"She also told us the news of our friends," continued Margaret. "Of course I asked about you, the first thing; and she responded that you were interesting yourself in settlement work. It was such a laudable and praiseworthy undertaking, but she understood that it was apt to be dirty; and—now don't be mad—Miss Billy—a little unmaidenly, for a young girl. Naturally my ire rose, and I replied that I thought it was the loveliest thing that a girl could do; that I had heard about what you had accomplished on Cherry Street, and that the moment I got home I was going to help,—if I wasn't too stupid. You don't mind my telling you all this, do you, Billy?"
Margaret's guest was surveying her with shining eyes and eager expression. She did not seem to hear the last question. "Oh, will you? Will you?" she demanded delightedly. "Oh, Peggy, you can help so much if you will."
Margaret threw aside the masses of chiffon she had been folding, and faced Miss Billy with straightforward eyes. "How?" she asked. Miss Billy hesitated. There was help needed in so many places. Then the pathetic face of Holly Belle rose before her. She thought of the worn little hands that thumped imaginary times on every piece of furniture in the house, of the sad little voice that spent its sweetness in lullabies, and of the starved little soul that was pining for the melody that had been utterly left out of her life. She remembered the unchildish expression of longing for a piano, and she told Holly Belle's sorry little story in a way that was very touching. Margaret's eyes grew tender, and her voice was very sweet as she said simply:
"I am more than ever glad of my music now. I shall love to help her. And she shall practice on my piano, too. Tell me all you have been doing on Cherry Street," said Margaret, as Miss Billy ratified the agreement with a grateful look that spoke volumes.
"Not very much," said Miss Billy modestly. "In fact, I haven't attempted much. 'Settlement work,' as our friend Mrs. Blanchard so genteelly put it, is not in my line. When I first went to live on the street I had great ideas of Improvement and Progress, with a big I and P. There was such grand opportunity for both. I had in my mind's eye a view of Cherry Street, shining with cleanliness and beauty; the neighbourhood united by a community of interests, and the thoroughfare famed far and wide as a model avenue. Now if I can get the Canarys to deposit their garbage in a barrel instead of the gutter, can induce the Levi children and the little Hogans to stop fighting at least one night out of the week, and can tell the street car conductor to let me off near Cherry Street without having him say, 'Where's that, lady?' I shall be satisfied."
"But what about the Child Garden and the Civic Improvement Club? Mr. Lindsay—I shall never cease to call him the Count to my own soul—says that you have already lured him into the work, and are going to give him a gymnasium class to manage as soon as cold weather begins. And that willowy lady at the lawn fête who assured me that she was 'the mother of a numerous prodigy, and naturally restricted to her home circle——'"
"That was Mrs. Canary——"
"Told me that you were the inspiring genii of the place, and that you had everybody on the street under the charm of your dainty thumb."
"She ought to see my hands after this unpacking seance," put in Miss Billy.
"Don't interrupt, I'm not through yet. And Miss Marie Jean Hennesy assured me that since Mr. Lindsay came you had 'waked up to the needs of the street.' But the best is yet to come. Marie Jean's father, the old philosopher who appeared in the frock coat of the vintage of '69—complimented you up to the skies. He said that it was well that there was only one o' Miss Billy, or the street 'ud be baked with the sunshine she made."