The evenings were delicious. It was yet too early for the exodus northward to the Wisconsin lakes, but to stay indoors after nightfall was not to be thought of. After six o’clock, all through the streets in the neighbourhood of the Dearborns’ home, one could see the family groups sitting out upon the front stoop. Chairs were brought forth, carpets and rugs unrolled upon the steps. From within, through the opened windows of drawing-room and parlour, came the brisk gaiety of pianos. The sidewalks were filled with children clamouring at tag, I-spy, or “run-sheep-run.” Girls in shirtwaists and young men in flannel suits promenaded to and fro. Visits were exchanged from stoop to stoop, lemonade was served, and claret punch. In their armchairs on the top step, elderly men, householders, capitalists, well-to-do, their large stomachs covered with white waistcoats, their straw hats upon their knees, smoked very fragrant cigars in silent enjoyment, digesting their dinners, taking the air after the grime and hurry of the business districts.