ound table, stood a large basket filled with a heterogeneous collection of odd socks and stockings, odd gloves, pieces of lace and embroidery, some wool, a number of

s gray glove? And-Polly, Polly-here's the handkerchief you had such a search for

ons of lard and butter in so much boiling water-that's according to the size of the pie; then you mix it into the flour, kneading it very well-and-and-and-" Polly's voice dropped to a kind of b

work-basket. As she did so she seated herself more firmly in her mother's arm-chair. Her little figure lo

ng and pie-crust. Do you know that I have discovered something, and I think, I really do think, that

rom her seat at the table, and opening the window sat down w

dings may become vital, Helen, and, as to cheesecakes, I would stake everything I possess in the world on the manner in which father munch

. I think he has another, and I think also, Polly, that he had this other trouble before mother died, and that she helped him to bear it, and made plans to lighten it for him. You remember what one of her

father's trouble, and what was the plan? I can't remember any plan, and I only know about father that he's the noblest of all noble men, and that he bears m

r eyes. "I couldn't let go the faith that God is always good. But father-oh,

ll. You needn't talk like that. It's perfectly horrid of you. I'll go away at once and a

ess it a little bit lately, when I saw how anxious mother seemed. For she was anxious, although she was the brightest of all bright people. And after her death father said I was to look through some of

th living for; pie-crust, nor housekeeping, nor nothing. I hate the world, and every one in it, and I h

tle bit how you feel. I'm not so hot and hasty and passionate as you, and oh, I'm not ha

fter that. I know I'm a wretch-I know I'm hopeless. Even mother would say I was hopeless if she saw me now, hatin

shock to you. We won't talk about it one way or other, now, and we'll try as far as possible

s with carnation spots on them, and her eyes, brimful of the tears which she struggled no

lly unpleasant," she remarked. "Well, have it

e strangers who were to come in October. Yo

face. The tears dried in her bright eyes, and the c

names. Nothing, nothing at all-except that there were two, and that they were coming from Australia. I always thought of them

known. They were coming in a sailing vessel, and the voyage was to be a long one, and mother, herself

I'd be a good person to go and meet them. You are so shy with strangers, you know, Nell, and I'm not. Mother used to say I didn't know what mauvaise honte meant. I don't say that I like meeting them, poor things,

ldren live here. They were to be taught, and everything done for them, and the strangers' father was to send over a check for ￡100 for them every quarter. Now, Polly, listen. Our father is not poor,

a year-let me see, that's just about eight pounds a week, that's what father says he spends on the house, that's a lot to spend

n they get to the docks he himself is going to meet them, and he will take them to ano

Polly. "What nonsense! We must both

hat it is a pity to lose this chance of helping father and lightening his cares. You see

's no occasion to make a fuss, or to be frightened. We have got to be firm, and rather

, I don't feel at all wise enough for all that is laid on me. We have to be examples in everyt

the story about his eyes, Nell, but it will do him good to feel that he has got a couple of steady girls like us to see to him. Now I'm ar