"
"What's the kindergarten?"
"Oh, they teach them to make things out of straw and toothpicks--kind of
a play place to keep them off the street."
"There's one up on Sacramento Street, not far from Polk Street. I saw
the sign."
"I know where. Why, Selina used to play the piano there."
"Does she play the piano?"
"Oh, you ought to hear her. She plays fine. Selina's very accomplished.
She paints, too."
"I can play on the concertina."
"Oh, can you? I wish you'd brought it along. Next time you will. I hope
you'll come often on our picnics. You'll see what fun we'll have."
"Fine day for a picnic, ain't it? There ain't a cloud."
"That's so," exclaimed Trina, looking up, "not a single cloud. Oh, yes;
there is one, just over Telegraph Hill."
"That's smoke."
"No, it's a cloud. Smoke isn't white that way."
"'Tis a cloud."
"I knew I was right. I never say a thing unless I'm pretty sure."
"It looks like a dog's head."
"Don't it? Isn't Marcus fond of dogs?"
"He got a new dog last week--a setter."
"Did he?"
"Yes. He and I took a lot of dogs from his hospital out for a walk
to the Cliff House last Sunday, but we had to walk all the way home,
because they wouldn't follow.
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