you wear to-night?" she yelled above the clatter.

"Wear?" repeated Sheila.

"To the dance, you silly! What did you think I meant--to bed?"

Sheila's tired pallor deepened a little. "I am not going to the dance."

"Not going?" Babe put down a plate. "What do you mean? Of course you're
going! You've gotta go. Say--Momma, Pap, Girlie"--she ran, at a sort of
sliding gallop across the oilcloth through the swinging door into the
dining-room--"will you listen to this? Sheila says she's not going to
the dance!"

"Well," said "Momma" audibly, "she'd better. I'm agoin' to put out the
fires, and the house'll be about 12 below."

Sylvester murmured, "Oh, we must change that."

And Girlie said nothing.

"Well," vociferated Babe. "I call it too mean for words. I've just set my
heart on her meeting some of the folks and getting to know Millings.
She's been here a whole two weeks and she hasn't met a single fellow but
Dickie, and he don't count, and she hasn't even got friendly with any of
the girls. And I wanted her to see one of our real swell affairs.
Why--just for the credit of Millings, she's gotta go."

"Why fuss her about it, if she don't want to?" Girlie's soft voice was
poured like oil on the troubled billows of Babe's outburst.

"I'll see to her," Sylvester's chair scraped the floor as he rose. "I
know how to manage girls. Trust Poppa!"

He pushed through the door, followed by Babe. Sheila looked up at him
helplessly. She had her box under her feet, and so was not entirely
hidden by the dishpan. She drew up her head and faced him.

"Mr. Hudson," she began--"please! I can't go to a dance. You know
I can't--"

"Nonsense!" said Pap. "In the bright lexicon of youth there's no such
word as 'can't.' Say, girl, you can and you must. I won't have Babe
crying her eyes out and myself the most unpopular man in Millings. Say,
leave your dishes and go up and put on your best duds."

"That's talking," commented Babe.

In the dining-room "Momma" said, "Hmp!" and Girlie was silent.

Sheila looked at her protector. "But, you see, Mr. Hudson, I--I--it was
only a month ago--" She made a gesture with her hands to show him her
black dress, and her lips trembled.

Pap walked round to her and patted her shoulder. "I know," he said. "I
savvy. I get you, little girl. But, say, it won't do. You've got to begin
to live again and brighten up. You're only seventeen and that's no age
for mourning, no, nor moping. You must learn to for