ou as a
model, Olive, a living----"

"Nothing of the kind," interrupted Olive sharply, and rising up out of
her corner, as if warming to the subject. "I'm only trying to be
sensible; we're all old enough to be that, and be something more too. I
wonder if we are never going to do anything but sit here at home, with
papa to feed and dress us, besides giving us an allowance for little
things and nonsense. I think it's wrong, and lazy, and a namby pamby way
of being a useless thing, just because you are a girl! Besides, papa is
worried and troubled; yes he is;--" warming still more at the breathless
attention given her. "The other night, he and mama talked for hours, and
I couldn't help hearing a little, because the transom was open. His
voice was troubled, so was mama's, and sad, and he said something about
'lessening expenses,' and the difficulty of getting any ready money, and
all that, and I believe in my heart that we ought to help him!"

Into the stunned silence that followed this outburst from short-spoken,
reticent Olive, there came a new voice; such a sweet, lovely voice with
a tender ring that made every one start to welcome the speaker.

"How dark you are, dears. Are all my steps here?"

"All here, solemnly engaged," answered Kat, unfolding herself from the
big chair to make a seat for mother.

"And _just_ think," cried Kittie, with a lurch that pretty near tipped
her out of the window. "Olive----"

"Has done wonders," interrupted Beatrice. "Be still all of you! Let's
not tell mama yet."

Mrs. Dering laughed cheerily, at the sudden popping of a secret into the
air, but announced that supper was ready, at which there was such a
stampede as only a lot of hungry, healthy girls can make, and the
sitting-room was left dark and still.

You see there were six of them--five strong bright girls, and one
little lame sister, to laugh and sing, and make that big, roomy,
comfortable, old home happy. Beatrice, seventeen; Ernestine, sixteen;
Olive, fifteen; then Katherine and Kathleen or Kittie and Kat, twelve,
and lastly, little Jean, with her flower-like, patient face and poor
crooked little back. To help and guide them, was the dear, loving mother
who called them her 'steps;' and the strong, helpful father, who romped
and played, or read and studied with them and called Kittie and Kat 'his
boys;' Olive his 'right hand man;' Ernestine, 'his picture;' Beatrice,
his 'little woman,' and Jean his 'little pansy.' So now t