. Our Philadelphia. n confronted by his motherless children, solved theproblem the existence of my Sister and myself was to himby putting us where he knew we were safe and well out ofhis way. I do not blame him. What is a man to do whenhe finds himself with two little girls on his clumsy mascu-line hands? But the result was he had no house of hisown to bring us to when the other girls hurried joyfullyhome at Christmas and Easter and for the long summerholiday. It hurt as I used to watch them walking brisklydown the long path on the way to the station. And yet,I scored in the end, for Philadelp
. Our Philadelphia. n confronted by his motherless children, solved theproblem the existence of my Sister and myself was to himby putting us where he knew we were safe and well out ofhis way. I do not blame him. What is a man to do whenhe finds himself with two little girls on his clumsy mascu-line hands? But the result was he had no house of hisown to bring us to when the other girls hurried joyfullyhome at Christmas and Easter and for the long summerholiday. It hurt as I used to watch them walking brisklydown the long path on the way to the station. And yet,I scored in the end, for Philadelphia was the more marvel-lous to me, visiting it rarely, than it could have been tochildren to whom it was an everyday affair. For years my Grandfathers house was the scene ofthe occasional visit. He lived in Spruce Street aboveEleventh—the typical Philadelphia Street, straight andnarrow, on either side rows of red brick houses, each withwhite marble steps, white shutters below and green ^?-??.<it1Sl^si%.^. ELEVENTH AND SPRUCE A CHILD IN PHILADELPHIA 35 shutters above, and along the red brick pavement rows oftrees which made Philadelphia the green country townof Penns desire, but the Philadelphians life a burden inthe springtime before the coming of the sparrows. Phila-delphia, as I think of it in the old days at the season whenthe leaves were growing green, is always heavy with theodour of the evil-smelling ailantus and full of measuringworms falling upon me from every tree. My fear of Crazy Norah is hardly less clear in my early memoriesthan the terror these worms were to the dear fragile littleAunt who had cared for me in my first motherless years,and who still, during my holidays, kept a watchful eye onme to see that I put my gums on if I went out in therain and that I had the money in my pocket to stop atDexters for a plate of ice-cream. I can recall as if itwere yesterday, her shrieks one Easter Sunday when shecame home from church and found a green horror on hernew s
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