earing to enrage Katy by a laugh; for the angry passions of the
red-haired one rose more quickly than her bread.

As she departed with alacrity to add a spoonful of starch and a pinch
of whiting to her cake, Psyche, feeling better for her story and her
smile, put on her bib and paper cap and fell to work on the deformed
arm. An hour of bliss, then came a ring at the door-bell, followed by
Biddy to announce callers, and add that as "the mistress was in her
bed, miss must go and take care of 'em." Whereat "miss" cast down her
tools in despair, threw her cap one way, her bib another, and went in
to her guests with anything but a rapturous welcome.

Dinner being accomplished after much rushing up and down stairs with
trays and messages for Mrs. Dean, Psyche fled again to her studio,
ordering no one to approach under pain of a scolding. All went well
till, going in search of something, she found her little sister
sitting on the floor with her cheek against the studio door.

"I didn't mean to be naughty, Sy, but mother is asleep, and the boys
all gone, so I just came to be near you; it's so lonely everywhere,"
she said, apologetically, as she lifted up the heavy head that always
ached.

"The boys are very thoughtless. Come in and stay with me; you are such
a mouse you won't disturb me. Wouldn't you like to play be a model and
let me draw your arm, and tell you all about the nice little bones and
muscles?" asked Psyche, who had the fever very strong upon her just
then.

May didn't look as if the proposed amusement overwhelmed her with
delight, but meekly consented to be perched upon a high stool with
one arm propped up by a dropsical plaster cherub, while Psyche drew
busily, feeling that duty and pleasure were being delightfully
combined.

"Can't you hold your arm still, child? It shakes so I can't get it
right," she said, rather impatiently.

"No, it will tremble 'cause it's weak. I try hard, Sy, but there
doesn't seem to be much strongness in me lately."

"That's better; keep it so a few minutes and I'll be done," cried the
artist, forgetting that a few minutes may seem ages.

"My arm is so thin you can see the bunches nicely,--can't you?"

"Yes, dear."

Psyche glanced up at the wasted limb, and when she drew again there
was a blur before her eyes for a minute.

"I wish I was as fat as this white boy; but I get thinner every day
somehow, and pretty soon there won't be any of me left but my little
bones," said