They made haste to cut the twine, and behold, a beautiful rug! "Isn't this like that dear, extravagant Jack?" she cried. "Isn't it pretty, Wink? He thought we'd need cheering up!"

Chairs and tables must be pushed aside at once and the rug put in place.

Frances had just sat down in the middle of it with great satisfaction, when through the half-open door walked the fattest, rosiest baby imaginable, wearing a very clean blue check ap.r.o.n and an affable smile.

"Why, where did you come from?" they both exclaimed.

This was evidently something he did not care to reveal, for, although he continued to smile and gaze about him with interest, he made no reply.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'What is your name, baby?'"]

"What is your name, baby?" Frances asked, holding out her hands.

"Dennyleebon,"--or so it sounded.

"Do you suppose that is intended for English?" said Mrs. Morrison.

"I don't know. Make him say something else. Baby, can you talk?"

"Tock," repeated the infant, pointing to the mantel.

"Yes," cried Frances, delighted, "it is a clock. You see, mother, he thought I said clock. That is English."

"You don't mean it! But let him alone, Wink, and see what he will do."

The visitor showed plainly that he had a mind of his own. He did not wish to be petted and kissed, but preferred to walk around the room on a tour of investigation. Presently he paused before a table and remarked earnestly, "Book."

"Can't you find a picture-book for him?" asked Mrs. Morrison.

There happened to be an old animal book in the box they were unpacking, and, getting it out, Frances and the baby sat together on the new rug and turned the leaves, the latter never failing to say, "ion," "effunt,"

"tiger," as the case might be, with unvarying correctness and great enthusiasm.

In the midst of this there came a modest little tap at the door, and when Mrs. Morrison opened it, there stood a girl of about Frances' age.

Her red calico dress was very fresh, her cheeks as rosy as the infant's, and her flaxen hair was drawn tightly back and braided in a long tail.

"Is the baby here?" she asked.

"No, no," came in decided tones from the visitor.

This made them all laugh, even the baby himself seeming to think it a good joke.

"Can't he stay for a while? He is good, and we like to have him," said Mrs. Morrison.

The girl hesitated; plainly the baby had no thought of leaving. "The lady who used to have these rooms made a pet of him, and he is always running off up here," she explained.

"I am glad he came, for my daughter and I were feeling lonely. Won't you come in and sit down? Do you live in the house?"

The newcomer accepted Mrs. Morrison's invitation rather shyly, looking as if she had a mind to carry the baby off by main force. Her name, she said, was Emma Bond, and she and her two-year-old brother lived in the back part of the house with their mother, who took care of Mr. Clark's rooms. The baby's name was Robert Lee, but he was commonly known as the General, a nickname given him by the Spectacle Man, and evidently well bestowed.

After the picture-book had been examined from beginning to end twice over, the General was, with the aid of some candy and much diplomacy, induced to accompany his sister downstairs, calling "By-by," and kissing his hand with great affability to Frances.

"Aren't they the cleanest looking children you ever saw?" said the latter, coming back from the hall, where she had gone with their guests.

"Aren't they! I think I shall like Emma, she is a nice, sensible, old-fashioned little girl, and the General is great fun. I hope they will come again," replied Mrs. Morrison.

In the course of the next few days they began to feel at home in their new quarters, and they also made the acquaintance of Mrs. Bond, a small woman with a pleasant but firm face, and such an air of energy that no lazy person could exist comfortably in her presence.

She was never known to waste any time. With the a.s.sistance of a colored boy,--a theological student,--who came in twice a day and in the time he could spare from his Latin and Greek cleaned for her, she kept Mr.

Clark's rooms and the halls in beautiful order. Her children were always as neat as wax, and her busy fingers found time for a little fine sewing occasionally, which, as a girl, she had learned in the convent school where she was educated.

Mrs. Bond was trying to train her daughter in the same industrious ways, and one Sat.u.r.day morning Frances discovered Emma dusting the show-cases in the shop. Stopping to speak to her, she learned that this was her daily task, and that on Sat.u.r.days she dusted the study also. It must be very interesting work, Frances thought, and the two children found so much to talk about that Mrs. Bond presently came in search of Emma and reproved her for idling. She did not positively object to play after lessons were learned and other duties attended to, but she conveyed the impression to Frances that in her opinion a really exemplary little girl would care more for her tasks than for amus.e.m.e.nt.

"I am so sorry, but I have to go," Emma whispered, as her mother left the room.

"Won't your mother let you come to see me some time?" Frances asked.

"I guess so, when I haven't anything to do," answered Emma, who thought Frances the most charming little girl she had ever seen.

CHAPTER SIXTH.

AN INFORMAL AFFAIR.

It was not long before the Morrisons' apartment blossomed into a charmingly homelike place. Even Mrs. Bond, who on one of her tours of inspection in the wake of Wilson Barnes, the student, had been enticed in for a moment, agreed that the rooms were very fine, though she herself would not care to have so many things to keep clean.

Their sitting room was the greatest achievement. There was the new rug, which really was a beauty, and the couch, with its plump cushions all covered in a marvellous fifteen-cent stuff that looked like a costly Oriental fabric, together with the books and pictures, which had been left packed and ready to be sent to them whenever they should settle down, and last of all, in the sunniest corner was a beautiful sword fern, a rubber plant, and a jar of ivy.

"Transients can't afford many plants, but a little greenness is essential to happiness," Mrs. Morrison declared.

The cosey kitchen was presided over by Zen.o.bia Jackson, who exactly suited her surroundings, being small and neat and quick, combining in a most satisfactory way the duties of a parlor maid and cook.

She was a friend of Wilson's, to whom Mrs. Morrison had applied. When asked if he knew any one she could get to do the work of their small flat, he replied, "Yes, ma'm; I know a young girl who would suit you, but she is going to school at present."

"If that is the case, she wouldn't suit at all," said Mrs. Morrison.

"Well, she's thinking of leaving school. Her ma she's sick, and her pa's out of work, and their insurance is getting in the rear, so Zen.o.bia 'lows she'll have to get a place."

"Can she cook?" asked Mrs. Morrison.

"Yes, ma'm; her ma's one of the best cooks in town."

"Her mother has taught her, then, I suppose."

"No, ma'm; the best ones ain't taught. It comes by nature, and Zen.o.bia is a naturalist." Wilson spoke with ministerial gravity.

Mrs. Morrison smiled. "I'd like to have her come to see me," she said.

Wilson promised to let her know, and added, "If you take her, Mrs.