f shellac on poor Johnny Cass's table, freshened
up its squared top with new lines of red paint, and placed a little
silver vase of flowers on it. Our Lady Bountiful had come in to pay for
the chair and see the boy, but alas! there was no boy to see. The
children were all ready for him. They knew that he was a sick boy, like
Johnny Cass, tired, and not able to run and jump, and that they must be
good to him as they had been to Johnny. This was the idea of the
majority; but I do not deny that there was a small minority which
professed no interest and promised no virtue. Our four walls contained a
miniature world,--a world with its best foot forward, too, but it was
not heaven.

At quarter past two I went into Helen's little room, where she was
drawing exquisite illustrations on a blackboard for next day's "morning
talk."

"Helen, the children say that a family of Kennetts live at 32 Anna
Street, and I am going to see why Patsy didn't come. Oh yes, I know that
there are boys enough without running after them, but we must have this
particular boy, whether he wants to come or not, for he is _sui
generis_. He shall sit on that cushion

"'And sew a fine seam,
And feast upon strawberries,
Sugar and cream!'"

"I think a taste for martyrdom is just as difficult to eradicate from
the system as a taste for blood," Helen remarked whimsically. "Very
well, run on and I'll 'receive' in your absence. I could say with
Antony, 'Lend me your ears,' for I shall need them. Have you any
commands?"

"Just a few. Please tell Paulina Strozynski's big brother that he _must_
call for her earlier, and not leave her sitting on the steps so long.
Tell Mrs. Hickok that if she sends us another child whom she knows to be
down with the chicken-pox, we won't take in her two youngest when
they're old enough. Don't give Mrs. Slamberg any aprons. She returned
the little undershirts and drawers that I sent her by Julie, and said
'if it was all the same to me, she'd rather have something that would
make a little more show!' And--oh yes, do see if you can find Jacob
Shubener's hat; he is crying down in the yard, and doesn't dare go home
without it."

"Very well. Four cases. Strozynski--steps--cruelty.
Hickok--chicken-pox--ingratitude. Slamberg--aprons--vanity.
Shubener--hat--carelessness. Oh that I could fasten Jacob's hat to his
ear by a steel chain! Has he looked in the sink?"

"Yes."

"Ash-barrel?"

"Certainly."

"Up in t