"
She rose and fished the amber satin out of her trunk. She put it on,
put her long coat over it, packed her next most picturesque frock in
a bag, fastened on a hat, and walked out the front door.
Just three blocks away lived a dear, elderly mural decorator who was
always telling her how he wished he had her for a model. She knew he
was making studies now for about a half-mile of walls in a new, rich
statehouse somewhere far away.
She should have been frightened at this, her first adventure, but
she wasn't. She found her heart getting gayer and lighter as she ran
down the steps with her little bag. It was the kind of a day when
all the policemen and street-sweepers and old women selling
shoe-laces look at you pleasantly, and make cheerful remarks to you.
Even the conductor whose street-car she didn't take smiled
pleasantly at her after stopping his car by mistake. It was as
kind-hearted and pleasant-minded a worldful of people as Joy had
ever met, and she was singing under her breath with happiness as she
ran up the steps leading to Mr. Morrow's studio. There wasn't any
particular excuse for her being so light-hearted, excepting that the
street-people had been so friendly minded, and there was such a dear
little breeze with a country smoke-scent on it, and that somewhere
in the world was a tall man with fair hair and a kind, authoritative
voice, who had said wonderful things to her--a man she would meet
again some day, when she was charming and worldly and dressed in a
tailor-made suit.
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