child, are you going to remain in that cottage of Mr. Chumley's?"
"Why—I really don't know, Mrs. Prentice. There seems no other place to go"
"He is horribly overcharging you, child," said the lady, quickly.
"I know. But there are so few small places in decent neighborhoods—mother says she doesn't know what to do about it."
"I fancy, Jessica Is that your name?"
"Josephine, Mrs. Prentice; only they all call me Jess."
"Very well—Jess. Sounds a good practical name—and you are a practical girl; I can see that. Now, Jess, I fancy you have to do something yourself toward moving, to get your mother started, eh?"
"Oh! but I don't know where to go"
The car began to slow down. Mrs. Prentice had run into a quiet side street, not two blocks from the cottage at the foot of Whiffle Street.
"See here," said the lady, stopping the motor and preparing to alight. "I want you to see this little dove-cote—that's what I have always called it. It is set behind a grassy front yard and there is a little garden at the back. You'll love it in spring and summer."
"Oh, but Mrs. Prentice, is it empty?"
