When Leonora moved from the great manufacturing city, which had been her
home for fourteen years, to the home of her aunt, in a quiet suburb,
where the children attending the high school were from homes of real
culture and refinement, she was disconsolate. Voices, language, games,
manner of recitation, behavior on the school grounds and street,
perplexed her. She seemed lost in her new environment. She had never
been a leader but had followed with all her heart. Her playground had
been the street. She had enjoyed boisterous good times, had patronized
moving pictures of every sort, had entered into the mischief of "the
crowd" always close to the leader. In a pathetic letter to one of her
chums she said that at the very first opportunity she should run away
and be with them all again. She characterized the beautiful suburb with
its neatly kept lawns and pretty homes as "a dead old hole" from which
she could not wait to escape. Still, her aunt's home, the new wardrobe
containing the lovely dresses, becoming hats and coats, for which she
had always longed, tempted her to remain. One day, early in October, her
classmates made the discovery that she could sing. She had quite a
remarkable voice for a girl of her age. The teacher of music became her
interested friend and found she could play unusually well, though mostly
"by ear.
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