blossoming time, the quaint, clean houses, each
in its garden, all the pleasant, comfortable life
of a bygone time. There is nothing pleasant
or comfortable about Cherry Street to-day.
Legends of the daring deeds of the Cherry Hill
gang lend a dubious glamour to some parts of
it, but for the rest it is dingy and dull.

We met Lena in one of the dull houses where
we had been called because of her illness. The
family were attractive Russians of the blond
type, and the patient herself was very beautiful,
her exceeding pallor giving her an almost
ethereal look. The rooms were as bare as the
traditional poor man's home of the story-books,
but the mother had hidden the degradation of
the broken couch with a clean linen sheet, relic
of her bridal outfit.

After convalescence Lena was glad to accept
employment and resume her share of the family
burden. One day she rushed in from the tailor's
shop during working hours, and, literally upon
her knees, begged for other work. She could
no longer endure the obscene language of her
employer, which she felt was directed especially
to her. The story to experienced ears signaled
danger, but to extricate her without destruction
of the pride which repelled financial aid was
not simple. Readjustments had to be made to

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