es might journey. She took
the darling of the family often in her arms, and told her stories of
"Bo Peep," and the "Babes in the Wood," and "Robin Redbreast," and
never one of Jesus and his call for the tender lambs!

This was Ester, and this was Ester's home.

CHAPTER II.

WHAT SADIE THOUGHT.

Sadie Ried was the merriest, most thoughtless young creature of
sixteen years that ever brightened and bothered a home. Merry from
morning until night, with scarcely ever a pause in her constant flow
of fun; thoughtless, nearly always selfish too, as the constantly
thoughtless always are. Not sullenly and crossly selfish by any means,
only so used to think of self, so taught to consider herself utterly
useless as regarded home, and home cares and duties, that she opened
her bright brown eyes in wonder whenever she was called upon for help.

It was a very bright and very busy Saturday morning.

"Sadie!" Mrs. Ried called, "can't you come and wash up these baking
dishes? Maggie is mopping, and Ester has her hands full with the
cake."

"Yes, ma'am," said Sadie, appearing promptly from the dining-room,
with Minnie perched triumphantly on her shoulder. "Here I am, at your
service. Where are they?"

Ester glanced up. "I'd go and put on my white dress first, if I were
you," she said significantly.

And Sadie looked down on her pink gingham, ruffled apron, shining
cuffs, and laughed.

"O, I'll take off my cuffs, and put on this distressingly big apron of
yours, which hangs behind the door; then I'll do."

"That's my clean apron; I don't wash dishes in it."

"O, bless your careful heart! I won't hurt it the least speck in the
world. Will I, Birdie?"

And she proceeded to wrap her tiny self in the long, wide apron.

"Not _that_ pan, child!" exclaimed her mother "That's a milk-pan."

"O," said Sadie, "I thought it was pretty shiny. My! what a great pan.
Don't you come near me, Birdie, or you'll tumble in and drown yourself
before I could fish you out with the dish-cloth. Where is that
article? Ester, it needs a patch on it; there's a great hole in the
middle, and it twists every way."

"Patch it, then," said Ester, dryly.

"Well, now I'm ready, here goes. Do you want _these_ washed?" And she
seized upon a stack of tins which stood on Ester's table.

"_Do_ let things alone!" said Ester. "Those are my baking-tins, ready
for use; now you've got them wet, and I shall have to go all over them
again."

"How will y