me a little piece."

"And here it is, ye poor lamb." Mrs. O'Brien touched her affectionately
on the cheek. "Sit right down and eat it before Geraldine wakes. Ye've
hardly had a bite all day."

Rosie took her place at the table and tried to eat. It was no use; and
suddenly, as much to her own surprise as to the others', she burst out
crying.

"Mercy on us!" Mrs. O'Brien threw up astonished hands. "What's happened
now?"

"N-nothing," Rosie quavered, pushing her plate away and dropping her
head upon the table.

"What's ailin' you, Rosie?" her father asked gently.

"E-E-Ellen's got to do the dishes tonight. I-I-I'm too tired."

"I'm awful sorry," Ellen began, "but tonight, Rosie, I got to go out
early. I got to go over to Hattie Graydon's for a note-book."

"Note-book nuthin'!" Terence glared at Ellen angrily. "That's the way
you get out of everything, with your note-books and your Hattie Graydons
and your old business college! Listen here, Ellen O'Brien: you'll do
those dishes tonight or I'll know why!"

"Huh!" snorted Ellen. "From the way you talk, a person would suppose you
were my father."

"Wish I was your father for ten minutes--long enough to give you a good
beatin'!... Who do you think you are, anyway? A real live lady?
Everybody else in the family's got to work, but not you!"

"Ah, now, Terry," Mrs. O'Brien expostulated, "you mustn't be talkin'
that way to your poor sister Ellen. She's got her own work to do at
school and I'm sure it's hard work, ain't it, Ellen dear?"

"Say, Ma, you fade away!" Terence waved his hand suggestively. "What you
don't know about Ellen's a-plenty! Just look at her, the big lazy lump!
There she's been sitting in a comfortable cool room all day long with a
fan in one hand and a pencil in the other and her mouth full of
chewing-gum, pretending to study, and you and Rosie have been up here
in this hot little hole working like niggers. Aw, why do you let her
fool you? Why don't you make her do something?"

Ellen, her head tossed high, appealed to her mother. "Ma, will you
please explain to Mr. Terence O'Brien that I'd be perfectly willing to
wash and wipe the dishes every night of my life if it wasn't for my
hands. If ever I'm to be a stenog, I've got to take care of my hands."

"What about Rosie's hands?" Reaching over, Terence drew one out from
beneath Rosie's face and held it up. At that moment it was a pathetic
little hand, shaken by sobs and wet with tears, but its rou