oss the frame of the chair, and Australia began her perilous
ascent.

Cuba looked mildly astonished as the plump figure of the little girl
appeared above his feed-box.

"I 've 'most got it!" cried Australia, reaching as high as possible,
and getting her forefinger over the edge of the big can.

At this juncture Cuba, whose nose had doubtless been tickled by
Australia's apron-string, gave a prodigious sneeze. Europena,
feeling that retribution was upon them, fled in terror. The ballast
being removed from the chair, the result was inevitable. A crash, a
heterogeneous combination of small girl, green paint, and shattered
chair, then a series of shrieks that resembled the whistles on New
Year's eve!

Redding was the first to the rescue. He had just driven Billy to the
gate when the screams began, and with a bound he was out of the
buggy and rushing to the scene of disaster. The picture that met his
eyes staggered him. Australia, screaming wildly, lay in what
appeared to his excited vision to be a pool of green blood; Europena
was jumping up and down beside her, calling wildly for her mother,
while Cuba, with ears erect and a green liquid trickling down his
nose, sternly surveyed the wreck. In a moment Redding had Australia
in his arms, and was mopping the paint from her face and hair.

"There, there, little sister, you aren't much hurt!" he was saying,
as Mrs. Wiggs and Asia rushed in.

The damage done proved external rather than internal, so after
assuring herself that no bones were broken Mrs. Wiggs constituted
herself a salvage corps.

"Take off yer coat out here, Mr. Bob, an' I'll take off Austry's
dress. Them's the worst, 'ceptin' her plaits. Now, we'll all go up
to the kitchen, an' see what kin be did."

Now, Fate, or it may have been the buggy at the gate, decreed that
just as they turned the corner of the house, Lucy Olcott should be
coming up the walk. For a moment she stood bewildered at the sight
that greeted her. Redding, in his shirt sleeves, was leading
Australia by the hand; the little girl wore a red-flannel petticoat,
and over her face and hands and to the full length of her flaxen
braids ran sticky streams of bright green paint.

Involuntarily, Lucy looked at Redding for explanation, and they both
laughed.

"Ain't it lucky it was the back of her head 'stid of the front?"
said Mrs. Wiggs, coming up; "it might 'a' put her eyes out. Pore
chile, she looks like a Mollygraw! Come right in, an' let'