mattered when Martie
was struggling in East Twenty-sixth Street. Rose "went" with the Frosts
and the Streets and the Pattersons now. Her intimate friend was Dr.
Ellis's wife, a girl from San Francisco.

"Shall we go in for a minute, and make a little visit?" said Lydia, as
she had said years ago, whenever they passed the church. Martie nodded.
They creaked into the barnlike shabbiness of the edifice; the little
red light twinkled silently before the altar. Clara Baxter was
tiptoeing to and fro with vases. Teddy twisted and turned, had to be
bumped to his knees, was warned in a whisper that he must not talk.

Father Martin was not well; he had an assistant, Lydia said. The bishop
wanted to establish a convent here, and old Mrs. Hanson had left eleven
hundred dollars for it. Gertie Hanson lived in Fruitvale; she was
married to a widower. She had threatened to fight the will, but people
said that she got quite a lot of money; the Hansons were richer than
any one thought. Anyway, she had not put up a gravestone to her mother
yet, and Alice Clark said that Gertie had said that she couldn't afford
it.

"Why, that house must have been worth something!" Martie commented,
picking up the threads with interest.

"Well, wouldn't you think so!" Lydia said eagerly.

The morning had been so wasted that Sally was in a whirl of
dinner-getting when they reached her house. She had her hearty meal at
noon on the children's account; her little kitchen was filled with
smoke and noise. To-day she had masses of rather dark, mushy boiled
rice, stewed neck of lamb, apples, and hot biscuits. Martie, fresh from
New York's campaign of dietetic education, reflected that it was rather
unusual fare for small children, but Sally's quartette was
healthy-looking enough, and full of life and excitement. 'Lizabeth set
the table; there was great running about, and dragging of chairs.

Martie studied her sister with amused admiration. There was small room
for maternal vapours in Sally's busy life. Her matter-of-fact voice
ruled the confusion.

"Jim, you do as 'Lizabeth tells you, or you'll get another whipping,
sir! Pour that milk into the pitcher, Brother. Put on both sugar bowls,
darling; Brother likes the brown. Martie, dearest, I am ashamed of this
muss, but in two minutes I'll have them all started--there's
baby--'Lizabeth, there's baby; you'll have to go up--"

"I'll go up!" Lydia and Martie said together. Martie went through the
bare little