kneading it very well--and--and--and--"
Polly's voice dropped to a kind of buzz, her head sank lower over the
large cookery-book which she was studying; her elbows were on the table,
her short curling hair fell over her eyes, and a dimpled hand firmly
pressed each cheek.

Helen sighed slightly, and returned with a little gesture of resignation
to the disentangling of Polly's work-basket. As she did so she seated
herself more firmly in her mother's arm-chair. Her little figure looked
slight in its deep and ample dimensions, and her smooth fair face was
slightly puckered with anxiety.

"Polly," she said, suddenly; "Polly, leave that book alone. There's more
in the world than housekeeping and pie-crust. Do you know that I have
discovered something, and I think, I really do think, that we ought to
go on with it. It was mother's plan, and father will always agree to
anything she wished."

Polly shut up Mrs. Beaton's cookery-book with a bang, rose from her seat
at the table, and opening the window sat down where the wind could
ruffle her hair and cool her hot cheeks.

"This is Friday," she said, "and my duties begin on Monday. Helen,
pie-crust is not unimportant when success or failure hangs upon it;
puddings may become vital, Helen, and, as to cheesecakes, I would stake
everything I possess in the world on the manner in which father munches
my first cheesecake. Well, dear, never mind; I'll try and turn my
distracted thoughts in your direction for a bit. What's the discovery?"

"Only," said Helen, "that I think I know what makes father look so gray,
and why he has a stoop, and why his eyes seem so sunken. Of course there
is the loss of our mother, but that is not the only trouble. I think he
has another, and I think also, Polly, that he had this other trouble
before mother died, and that she helped him to bear it, and made plans
to lighten it for him. You remember what one of her plans was, and how
we weren't any of us too well pleased. But I have been thinking lately,
since I began to guess father's trouble, that we ought to carry it out
just the same as if our mother was with us."

"Yes," said Polly. "You have a very exciting way of putting things,
Nell, winding one up and up, and not letting in the least little morsel
of light. What is father's trouble, and what was the plan? I can't
remember any plan, and I only know about father that he's the noblest of
all noble men, and that he bears mother's loss--well, as nobod