d with a bang of the
door that woke Jean and made Bea clap her hands to her aching head.

"You ought to be ashamed," exclaimed Kat, glaring over her bandage.
"Olive's the best one of the lot, and I've three minds to go and tell
her so."

"And have your head taken off for your pains," said Ernestine, walking
over to the glass, and smiling at her own unruffled image. "Olive's a
touchy goose, but I didn't mean to hurt her feelings, and I'm sorry for
it; so that's the best I can do now, isn't it?"

"I suppose so, unless it is to think once in a while, that there is some
one in the world with feelings, besides yourself," answered Bea, jerking
her unruly sewing, and getting crosser than ever as she ran her needle
into her finger.

"Dear me," cried Ernestine, throwing her hands up, and admiring them in
the glass. "It's a sure sign that something is going wrong with this
family, when you get cross, Bea."

"I'm not an angel," grumbled Bea, then threw her sewing down, and gave
herself a shake, both mentally and physically. "But there's no need of
my acting like a bear, and I'm really ashamed. Come sit on my lap, Jean,
you look terribly grieved."

"Well, 'tisn't very pleasant with mama gone, and you all fussing so,"
answered Jean, limping over with her crutch, and laying her head on
Bea's shoulder with a sigh. "If you all were lame awhile, you'd be so
glad to get straight again, that you never would fuss or scold, never."

Bea sucked her bruised thumb, and thought more heartily than ever, that
they ought to be ashamed; but a little witch of impatience and petulance
lurks in the gentlest of feminine hearts, and though Bea had resolved to
hush talking, and be patient, the little meddling temper was wide awake,
much aggravated at the gloomy weather, and bound to make mischief if
possible. Ernestine turned away from the glass in a moment, and strolled
over to the lounge.

"I don't see," she exclaimed, "why everything should be denied us. I'd
like to live for awhile just as I want to."

No one answered, for just then Kittie threw down her slate, and burst
into impatient tears.

"What's the use! I can't understand such fractions, and I never will;
I'd like to smash that slate, and burn this old book!"

"Doesn't Miss Howard show you?"

"O yes, she shows and shows, and talks and explains, 'till my head spins
like a top; but I can't understand, and after a while she says, in such
a surprised way, as if she thought I was the