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keeping me out of charity.”
    “What is your name?” asked Jane. They had scrambled up into the cherry-tree as nimbly as pussy cats and its whiteness enclosed and enfolded them, shutting them away into a fragrant world all their own.
    “Josephine Turner. But every one calls me Jody.”
    Jody! Jane liked that.
    “Mine’s Jane Stuart.”
    “I thought it was Victoria,” said Jody. “Miss West said it was.”
    “It’s Jane,” said Jane firmly. “At least, it’s Jane Victoria but I am Jane. And now”—briskly—“let’s get acquainted.”
    Before Jane went back through the gap that night she knew practically all there was to be known about Jody. Jody’s father and mother were dead … had been dead ever since Jody was a baby. Jody’s mother’s cousin, who had been the cook at 58, had taken her and was permitted to keep her at 58 if she never let her out of the kitchen. Two years ago Cousin Millie had died and Jody had just “stayed on.” She helped the new cook … peeling potatoes, washing dishes, sweeping, dusting, running errands, scouring knives … and lately had been promoted to waiting on the table. She slept in a little attic cubby-hole which was hot in summer and cold in winter, she wore cast-off things the boarders gave her and went to school every day there was no extra rush. Nobody ever gave her a kind word or took any notice of her … except Dick who was Miss West’s nephew and pet and who teased and tormented her and called her “charity child.” Jody hated Dick. Once when everybody was out she had slipped into the parlour and picked out a little tune on the piano but Dick had told Miss West and Jody had been sternly informed that she must never touch the piano again.
    “And I’d love to be able to play,” she said wistfully. “That and a garden’s the only things I want. I do wish I could have a garden.”
    Jane wondered again why things were so criss-cross. She did not like playing on the piano but grandmother had insisted on her taking music lessons and she practised faithfully to please mother. And here was poor Jody hankering for music and with no chance at all of getting it.
    “Don’t you think you could have a bit of a garden?” said Jane. “There’s plenty of room here and it’s not too shady, like our yard. I’d help you make a bed and I’m sure mother would give us some seeds… .”
    “It wouldn’t be any use,” said Jody drearily. “Dick would just stomp on it, too.”
    “Then I’ll tell you,” said Jane resolutely, “we’ll get a seed catalogue … Frank will get me one … and have an IMAGINARY garden.”
    “Ain’t you the one for thinking of things?” said Jody admiringly. Jane tasted happiness. It was the first time any one had ever admired her.

4
    Of course it was no time before grandmother knew about Jody. She made a great many sweetly sarcastic speeches about her but she never actually forbade Jane going over to play with her in the yard of 58. Jane was to be a good many years older before she understood the reason for that … understood that grandmother wanted to show any one who might question it that Jane had common tastes and liked low people.
    “Darling, is this Jody of yours a nice little girl?” mother had asked doubtfully.
    “She is a very nice little girl,” said Jane emphatically.
    “But she looks so uncared for … positively dirty… .”
    “Her face is always clean and she never forgets to wash behind her ears, mummy. I’m going to show her how to wash her hair. Her hair would be lovely if it was clean … it’s so fine and black and silky. And may I give her one of my jars of cold cream… . I’ve two, you know … for her hands? They’re so red and chapped because she has to work so hard and wash so many dishes.”
    “But her clothes… .”
    “She can’t help her clothes. She just has to wear what’s given her and she never has more than two dresses at a time … one to wear every day and one to go to Sunday school