o' head, Miss P'tricia, is more'n
I kin figger out," she declared a few moments later, guiding the sleepy
Tommy's spoon in its journey from bowl to mouth. "What yo' reckon yo'
pa's goin' say?"

"I think," Patricia glanced about the table, "that just at present Daddy
would say--bed."

"H'm," Sarah grunted, "yo' knows what I means. Well, it's sure got ter
be a bath for them all 'fore it kin be bed; so we'd best get started."

She headed the little procession upstairs, Tommy in her arms, Patricia
bringing up the rear with Totty.

"If it hadn't come about in such a dreadful way, wouldn't it be
perfectly lovely?" Patricia said. "Think of it, Nell--_five_
children to spend Christmas with one!"

Nell laughed. "Your Christmas isn't over yet, Pat; it won't be all
smooth running."

"You can't scare me. Nell, we'll hang up their stockings for them. They
must have their Christmas."

"What yo' goin' do fo' night things fo' dem, Miss P'tricia?" Sarah
asked, suddenly; "'pears like ain't none o' 'em come much laden down wid
luggage."

"N-no," Patricia answered; "probably their things weren't very
get-atable. We'll have to take some of my gowns, Sarah."

Whereupon Archibald lifted up his voice in swift protestation; he didn't
want to wear a girl's things; he wanted to go home; he wanted to sleep
in his own bed; he wanted his mother!

At that all-compelling word four other voices rose in instantaneous
lamentation, even Norma catching the general infection.

"Sarah, can't you do something?" Patricia implored. "Nell, what does
your mother do when your brothers cry like this?"

"They--don't cry like this," Nell answered, trying desperately to quiet
Lydia.

"Mebbe next time, Miss P'tricia," Sarah's tone was strictly of the
"I-told-you-so" order, "yo' won't go 'vitin' a whole tribe o' young uns,
widout resultin' any one."

Patricia, walking the room with the screaming Totty, came to a sudden
halt before Archibald, lying face down on the floor. "If you'll stop
crying I'll let Custard come up," she said.

"Who's Custard?" Archibald rolled over on his back to consider the
matter.

"My dog."

"Where is he?"

"Downstairs--in the kitchen."

"Does he like boys?"

"Not when they cry."

Archibald rubbed his eyes. "I'm not crying now."

But at that moment, Custard, who considered that he had been kept in the
background quite long enough, came upstairs on his own account. As Sarah
said, he seemed "ter sense the situation,