When at length they came to the street to which the Robinsons had moved they found that it was an even poorer thoroughfare than they had expected. There were squalid shacks and tumbledown houses on either side of the narrow street, and ragged children were playing in the roadway. At the far end of the street they came to a small, unpainted cottage that somehow contrived to look neat in spite of the surroundings. The picket fence had been repaired and the yard had been cleaned up.

“This is where they live,” said Frank. “It’s the neatest place on the whole street.”

Paula answered their knock. Her face lighted up with pleasure when she saw who the callers were.

“Frank and Callie!” exclaimed the girl. “You’ve come to see us! Come in. We’re dying of loneliness. There hasn’t been a soul out this way since we moved.”

Callie flashed Frank a look of triumph, and whispered:

“There, now! Didn’t I tell you they’d be glad?” as they went into the house.