A New Miss Coolidge

They came down the narrow board walk together, Percival carefully holding the lady's arm to prevent her tripping over the loosened planks, but neither exchanging a word. The man was smiling, the fingers of one hand toying with the curl of his moustache, but Natalie appeared somewhat sobered by her visit, and West noticed that she had tied a light veil over her face, which slightly shadowed her features. It was only as they reached the curb that she spoke, her voice rather low and listless.

"Would you mind driving the car back?" she asked Coolidge. "Really I feel quite unnerved."

"No wonder," he returned sympathetically, "I have never witnessed a sadder case; the conditions were even worse than I imagined. I should never have brought you with me, my dear."

"Oh, I am not sorry I came; but it has been a lesson to me. I do not think before I ever realized what such poverty meant."

The words trembled from her lips, and were spoken slowly as though chosen with care. "The sad plight of the children particularly appealed to me."

"There are children then?" West questioned, as Coolidge assisted her into the car. The latter cast a swift glance of inquiry into the younger man's face.

"Children!" he exclaimed, "Of course; we spoke of them on the way down."

"I know; that was what made me wonder when one of the lads playing out here in the street said there were no kids in the cottage."