ng washed carefully. The potatoes were given the
place of honor and the two sat down to do the meal justice.

"We might have had some eggs, seeing it's Easter," said the man,
passing one of the largest potatoes to the little girl.

"Lutty Williams' mother colored hers. Lutty said I might have one of
them, if I'd come over for it."

"Guess I wouldn't go to Lutty Williams' for no eggs, if I was in your
place!" said the father.

This somewhat dampened the little girl's ardor, and the rest of the
meal was partaken of in silence.

The dishes were cleared away and the red table-cloth replaced. "No use
in Jerusha's being bothered," the wise Martha reasoned, as she
replaced the white linen in the drawer. Then she unbuttoned the big
gingham apron she had put on over the white one, and felt inclined to
send the white apron after the table-cloth. But something kept her
from doing this. "It's Easter anyhow."

Her father had taken the cat on his lap, and in a chair tipped back
against the wall, with a broom splint between his teeth, sat reading
the county paper.

Martha stood on the doorstep looking off to the mountains, and there
was the old wistful look on her face again. The April sun had clouded
in, and so had the bright spirit of the child. She tried to draw to
her the warmth that had been holding her close, but instead there
rested upon her a dreary sense of loneliness. Jerusha wouldn't wash
white aprons every day, even if she fussed to put them on. In the
morning her father would be off to the smelter. The same old life
waited for her. She stood for a long time there in the door. Then her
father reached around and took hold of her.

"What's the matter?" He had heard a sob. And though the little girl
drew back he pulled her to him. "You ain't cryin'? Hoity-toity! A
white apron, and hair all fixed, and the girls taking her right in,
and--crying!"

"But, pa, I can't make it stay. Jerusha won't wash white aprons, and
there ain't enough, anyway--and--it's so lonesome here with just
Jerusha! All the rest of the girls have some one standing close--as
close as that to them." And the little girl clutched at her father's
coat-sleeve to demonstrate the closeness of relationship, while the
sobs came thick and fast.

"Nobody but Jerusha!" The father brought his chair down from the wall,
and all the blood in his body seemed to rush to his face. "Nobody
standing close! Where be I standing? What am I going to the smelter
for, p