Why, Jarge,
what do you mean?"

"And you're to start tomorrow, Rosie, on the eleven o'clock train, and
dad'll be at the station to meet you. You'll know him 'cause he looks
just like the farmers in the Sunday papers, with a big straw hat and
thin whiskers. And he drives an old white horse--Billy's his name."

"Mercy on us, Jarge Riley, how you talk!" Mrs. O'Brien leaned forward in
excitement. "What's this ye're sayin'?"

George laughed and started over again. "You see, Mis' O'Brien, Rosie and
me was talking the other day about babies and the country, and then
Geraldine began crying and I thought to myself, 'Well, I'll just write
to mother and see.' I wrote that morning, and here's the answer. The
postman gave it to me as I was starting out this afternoon."

"That's it, is it?" Mrs. O'Brien seemed to understand perfectly. To
Rosie, however, the news still sounded too good to be true.

"Jarge, do you mean your mother has invited Geraldine and me out to the
country for a couple o' weeks?"

"Sure, that's what I mean. And you're to start tomorrow----"

"Oh, Jarge, and can Geraldine sleep on the upstairs porch where the
breeze always blows and they's no mosquitoes or flies?"

"O' course she can, and you can, too!"

Rosie was laughing and crying together. "Do you hear that, Ma? She's
going to have a chance to sleep and get back her strength and then
she'll be able to pull over this horrible teething time, and then she
won't--she won't have to die!"

Rosie put her arms about George's neck and covered his cheek with tears
and kisses. Then suddenly she paused.

"But, Jarge, I don't know whether I can go! What about my papers?"

George laughed. "Aw, let the papers go blow! Anyway, can't Janet
McFadden take them?"

Rosie appealed to Terry. "Can she, Terry?"

Terry nodded. "Sure she can. Don't you worry about those papers. Me and
Janet'll get on all right. You take Geraldine and skip off and stay away
as long as Mis' Riley wants you."

George spread out his hands. "So you see, Rosie, everything's arranged.
You're to start tomorrow on the eleven----"

"But, Jarge, wait a minute! We can't start tomorrow 'cause our things
aren't ready. A whole lot of Geraldine's clothes and mine, too, got to
be washed."

"Can't you take 'em with you and wash 'em in the country?"

"Oh, Jarge!" The suggestion was evidently a horrible one, for Mrs.
O'Brien and Rosie spoke together.

George looked troubled. "But, Rosie, you got to s