do wish mamma would hurry up and tell us."

The two established themselves on the lowest step, as near as possible
to the library, where Mrs. Dallas was sitting.

"Don't make such a noise," said Dimple, as Florence, to while away the
time, began to sing; "you will keep mamma from thinking. Just let's
whisper." So for a half hour or more a little whispering sound went on,
interspersed by stifled laughter. Then at the noise of Mrs. Dallas' hand
upon the door knob, the two girls sprang to their feet.

"Hurry up, mamma, tell us," cried Dimple, as the door opened.

"When you give me a chance," replied Mrs. Dallas, smiling. "I am going.
Does that please you?"

"Oh! oh!" cried the two, dancing up and down.

"How flattering you are," said Mrs. Dallas, laughing; "I never had
pleasure so fully shown for such a cause. So you will be delighted to
get rid of me?"

"Now mamma! Now auntie!" came in chorus. "It isn't that at all, but it
will be such fun, and we are going to make an 'apple cobbler' for
dinner."

"Are you! Who said so?"

"Why, mayn't we?" asked Dimple, somewhat taken aback.

"Who will make it?"

"Why, we will, of course. I've seen Sylvy do it often, and I know
exactly how. Do, do let us, mamma."

It seemed too bad to dampen their ardor, and Mrs. Dallas, rather
dubiously, consented, but charged them not to eat under cooked dough, or
raw apples.

Every one was up betimes the next morning. Sylvy had set everything in
readiness for breakfast, and had taken an early departure, and Mrs.
Dallas was to leave on the nine o'clock train.

"I shall be back by eight o'clock," she told the children. "Don't set
the house afire, and don't make yourselves ill."

"Now, don't worry over us," said Dimple, loftily; "we shall do finely."

But she did feel a little sinking of heart as her mamma's form was lost
to view, and the two girls turned from the gate.

"I wish Rock were not going with them," remarked Dimple. "It would be
nice to have him here."

"I don't think it would," replied Florence; "we'd have to entertain him,
and maybe he doesn't like 'apple cobbler.'"

"That is true," returned Dimple, her spirits rising at the suggestion
of some active employment. "Now let us go and make the beds, while
Bubbles does the dishes." And they set to work, with much chattering, to
follow out this duty.

"There, now, it looks as neat as possible," pronounced Dimple, as she
closed the shutters to keep out the glaring sun. "Jus