the blazing sun was restful compared with home and its unending
demands. Rosie covered the ground at snail's pace, resting at the least
provocation of shade, and stopping to look at the least hint of anything
happening or likely to happen.

It was five o'clock when she reached home again, and time to give
Geraldine her afternoon bath. Mrs. O'Brien was still at the
ironing-board and Rosie had to shift clothes-horses to find a place on
the floor for the big basin.

"Ah, now, and ain't Rosie the kind sister to be giving Geraldine a nice
bath!" Mrs. O'Brien began in her usual tone and manner. "Your poor ma
wishes there was some one to give her a nice bath!" She rambled on while
Rosie splashed Geraldine and then began wrapping her in a towel.

"I wouldn't moind it so much if only it cooled off of nights." Mrs.
O'Brien wiped her moist face with her apron, and sighed. "It's played
out I am, Rosie. I can't stand another minute." She took a long,
uncertain breath and dropped heavily into a chair.

Rosie, with Geraldine in her arms, paused in the doorway. She, too,
wanted to escape from the hot kitchen, but something in her mother's
tone held her.

Mrs. O'Brien swayed listlessly in her chair. "It's sick at me stomach
I'm feelin'. The smell o' the kitchen goes agin' me.... Rosie dear----"
Mrs. O'Brien broke off to look at Rosie a moment in silent appeal.
"Rosie dear, do ye think just for tonight ye could cook the supper for
me? I hate to ask you--I do that, for ye've had a hard day of it with
poor wee Geraldine fretting her life away. And I'm not forgetting that
ye helped me this noon. I wouldn't be asking another thing of you today
if I could help it, but I'm clean tuckered out ironin' them last
shirt-waists for Ellen, and I tell ye, Rosie, I feel like I'd faint if I
thried to stand up in front of that stove."

Tears of self-pity came to Rosie's eyes and she wanted to cry out: "And
what about me? Don't you suppose I'm tired, too?" But the sight of her
mother's face going suddenly pale and of her hands beginning to shake,
checked her, and she said, quietly enough: "All right, Ma, I will. You
take Geraldine and go out in front. Maybe it's a little cooler there."

Mrs. O'Brien started off, murmuring gratefully: "Ah, Rosie dear, ye're a
darlint and I don't know what I'd do without you!"

Rosie, left to herself, instead of taking comfort at thought of her own
nobility of conduct, leaned miserably against the kitchen door and