rey, somewhat scornfully. "I shall
make myself a pretty pair as soon as I can, and embroider roses on them.
I think I will write to granny, and ask her to send me the materials.
Granny has some sweet ones. She cuts out great sprays of flowers from
cretonne, and applique's them on to Bolton sheeting. You have no idea how
sweet they look."

"I wish we had some for the drawing-room," sighed Faith, "the curtains
there are too shabby for words."

Debby and Joan had drifted up by this time, and were allowed to help, and
Joan sat on the floor contentedly playing with the hammer. When she had
put up the curtains, Mary helped Faith to unscrew the bed and carry it up,
and screw it together again, the mattress she carried in her strong arms
as easily as though it were Joan; while Tom and Deborah staggered up with
the pillows, sheets, and blankets.

When, though, it came to carrying up the chest of drawers, they all had to
give a hand. It was so clumsy, and slipped through their hands so
persistently that more than once they all sat down suddenly on the stairs
with the chest on top of them. By that time they had all begun to giggle,
and that made matters worse, for it took away all the strength they had.
Audrey's new room was growing quite ship-shape, but every other duty in
the house was at a standstill, everything else was forgotten, and time was
lost count of.

"Audrey! Faith! Mary! Where are you all? Do you know that it is
half-past one?"

Mr. Carlyle's voice broke in on their laughter so peremptorily and
unexpectedly, that Audrey and Faith above, and Mary below, lost their hold
of the clumsy bit of furniture, and let it slip backwards.

"Is dinner nearly--I say, girls, do be careful. If that thing were to
fall on Mary it might injure her seriously--and what should we do without
her?" With a strong grasp he seized and raised their cumbersome load,
while Mary, red, embarrassed, laughing, dishevelled, struggled out from
underneath. She was not really hurt, but she was dismayed at the thought
of the time, and the work which lay neglected.

"Half-past one!" she gasped, "and I've got all the dinner to get."
Faith had already flown downstairs.

"And I have to be at the Cemetery at half-past two," said Mr. Carlyle
gravely, but not unkindly. Mary was only seventeen, and, after all, young
things did enjoy anything out of the routine, he knew. But such a lack of
all sense of responsibility was serious, especially in