arrears of housework and sewing; and all her
altruism could not keep back a sigh of relief as she saw Mandy Harris's
rockaway disappear down the road late Saturday afternoon. She sat up
till half-past ten sewing on a gingham dress for Lucy Ellen and a linen
blouse for little John, and the next day she knowingly and wilfully
broke the Sabbath by sweeping and dusting the parlor and dining-room.

Monday dawned cool and cloudy, more like March than April, and when the
rain began to come down in slow, steady fashion, she rejoiced at the
prospect of another day unbroken by callers. By Tuesday morning April
had resumed her reign. A few hours of wind and sunshine dried up the mud
and put the roads in fine condition, and an extra number of visitors and
children came in the afternoon. Lucy Ellen and little John were expected
to entertain the latter. But Lucy Ellen and John were by this time
frankly weary of company, and they had a standard of hospitality that
differed essentially from their mother's. It seemed to them that hosts
as well as guests had some rights, and they were ready at all times to
stand up and battle for theirs. Lucy Ellen could not understand why she
should be sent an exile to the lonely spare-room up-stairs, merely
because she had slapped Mary Virginia Harris for breaking her favorite
china doll; and little John was loudly indignant because he was
reprimanded for calling Jimmie Crawford names, when Jimmy persisted in
walking over the newly-planted garden. For the first time, both children
had hard feelings toward their gentle stepmother, and she herself longed
for the departure of the guests that she might take John's children in
her arms and explain away her seeming harshness.

Wednesday repeated the trials of Tuesday with a few disagreeable
variations, and Thursday was no better than Wednesday. By Thursday night
Mary had abandoned all hope of finishing her own sewing before May
Meeting Sunday. Her one aim now was to do a small amount of housework
each day and get three meals cooked for John and the children, and even
this work had to be subordinated to the increasing demands of the
dressmaking business. At times she had a strange feeling in her head,
and wondered if this was what people meant when they spoke of having
headache; but sleep, "the balm of every woe", seldom failed to come
nightly to her pillow, and all day long her sweet serenity never failed,
even when the trying week was fitly rounded out by a