s as promptly
checked.

"Come back to your places, every youngster of you! Of course, it's an
exciting time, but manners to a body's mother must never be
forgotten."

So the flock marched back to the table, and, beginning with Jim, the
eldest, each inquired respectfully:

"Mother, will you excuse me?"

"Certainly," came the prompt response.

Even the babies lisped and gurgled their merry, imitative "'Scuse
me's," though with no thought of any attention being paid them.

"Folks without much money can't afford to go without manners," laughed
father John, and, himself asking leave of the little woman behind the
coffeepot, followed his children to the rear window.

For the ringing of the bell was so prolonged and so insistent in its
demands that he no longer doubted it to be a signal of distress. But
it was almost impossible to see even a few feet through the blinding
clouds of snow, and raising the sash the plumber hallooed:

"What's wanted? Anybody in trouble?"

"Help's wanted! Awful trouble!" came the answering shout.

"Where?"

"Armacost's. Will you lend a hand? All afloat and frozen up!"

"Lend a pair of them! Which door will I try?"

"Front. The back one's blocked. Hurry up, please. Have you any tools?
Bring everything!"

"Quite a contract!" ejaculated John, closing the window and brushing
the snow from his head and shoulders. "But it's a good thing I always
keep a 'kit' handy here at home. Now, lads, you all get to work, too.
There are some pieces of boards in the cellar. Take them and nail a
sort of snow shovel together. Never mind if it's a bit rough, it'll be
easier than clearing off the whole mass of snow with common spades or
brooms. If you don't know how, ask mother. She's as handy as a master
mechanic, any day. Then pitch in on our own front steps. Make a path
for misery to enter, if need be, and for comfort to go out."

"What do you mean, father?" asked Molly.

"Some poor creature might be floundering along outside, chilled and
discouraged, and a ready-made path to a warm house would be tempting.
Over the same road out, mother's coffee and flapjacks can pass!"

"Flapjacks? That's the first I heard about _them_," said Mrs. Johns,
smiling.

"Chance of your life to make yourself famous to-day," answered her
husband. "You may believe that any poor wretch who tastes your cakes
and coffee, this terrible day, will never forget them. And, lads,
after you've cut a way to our own door go and hel