owed her to the corner of the living-room where the piano
stood. "I'm going to practise, and don't bother me."

"Silly old music," grumbled Sarah, "come on, Shirley, let's go sail
boats in the bath-tub."

Rosemary spent the afternoon at the piano, having promised herself
that she would put in a full two hours over her music. The numerous
interruptions spun out the time so that when she finally closed the
lid the little clock on the mantelpiece chimed five.

"Good gracious, the beds aren't made!" thought Rosemary and flew up
the stairs.

One glance into the bathroom halted her and cooled her energy.
Shirley and Sarah had spent a busy afternoon, sailing boats in the
tub. They had used every clean towel in sight to mop up the puddles
on the floor and they were wet to their chins. Rosemary hustled them
off to get into clean dry clothes and then worked feverishly to
restore the room to a semblance of order. Aunt Trudy came home
before she had finished and when she saw the unmade beds and the
morning's disorder still untouched, she spoke her mind in no
uncertain terms.

"Everybody has a grouch," observed Sarah cheerfully when they sat
down to dinner. Doctor Hugh had not come in.

"Don't use that word, Sarah," reproved her aunt, sugaring a bowl of
boiled rice for Shirley.

"Don't want rice, want cutylet," said Shirley, pointing to the veal
cutlet.

"She's had enough meat to-day," interposed Winnie. "The doctor says
she shouldn't have it at all at night."

Shirley refused to touch the rice and was sitting in stately
aloofness when Doctor Hugh came in looking warm and tired.

"What's the matter?" he asked, dropping into his chair and testing
the soup Winnie instantly placed before him. Hugh was her idol and
she always managed not to keep him waiting. "Heat too much for you?"
he added.

"Grouches is what ails 'em," volunteered Sarah.

"I've asked her not to use that word, but no one pays any attention
to my wishes," sighed Aunt Trudy.

"All right, drop it, Sarah," said Doctor Hugh shortly. "Aren't you
eating to-night, sweetheart?" he asked Shirley.

"I want some cutylet," said Shirley wistfully. "I don't like rice."

"She ate nothing for her dinner but beef loaf and two helps of date
pudding," announced Winnie. "I don't know when she expects to learn
to eat sensible and like a Christian."

"Well, if Rosemary would take a little interest in the child and
coax her, she would soon learn to like vegetables," sai