on the present day, and the chances for and against the
making of a little money. At this meal she used to arrange also to
have the room re-papered and the chimney swept and the rat-holes
stopped up--there were three of these, one was on the left-hand side
of the fire grate, the other two were under the bed, and Mary
Makebelieve had lain awake many a night listening to the gnawing of
teeth on the skirting and the scamper of little feet here and there on
the floor. Her mother further arranged to have a Turkey carpet placed
on the floor, although she admitted that oilcloth or linoleum was
easier to clean, but they were not so nice to the feet or the eye.
Into all these improvements her daughter entered with the greatest
delight. There was to be a red mahogany chest of drawers against one
wall and a rosewood piano against the wall opposite. A fender of
shining brass with brazen furniture, a bright, copper kettle for
boiling water in, and an iron pot for cooking potatoes and meat; there
was to be a life-sized picture of Mary over the mantelpiece and a
picture of her mother near the window in a golden frame, also a
picture of a Newfoundland dog lying in a barrel and a little wee
terrier crawling up to make friends with him, and a picture of a
battle between black people and soldiers.

Her mother knew it was time to get out of bed when she heard a heavy
step coming from the next room and going downstairs. A laboring man
lived there with his wife and six children. When the door banged she
jumped up, dressed quickly, and flew from the room in a panic of
haste. Usually then, as there was nothing to do, Mary went back to bed
for another couple of hours. After this she arose, made the bed and
tidied the room, and went out to walk in the streets, or to sit in the
St. Stephen's Green Park. She knew every bird in the Park, those that
had chickens and those that had had chickens, and those that never had
any chickens at all--these latter were usually drakes, and had reason
on their side for an abstention which might otherwise have appeared
remarkable, but they did not deserve the pity which Mary lavished on
their childlessness, nor the extra pieces of bread with which she
sought to recompense them. She loved to watch the ducklings swimming
after their mothers: they were quite fearless, and would dash to the
water's edge where one was standing and pick up nothing with the
greatest eagnerness and swallow it with delight. The mother duc