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 woman in a queer old-fashioned dress and a funny little flat bonnet entered and Polly went to attend to her. The two talked together across the opposite counter in low tones, and, just to show that he was not trying to overhear them, Laurie whistled softly. After a minute or two the little woman went out and Polly rejoined Laurie.

"I feel so sorry for her," said Polly with a sigh.

"What's the matter?" asked Laurie. "Who is she?"

"That's Miss Comfort." Polly seemed surprised that Laurie didn't know it. "She lives on the next corner, in the little white house that faces the park. She makes most of our cakes and pies. Don't you remember—"

"Of course," agreed Laurie, "but that's the first time I ever saw her, I guess. But why are you sorry for her?"

"Because she's got to get out of that house, and she hasn't any place to go. And she must be almost seventy years old, Laurie. Just think of it!"

"Well, but aren't there any other houses in