Gloria and Treeless Street | Page 5

she and Aunt
Em took occasionally with her guardian were her delight; it was always
an occasion of gratitude when a "case" called him away during the long
summer vacation.
"We decided last night, dear. You know how Uncle Walter loves to
take us along."
"Will it be a nice long case? Say yes!"
"Yes," smiled the elder woman, "three or four weeks, probably, and
maybe longer. You never can tell how long lawyers will be, threshing
out justice."
"Where? Where? Oh, I call this fine!" Gloria was pulling out the
contents of a bureau drawer. "Where are we going, auntie?"
"To Cheyenne. Gloria, what in the world are you up to?"

"Packing. Cheyenne! I'll dress in a jiffy, auntie, and when I've got my
trunk packed I'll pack you."

CHAPTER III.
Walter McAndrew, Attorney-at-Law, was in rather frequent demand in
distant places, when the services of an especially acute lawyer were in
demand. When these "cases," as Gloria termed them, called him to
locations worth visiting, Mr. McAndrews delighted in taking his wife
and ward with him. The evening preceding the packing-scene in
Gloria's bedroom, he and his good wife had come to the rapid decision
that a trip to the West just now would be good for Gloria--more likely
than anything else to eradicate impressions of unpleasant Pleasant
Street. Gloria's impressions were apt to come and go easily, they
reasoned, and it was important for this one to go.
"You were going away, anyway, and I suppose I can go too, even if it is
hot," his wife had sighed in gentle renunciation of her own comfort. As
for Gloria--the child was always delighted with variety and change. No
trouble about Gloria!
Ten years earlier, when, close upon the death of his beloved young wife,
Gloria's father had slipped out of life, the orphan of seven years had
been given into Mr. McAndrews' charge, to be loved and petted, while
Mr. McAndrews was given her generous little fortune to husband and
watch over. It had been a beautiful home for Gloria; unquestioningly
she had accepted all its comforts and love. Yet Gloria was not
selfish--only young. Gloria's father had been a keen business man, and
the investments of his money as he earned it had been of the kind that
fatten men's pocketbooks, however lean they may make the bodies of
other men.
For the time, Treeless Street, lined with little children, vanished from
Gloria's mind. The journey she began so promptly was a new one to her,
and with the first appearance of daylight the first morning she was
ready to enjoy it. Unlike Aunt Em, she was fresh and vigorous after the

night in the sleeper; she did not even dream of her recent discoveries in
streets. No old-faced little boys in reefed man-trousers appealed to her
sleeping pity.
[Illustration: It would be something interesting to do.]
"Best thing we could have done," whispered Uncle Em to his wife,
watching the girl's animated face. "But I'm afraid it's going to be tough
on you, my dear."
"Never mind me," smiled back his wife cheerfully. She was at that
moment warm and wearied, with a dull headache with which to begin
the day. But Aunt Em was the sort of woman who courts discomforts
which to her loved ones masquerade in the guise of comforts. She had
never been given a daughter of her own to make sacrifices for; she must
make the most of Gloria.
"I wish you liked to travel as well as Gloria and I do, my dear." His
wife did not like to travel at all; it was a species of torture to her.
"I like to have you and Gloria like it," she smiled.
* * * * *
A few days after the newness of Cheyenne had worn off a little, Gloria
sat in the window of her hotel room writing a letter. It had come to her
suddenly that she would write to the District Nurse. It would at any rate
be something interesting to do, and if the letter elicited an answer, how
very interesting that would be! What kind of letters did District Nurses
write?
Gloria had gone back, in convenient interstices of her new life in this
strange city, to mild musings on streets where poverty dwelt
undisguised. At this distance, Dinney and little Hunkie were faint
wraiths rather than realities.
Gloria's musings now were tinted with a comfortable impersonality that
robbed them of the power to sting. It was more as if she had recently

read a story full of pathos, whose chief characters were named Hunkie
and Dinney, and whose background was a dreary street. She would tell
the story to the District Nurse and perhaps evoke a sequel to it from
her.
"_Dear Miss Winship_: My