, sitting on the gate-62- post, was adding his shrill voice to the general tumult. mrs. canary, who was a great lover of romance and revelled in the lurid pages of the hearthside companion and kindred publications was responsible for the high-sounding names of her children from holly belle to fridoline. when little mike had arrived on the scene, however, policeman canary had put his foot down on the cherished proposition to name the boy lorenzo.

"you've done yer duty by all the rest of 'em," he said, "an' you've named 'em a-plenty. their own father has to call 'em 'say' when he speaks to 'em. this one'll be mike." and mike he was.

owing to this difference of opinion between the heads of the household, the two latest arrivals were still known as the "baby," and the "other baby." but mrs. canary, in spite of her romantic tendencies and slip-shod ways, was a loving wife and mother, and had done her easy-going best to make her husband and children comfortable. years of poverty and-63- toil and trouble had not destroyed the zest of living for her, nor altered her naturally sweet disposition.

mrs. canary hushed the two babies upon her breast, and rocked slowly back and forth, making an improvised cradle of her body.

night came late in cherry street during the month of may, but the dusk of the evening already enveloped the tiny porch. the night wind blew in coldly across the lake. but mrs. canary, oblivious to the chill in the air and the growing darkness, continued to read aloud, in her eager absorption, from a folded paper held above the children:

"'two gleam-ing eyes looked out from the thick-et upon the moonlit path, where the beautiful lady gab-ri-ell-e paced to and fro with her lover. the moonlight shone full upon her robe of shimmering satin, thickly en-crusted with pearls, and sparkled in the diamonds that looped her fair tresses. lionel mont-fort bent ten-der-ly over her. burning love was written in every line of his handsome face, and all-64- thoughts of future en-grand-dise-ment were forgotten for the nonce. "darling," he murmured, "i have found my affinity, and nothing shall come between us. let my lady mother rave,—nothing now shall per-suade me to marry the countess."

"'at this juncture there ap-peared upon the lady gab-ri-ell-e's beautiful face a look of hor-ror that her lover never for-got. "treachery!" she cried, and pointed to the thicket. her lover's eyes followed her out-stretched finger,—but too late. a burst of flame leaped from the thicket, two terri-bul shrieks rang out on the night air——'"

so intent upon the fate of the lady gabrielle was she, that she did not hear, above the noise of the dish washing and the quarrelling children, a genuine shriek that did ring out upon the night air. it was not until little mike pulled her gown with an excited exclamation, that she came back to the world of reality.

"what's that you say?" she said.

mike repeated his remark:

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"launkelot hitted a man wiv his catter pole."

mrs. canary beamed with pride. "launkelot always was a accurate shot," she said fondly.

at that moment the young marksman appeared at the gate. he was shrieking at the top of his healthy young lungs, and was being hurried along the ground by means of a strong arm which had united itself with his ear. at the other end of the arm was a tall, fierce old man, carrying a muddy top-hat in one hand, and hurrying his victim along with the other. the rest of the hastily summoned canary flock brought up the rear of the procession.

mrs. canary laid the two babies behind the door where they could not be stepped upon in the melee, and faced the enemy boldly.

"what's the matter here?" she inquired fiercely. "let go that boy. what's he done, i want to know?"

"i will haf' the law on him already!" said the old man. his face was fairly purple with-66- rage and his voice shook so that the words were hardly intelligible.

"leave go of him!" commanded mrs. canary, with spirit. then her voice changed as she recognised the man before her. "oh," she said, in a milder tone, "it's you, is it? launkelot didn't go to hurt ye, i'm sure. leave go the boy, an' let him tell about it."

the old man seemed not to hear her mollifying words.

"he hung on to my buggy," he said, in angry tones, "unt when i tell him to 'get off,' he answer me back. i lick him behind mit my whip, unt he shoot me in the headt mit his snap gun——"

"that wasn't the way it happened," said a clear voice above them.

the excited little group glanced up quickly. a young girl stood looking over the fence,—a girl in a white gown, with soft hair that shone like copper in the lamplight.

"excuse me for interrupting," she said, "but i couldn't help hearing your conversa-67-tion, and i want to tell you the whole story. i saw you drive past, and the robe was hanging out of your buggy. this little boy,—his name is launcelot, isn't it?—ran out to put it in. you called to him not to hang on, and he answered that he was only putting in your robe for you. without stopping to listen, you struck him with your whip. it was a mean and cruel thing to do. then he did shoot at you with his catapult, but you can't blame him for that! i should have done it myself if you had struck me."

the old man stood gazing uneasily from one to the other during this recital. he loosened his grasp of the boy with a muttered growl.

"why didn't you talk louder then?" he said to the astonished launcelot.

an embarrassed silence fell upon the little group. the old man seemed dazed by the unexpected turn affairs had taken. he stared off into space, and shifted his weight from one foot to the other without finding further words. then he cast a hurried glance at the-68- girl standing above him, and shuffled off into the growing darkness.

mrs. canary caught the young sharpshooter to her breast.

"ma's little hero-ine," she said fondly. "that's what ye get fer doin' good to that old sarpint. but you was cleared all right, wasn't ye? thank the lady, launkelot."

"launkelot" dug his bare foot into the floor, and murmured a few words that might be interpreted as an expression of gratitude.

"he is thankful, though bashful at the present moment," explained mrs. canary gratefully. "he ain't usened to havin' young ladies in white dresses, with hair of tarnished gold, springin' out of the dark like flamin' seruphims to defend him."

"oh, i happened to be sitting on this side of the shelf, and i couldn't help hearing what was said," answered the girl merrily.

"the shelf, is it?" asked mrs. canary, looking puzzled.

the girl laughed. "the piazza,—the porch,-69- i mean. we call it the shelf over here, because it's only about wide enough to set a pan of milk on. we're your new neighbours, you know."

"well, it's glad i am to meet you," said mrs. canary heartily. "fridoline, be sure the babies' fingers ain't in that crack when you lean against that door. we're glad to make your acquaintance and thankful fer your defence of us: ain't we, launkelot? you see i couldn't rise in defence of my own innercent blood as swift as usual—i was that surprised at finding out who it was he had hitten. it was bold of you to talk that way to his face,—the old villain!"

"why, whom do you mean?" asked miss billy.

"that was mr. schultzsky, the landlord," said mrs. canary.