ry like her mother,"
thought papa, wiping the eye that peeped, for he had been fond of the
pretty wife who died when Boo was born. "Sad loss to them, poor things!
But Miss Bat seems to have done well by them. Molly is much improved,
and the boy looks finely. She's a good soul, after all;" and Mr. Bemis
began to think he had been hasty when he half made up his mind to get
a new housekeeper, feeling that burnt steak, weak coffee, and ragged
wristbands were sure signs that Miss Bat's days of usefulness were over.

Molly was singing the lullaby her mother used to sing to her, and her
father listened to it silently till Boo was carried away too sleepy for
anything but bed. When she came back she sat down to her work, fancying
her father still asleep. She had a crimson bow at her throat and one on
the newly braided hair, her cuffs were clean, and a white apron hid the
shabbiness of the old dress. She looked like a thrifty little housewife
as she sat with her basket beside her full of neat white rolls, her
spools set forth, and a new pair of scissors shining on the table. There
was a sort of charm in watching the busy needle flash to and fro, the
anxious pucker of the forehead as she looked to see if the stitches were
even, and the expression of intense relief upon her face as she surveyed
the finished button-hole with girlish satisfaction. Her father was wide
awake and looking at her, thinking, as he did so,--

"Really the old lady has worked well to change my tomboy into that nice
little girl: I wonder how she did it." Then he gave a yawn, pulled off
the handkerchief, and said aloud, "What are you making, Molly?" for it
struck him that sewing was a new amusement.

"Shirts for Boo, sir. Four, and this is the last," she answered, with
pardonable pride, as she held it up and nodded toward the pile in her
basket.

"Isn't that a new notion? I thought Miss Bat did the sewing," said Mr.
Bemis, as he smiled at the funny little garment, it looked so like Boo
himself.

"No, sir; only yours. I do mine and Boo's. At least, I'm learning how,
and Mrs. Pecq says I get on nicely," answered Molly, threading her
needle and making a knot in her most capable way.

"I suppose it is time you did learn, for you are getting to be a great
girl, and all women should know how to make and mend. You must take a
stitch for me now and then: Miss Bat's eyes are not what they were,
I find;" and Mr. Bemis looked at his frayed wristband, as if he
parti