nd planned. Oranges had gone up, lamb had gone up--dear, dear, dear!

Sitting at the grocery counter, she would rearrange her menus.

"Butter fifty--my, that is high! Hasn't the new butter come in? I had
better have half a pound, I think. And the beans, and the onions, yes.
Let me see--how do you sell the canned asparagus--that's too much. Send
me those things, Mr. O'Brien, and I'll see what I can get in the
market."

All about her, in the heart-warming spring sunshine, other women were
mildly lamenting, mildly bartering. Martie's brain was still busily
milling, as she wheeled the coach back through the checkered sun and
shade of the elevated train. She would bump the coach down into the
area, carefully loading her arms with small packages, catching Margar
to her shoulder.

Panting, the perspiration breaking out on her forehead, she would enter
the dining room.

"Take her, Isabeau! My arms are breaking! Whew!--it is HOT! Not now,
Teddy, you can't have anything until lunch time. Amuse her a minute,
Isabeau, I can't take her until--I get--my breath! I had to change
dinner; he had no liver. I got veal for veal loaf; Mr. Bannister likes
that; and stuffed onions, and the pie, and baked potatoes. Make tea.
Put that down, Teddy, you can't have that. Now, my blessedest girl,
come to your mother! She's half asleep now; I'll change her and put her
out for her nap!"

The baby fed and asleep, Ted out again, Martie would serve Wallace's
breakfast herself rather than interrupt the steady thumping of irons in
the kitchen. She tried to be patient with his long delays.

"How's the head?" she would ask, sitting opposite him with little socks
to match, or boxed strawberries to stem.

"Oh, rotten! I woke up when the baby did."

"But, Wallie--that was seven o'clock! You've been asleep since."

"Just dozing. I heard you come in!"

"Well, I think I'll move her clothes out of that room. Aren't your eggs
good?"

"Nope. They taste like storage. I should think we could get good eggs
now!"

"They OUGHT to be good!"

"You ought to get a telephone in here," he might return sourly. "Then
you could deal with some decent place! I hate the way women pinch and
squeeze to save five cents; there's nothing in it!"

Silence. Martie's face flushed, her fingers flew.

"What are you doing to-day?" she might ask, after a while.

"Oh, I'll go down town, I guess. Never can tell when something'll
break. Bates told me that Foster was anxious to