It was impossible not to feel at home.
And presently, lest anything be lacking to our domestic bliss, there was a new baby in a borrowed crib; and little Dora had only a few more turns to take with her battered doll carriage before a life-size vehicle with a more animated dolly was turned over to her constant care.
The Wheeler Street neighborhood is not a place where a refined young lady would care to find herself alone, even in the cheery daylight.

If she came at all, she would be attended by a trusty escort.

She would not get too close to people on the doorsteps, and she would shrink away in disgust and fear from a blear-eyed creature careering down the sidewalk on many-jointed legs.

The delicate damsel would hasten home to wash and purify and perfume herself till the foul contact of Wheeler Street was utterly eradicated, and her wonted purity restored.

And I do not blame her.