g to the eggs.

"I want to go," said Phoebe, stubbornly.

He coloured. "Don't you want to stay home and eat what daddy has
cooked?" he asked, rather plaintively.

"I want to go."

He could only resort to bribery. "And daddy'll take you down to see
the nickel show as soon as we've finished," he offered. The child's
face brightened.

Here Annie interposed.

"She can't go to see them nickel shows; Miss Duluth won't stand for
it. She's give me strict orders."

"I'll take good care of her----" began Phoebe's father.

"Miss Duluth's afraid of diphtheria and scarlet fever," said Annie,
resolutely, as she poured out a glass of milk for him.

"Not likely to be any diphtheria this time of year," he began again,
spurred by the kick Phoebe planted on his kneecap.

"Well, orders is orders. What Miss Duluth says goes."

"Ah, come now, Annie----"

"Say, do you want her to ketch scarlet fever and die?" demanded the
nurse, putting the bottle down and glaring at him with a look of mixed
commiseration and scorn.

"Good Heavens, no!" he ejaculated. The very thought of it brought a
gush of cold water to his mouth.

"Well, take her to see it if you must, but don't blame me. She's your
kid," said Annie, meanly, with victory assured.

"Make her say 'Yes,'" urged Phoebe, in a loud whisper.

He hedged. "Do you want to have the scarlet fever?" he asked,
dismally.

"Yes," said Phoebe. "And measles, too."

The sound of heavy footsteps on the back porch put an end to the
matter for the time being. Even Phoebe was diverted.

Bridget had come back. A little ahead of her usual schedule, too,
which was food for apprehension. Usually she took the whole day off
when she left "for good and all." Never before in the history of her
connection with Miss Duluth's menage had she returned so promptly.
Involuntarily the master of the house glanced out of the window to see
if a rain had blown up. The sun was shining brightly. It wasn't the
weather.

The banging of the outer door to the kitchen caused him to jump ever
so slightly and to cast a glance of inquiry at Annie, who altered her
original course and moved toward the sitting-room door. In the kitchen
a perfectly innocent skillet crashed into the sink with a vigour that
was more than ominous.

A moment later Bridget appeared in the door. She wore her best hat and
gloves and the dress she always went to mass in. The light of battle
was in her eye.

"We--we thought we wouldn't wait