Speechless now, Gloria carefully placed her wheel against a tree and followed Marty along the winding path. Although it was almost winter, the beauty and solace of soft beds of colored leaves, of rich meadow grass clinging faithfully to its task, of swaying birches like girls of the family guarded by big oaks—the men with ruddy color, all this was too impressive to be overlooked.
“Swell, ain’t it?” again prompted Marty.
“I can’t imagine—”
“Could y’u? Dad says it was just mean politics because some of the Board of Health didn’t get the pipin’ jobs. Y’u see, these streets is all new.”
“Yes, and it’s all laid out like a landscape garden!”
“That’s what it is. That there Sherry was some swell boss. He had maps and pictures—”
“Did you know him?”
“Sur-r-r-r. I helped him lots of times.”
They made one more turn along a new pebbly path and were there in front of the one, lone, solitary model cottage.
“Gloria’s!”