“Witch-grass and nettle and rag-weed grope,— Paupers that eat the earth’s riches out,—
Nightshade and henbane are lurking about,
Like demons that enter in
When a soul has run waste to sin.”
 J
UNE, departing, had scattered her wealth of floral treasures wide over the land, and Cherry Street, lowliest child of her adoption, had not been forgotten. Under the wholesome influence of trowel, watering-can, and good black soil Miss Billy's garden had grown apace, and now burst into such a riotous excess of bloom as brought the small Cherryites to the fence in groups of silent adoration. Beds of scarlet geraniums glowed like the heart of-143- rubies on the green lawn. Sweet peas were opening their pretty eyes and peeping over into Mr. Hennesy's yard. June roses, white, pink, and blood red, swung on their stems breathing incense night and day, while on the side of the house bloomed the pansy bed, hundreds of pretty faces of many colours and marvellous size. Over the back fence nasturtiums were opening their golden hearts, and a group of tall hollyhocks stood boldly disputing right of way with the arms of the Hennesy clothes reel.
 
Mrs. Hennesy had been sweeping, and now she stood in the upstairs window looking down at the floral display in her neighbour's yard.
 
"It do be lookin' loike a park, Mary Jane," she commented at last. "Mrs. Casey was a good neighbour an' its mesilf that'll niver be over missin' her,—but she niver had things lookin' loike that. An' it's that girl—'Miss Billy,' as they call her,—that's done it all."
 
Marie Jean, who had condescended to the menial task of setting her bureau drawers to-144- rights, turned her head slightly. "Well," she commented indifferently, "if she wants to waste her time on an old garden I suppose it's nobody's business but her own."
 
Mrs. Hennesy discreetly waived the argument. "I think I'll be goin' over there to see thim this afthernoon, Mary Jane. They're that noice an' frindly it ain't roight for us not to be goin' near thim. Miss Billy has axed me twice to have you come over. It ain't neighbourly, Mary Jane,—that's what it ain't."
 
"Well, go on if you want to," said Marie Jean, beginning to hum a tune to show the matter was too trifling for further consideration; but she broke off to add, "wear your bead cape and your lace bonnet if you do go."
 
Mrs. Hennesy's face took on a look of despair. "Well now, Mary Jane," she began, "it's just a neighbour, an' a clane apron——"
 
"You must wear your bead cape and your lace bonnet," reiterated Marie Jean, with spirit. "And be sure you go to the front door. You must go decently, or not at all."
 
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Mrs. Hennesy departed from the room, and presently went down the stairs in all the glory of her best dress, augmented by the bead cape and the lace bonnet. Marie Jean secretly surveyed her through the crack of the door, and returned to her task somewhat mollified. "I guess they won't find anything to laugh at in that bead cape," she said, with a toss of her head.
 
Mrs. Hennesy passed out through the kitchen door, but returned again. She drew off her black silk mitts, stepped to the stairs to see if by any chance Marie Jean was listening, and tiptoed back to the kitchen cupboard. She looked uncertainly into the coffee can which was quite full, then into the tea caddie which was half full, and finally shook the sugar box, which responded roundly. "Well, I'll borry some tea, annyway," she whispered, and taking a cup, secreted it carefully under the bead cape. Thus fortified, she passed around to the front gate, and, thankful that Marie Jean's point of vision could no longer-146- command her actions, hurried around by way of the pansy bed to her neighbour's side entrance and rapped at the door.
 
Mrs. Lee responded to the summons. "Why, it is Mrs. Hennesy," she said cordially, extending a hand to welcome her neighbour. "Do come in. It is cooler here in the dining room than in any other place in the house at this time of the day, so we'll sit right here. Beatrice, won't you take Mrs. Hennesy's cape and bonnet?"
 
"Well, now, I can't stay a minute," protested Mrs. Hennesy, in her soft Irish brogue. "I must be goin' back to start supper fer Mr. Hennesy, fer he gets no dinner these days but the bite he takes wid him in a pail. An' I only stepped over to see if I c'ud borry a drawin' of tea fer his supper. Me an' Mary Jane has been that busy all day we c'udn't get to the store."
 
The cup was filled with the desired "drawing of tea," and stood in readiness on the table, but as the minutes sped, Mrs. Hennesy, warm-147- and perspiring, but loyal for Marie Jean's sake to the bead cape, began to feel more at ease. Mrs. Lee was not like Mrs. Casey, it was true, and could never fill her place,—but she would make a good neighbour,—and the girls were as pretty as pictures with their contrasting styles of beauty and pretty dresses.
 
Of course, they were not to be compared with Mary Jane. Mary Jane was—well, more dressed-up like and stylish, than these Lee girls. But they were nice and kind, and treated their mother like a queen. Mrs. Hennesy wished Mary Jane might be there to see it.
 
"Sure an' Mary Jane will be in to see you wan of these days, soon," said Mrs. Hennesy as she rose to terminate her call. "It's bashful she is, or else jealous, wid John Thomas soundin' Miss Billy's praises all day long. It's 'Miss Billy says this,' an' 'Miss Billy does that,' an' he thinks Mary Jane can't hould a candle to Miss Billy,—an' that's the thruth of it."
 
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"And I thin............