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“that almost bedridden old lady,” as she did later to Mr. Desmond) was not quite—Mrs. Desmond lifted her hand gently—not
quite
the person to deal with dear little Helen.
    The word that dear little Helen had for Mrs. Desmond was “horse’s behind.” “Thinks she owns the world,” Helen said.
    Helen’s little sister Mildred came home the last day of school and went immediately out into the back yard, where for the last month or so she had been building an elaborate playhouse, partly underground, dug out with a spoon, and partly put together with pieces of board salvaged from vacant lots and other back yards. The playhouse was just big enough for Mildred to crawl in and lie down, and her dolls were in there and what pillows and dishes she could take from her own house. “It’s for my mommy and me,” she told Mr. Donald over the fence. “When Helen and Gram go away my mommy and me will live here.”
    The afternoon that Harriet’s mother found out about the letters, Hallie found Helen alone in the living-room, dancing solemnly around to “Missouri Waltz” on the phonograph. Hallie fell into line behind Helen, imitating her and saying, “Bet when you find your father you’ll be the best dancer there.”
    â€œI’ll dance all day long,” Helen said. “I’ll never stop dancing till I’m hungry and then I’ll eat ice cream and chicken and chocolate creams.”
    â€œI wish I could go with you,” Hallie said.
    Helen stopped dancing and fell down on the couch. Hallie lifted the needle off the record and set it aside. She came over and sat down next to Helen and said, “Listen, Willie, can’t I go with you?”
    â€œYou want to know something?” Helen said dreamily.
    Hallie nodded, leaning forward.
    â€œDon’t tell,” Helen said, and Hallie nodded again. Helen looked around sharply, and Hallie crossed her finger over her heart, and Helen said impatiently, “Don’t do that, baby. Swear on your honor.”
    â€œI swear on my honor,” Hallie said obediently.
    â€œWell,” Helen said, “you know where I was last night?”
    Hallie shook her head, her mouth a little open.
    Helen laughed excitedly. “Well,” she said, “I went out for a walk and I went over down by the stores.”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œI don’t know,” Helen said vaguely, “I just
felt
like going that way. And you know this guy, the one in the gas station, the one we stopped and kidded with once?” She waited while Hallie nodded again, and then went on, “Well, he was there and we got to talking and he says he’ll take me to the city some night and we’ll go somewhere and dance.”
    â€¢Â Â Â â€¢Â Â Â â€¢
    â€œ
I
don’t know, sweetie,” Dinah Ransom-Jones said to her sister, “I really don’t know, you have such a
sense
of flowers.”
    â€œBut it’s
your
garden, dear,” her sister said gently. “You’ll be here a good deal longer than I will.”
    â€œBrad always says the flowers look prettier when you do them,” Mrs. Ransom-Jones said.
    â€œBut I won’t do them always,” her sister said. “He loves the way you plan them.”
    â€œSweetie,” Dinah said, “you’ve just
got
to decide. Nothing
ever
goes well around here unless you help. You know that.”
    â€œWell.” Her sister hesitated. “Over
there
, then.” She pointed to a far corner of the garden, near the street hedge.
    â€œReally?” Mrs. Ransom-Jones said. “You really think
there
?”
    â€œNot if you have a better place,” her sister said.
    â€œOf course not,” Mrs. Ransom-Jones said. She picked up the gardening basket and the bag of bulbs. “Don’t you lean over,” she said, “I don’t want you overtiring yourself.”
    â€œIt doesn’t matter,