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'
THE HOUSE IN HOLLY ST.
By John Elkins
'
(Copyright, 1917, W. G. Chapman.)
"For lo! my own shall come to
me."
The little thin woman in the rock
er, darning stockings, kept saying
this over and over in spite of the
protest on her daughter's face.
"Well, why don't it come?" asked
the girl sianing to set the table.
"Perhaps I haven't had enough
faith. But I keep on trying." And the
alm, sweet face again bent over the
work with just the faintest shadow
across the patient lines.
"I know, mother, you are a dear.
I wish, too, I had more faith. But
some day I get just desperate. The
little mean $8 a week I earn at that
typewriter only keeps us alive. And
this street is enough to give me ner
vous prostration."
"My dear, I thought it was very
quiet and decent"
. "Yes, but I'm ashamed to ask any
one here. If we could only move into
a better neighborhood."
"But we couldn't afford it, dear."
"I know of some new flats in Ben
ton place for no more than we pay
here."
"How much room?" asked the
mother.
"Oh, two rooms, a kitchenette and
bath,"
"But we couldn't do with that."
"We could manage. And it's just a
swell entrance."
"But here we have a little garden
and "
"And chickens," finished Florence
disgustedly. "'Chickens that are an
awful bother."
"But they furnish us with nice
fresh eggs, and "
"And get into the yard next door.
It's all right as long as no one lives
there. But just wait until there's a
tenant and there'll be a row. Lady
Grey is determined to go over there,"
"Yes," sighed Mrs. Bennett, "I
don't see what has got into that
hen."
"I know, mother, you like the little
patch of ground and the chickens
but I do want some of the good times
other girls have. I could go with the
people around here but you know I
don't care for them."
"No, dear, you wouldn't be your
father's daughter if you. did."
A 'fashionable neighborhood meant
more to the dwellers in this small
city than a cosmopolitan can well
understand. It was the sized place
where one calls on the new neighbor
when she moves into the same block.
Holly street with the small, poor
houses, in which the Bennetts lived
was well-nigh a reproach to mention
in the good society of Brentford.
Poor little Florence Bennett, pretty,
bright and well educated, felt the os
tracism caused by the neighborhood.
On her father's death, three years
previous, thew had moved to Brent
ford, where an old friend had given
Florence employment in his office.
She was now 20 years old and saw
little prospect beyond the stenogra
pher's small wages in her future.
Office work was not to her taste. She
was essentially the home-loving
woman; but she took up her task
cheerfully, seldom letting, the inward
rebellion eome to the Surface as it
had today.
"Yes, I suppose," sighed the moth
er, "you might get to know some
people some of our own kind if we
lived in a different street. But I al
ways believe, dear, that what is ours
will come to us."
"Yes, I know you love that old
poem."
" 'For lo ! my own shall come to
me !' " quoted the mother.
"But not by way of Holly street"
"Yes, even Holly street Still, if
you want to move into one of those
flats"
"You wouldn't be happy there,
dear," Florence kissed the little
, woman. chokd down the sob in her
