e's lots of sense to 'eat,
drink, and be merry, for to-morrow we die,'" returned Alma, with a gay
laugh. "You're thinking about my dress and slippers--I could have
killed that person who spilt their fruit punch all over my skirt, but
there was nothing to do about it, and besides I'm sure I can hide the
stain with a sash or something. I don't believe in worrying." With
this, Madame Optimist turned and, pressing her short nose against the
window pane, drummed with her little pink nails against the wet glass.
The rain was falling again in a monotonous drenching downpour,
stripping the trees of the few, brown, shivering leaves that clung to
the dripping branches. The promise of Indian summer seemed to have
been definitely broken for reasons of Dame Nature's own, and the
weather was having a tantrum about it. But inside, the little bedroom
was all the cosier in contrast to the woebegone gloom of the early
dusk. The chintz window curtains of Nancy's making were faded by many
washings, it is true, and the two white iron bedsteads might have
looked sprucer for a coat of paint, but with a fire glowing in the
grate, and sending out an almost affectionate glint upon all the
familiar objects, the little room had an air of motherly cheerfulness
and comfort. A shabby but inviting armchair stood in front of the
hearth. In a corner, a white bookcase harbored a family of well-worn
volumes, ranging from "Grimm's Fairy Tales," and "Stepping Stones to
English Literature" to "The Three Musketeers" and "Jane Eyre," all
tattered and thumbed, and seeming to wear the happy, weary expression
of a rag doll that has been "loved to death."

"Well," Nancy was saying, in reply to Alma's observation, "I don't
believe in worrying, but I do believe in having an umbrella if you live
in a rainy climate. Then you don't have to worry about the--rain.
_Comprenez-vous_?"

"I comprenez--you are talking in symbols, aren't you? Where's Mother?"

"Here I am, darling," replied Mrs. Prescott from the doorway. "Dear
me, the trunks are all packed, aren't they? Nancy, what a wonderful
child you are. Oh, whatever am I going to do without my daughters!"

"This time to-morrow night we'll all be dying of the blues. Thank
goodness, here's Hannah with some tea--I'm starving," said Nancy,
springing up to take the tray from the hands of the fat old woman, who
had just made her appearance, her full, solemn red face looming behind
the teapot.

They all gathe