ntly she sank into her chair as her mother
appeared with the baby and took her usual place, after placing him in
his high chair. Maizie gazed for a moment at the oatmeal in her own blue
plate, then with a little petulant gesture, she pushed the plate away.

"I don't like oatmeal with a pool of syrup in the middle," she said
slowly, not addressing anyone directly, but keeping her eyes on her
plate.

"You've always liked it before this morning," her mother answered. "I
think you're just cross, Maizie."

"I don't like syrup in the middle of my oatmeal," repeated Maizie; "I
want milk on it like father has."

"Oh, Maizie," said Suzanna, "father _must_ have milk on his oatmeal."

"Why?" asked Maizie.

"Because he is our father and he must have the nice things."

"Well, we're his children," pursued Maizie, apparently unconvinced. "And
I don't see why we shouldn't have some nice things to eat, too."

"But there's so many of us," said Suzanna.

"Why did father leave orders for so many of us then?" said Maizie
looking up. Belligerence was now in her tone, in her very attitude.

"Now," said Mrs. Procter, firmly. "We must not talk this way. Father
doesn't like syrup. It doesn't agree with him. You're a very naughty
little girl this morning, Maizie."

Maizie was again on the point of tears. Lest they overflow she rose
quickly from the table and left the room.

"Maizie's in a bad humor today," said Mrs. Procter to Suzanna.

"Maybe she feels bad today, mother, because it's Wednesday."

"Well, what in the world has the day to do with it!" Mrs. Procter
exclaimed.

"Well, Wednesday you know is the shape of a big black bear. It's not
like Thursday, that's the shape of a great snowy white ship on a
sparkling sea. I don't like Wednesday myself, mother."

"Well, I'm sorry," returned Mrs. Procter. "But it's not in my power to
shape days to please you children," she spoke crisply.

"Are you tired, mother?" asked Suzanna, after a pause.

"I think I'm always tired these days," Mrs. Procter admitted, "but I'm
particularly tired this morning. The baby was very restless last night."

"If you were like Mrs. Martin on the other side of the town," said
Suzanna as she rose from the table and began to gather up the dishes,
while Peter escaped into the yard, "who has only one little girl, you
wouldn't be kept awake." Suzanna's eyes were widely questioning. Did her
mother regret owning so many children?

Mrs. Procter stood up. She