by anything short of
machinery."

"Guess they couldn't," laughed Ralph. "Anyhow, they were all right at
last accounts. It's Araminta--the pretty little thing who lives with
the dragon."

"Oh!" There was the merest shade of tenderness in the exclamation.
"How did it happen?"

"Divesting the circumstance of all irrelevant material," returned
Ralph, reaching for another crisp roll, "it was like this. With true
missionary spirit and in the belief that cleanliness is closely related
to godliness, Miss Mehitable determined to clean the old house on the
hill. The shack has been empty a long time; but now has a tenant--of
whom more anon.

"Miss Mehitable's own mansion, it seems, has been scrubbed inside and
out, and painted and varnished and generally torn up, even though it is
early in the year for such unholy doings. Having finished her own
premises, and still having strength in her elbow, and the housecleaning
microbe being yet on an unchecked rampage through her virtuous system,
and there being some soap left, Miss Mehitable wanders up to the house
with her pail.

"Shackled to her, also with a pail, is the helpless Araminta. Among
the impedimenta are the Reverend Austin Thorpe and the step-ladder, the
Reverend Thorpe being, dismissed at the door and allowed to run amuck
for the day.

"The Penates are duly thrown out of the windows, the veiled chatelaine
sitting by mute and helpless. One room is scrubbed till it's so clean
a fly would fall down in it, and the ministering angel goes back to her
own spotless residence after bedding. I believe I didn't understand
exactly why she went after the bedding, but I can doubtless find out
the next time I see Miss Mehitable.

"In the absence of the superintendent, Araminta seizes the opportunity
to fall off the top of the ladder, lighting on her ankle, and fainting
most completely on the way down. The rest is history.

"Doctor Dexter being out, his son, perforce, has to serve. The ankle
being duly set and the excitement allayed, terms are made in private
with the 'play doctor.' How much, Father, do you suppose I am to be
paid the day Araminta walks again?"

Doctor Dexter dismissed the question. "Couldn't guess," he grunted.

"Four and a half," said Ralph, proudly.

"Hundred?" asked Doctor Dexter, with a gleam of interest. "You must
have imbibed high notions at college."

"Hundred!" shouted Ralph, "Heavens, no! Four dollars and a half! Four
dollars and fif