kettle on,
Molly, put the kettle on--
We'll all take tea."

Thus sang the cheerful mother of the Donald family, as she set the
kettle of potatoes over the fire to boil for breakfast. The kettle was a
tight fit for so many potatoes, and Bonny, looking on with interest from
his high chair by the fire, remarked,

"Full, mamma; ain't it?"

"Yes, laddie, full as it can hold--just like our house."

"How it spatters and boils over, mamma!"

"And our house spatters and boils over with us, too, wee one."

Sure enough the Donald dozen did live in such a small tenement that it
was a puzzle how they ever could all get packed into it at once.

But then early in the morning the father went out to his work; Alec
followed to the shop, Jeanie to the store, Nickie to sell morning
papers, some to school and some to do errands, till Bonny and the baby
would be left alone with the mother. Then, shutting the door after the
last, she would say,

"Do you see how they all boil away, Bonny?" and she would sing merrily
as she scrubbed, swept, and cooked.

She did not sing so often after father Donald fell one day and broke a
leg. Nor did she fill the kettle of potatoes as full either after that.
Mr. Donald lay helpless, and worried about the place he feared he should
lose.

"But I've worked for the house till it seems I could not work anywhere
else. If they'd only promise to let me back again when I'm able, I'd
bear the rest with an easy mind," said the sick man, getting fevered and
flushed.

"Lad, I can't have you fret so," spoke his wife at last. She took down
her bonnet and shawl. "I'll go and ask the master myself. I don't
believe he'll refuse a woman, and you such a faithful hand. Bonny is so
good he won't be any trouble to you, and I'll take the baby along."

So Bonny climbed up by the window, and watched his mother and the baby
"boil away" like the rest.

Then Bonny played by himself a long while, it seemed to him. He built a
church tower with his blocks, like the tower he could see shooting up
above the low roofs. He changed the blocks into street cars, and dragged
them up and down the window-sill. He thumbed his torn picture-books; he
thumped his rag doll. Getting tired of all, he flattened his dear little
soft nose against the pane, watching the people tramp, tramping by on
the brick sidewalks, and the carts, drays, carriages, that clamp,
clamped over the stony street. He liked this, and crooned over to
himself, c