hapeless, and forlorn. She was prepared to go into a steaming kitchen
with puddles on the floor and dirty children all about, and have this
red-faced personage take a scarlet hand out of the tub, dry it on a
dirty apron, and hold it out to her. And for her part she was prepared
to take it, damp or clammy as it might be, without a squirm.

Wherefore, when Mattie ushered her proudly into a pretty, tidy
living-room with a square piano in the corner, and she saw a tall,
slender person with a plain, sweet, girlish face advancing to meet her,
in spite of her resemblance to Mattie, Elsie had no idea who she might
be. She had a confused sense of some neighbor having been brought in
to receive her, and a vague idea of asking to be taken into the kitchen.

"Oh, mother, here's Miss Moss!" cried Mattie, then dropped her hand and
exclaiming, "My goodness, there's that baby already!" fled into the
entry.

"I'm so pleased to see you, Miss Moss," said Mrs. Howe quietly. "Sit
there by the window where you get a view of the hill. It's more than
good of you to come. I hope Mattie didn't tease you too much?"

"No, indeed, she asked me very prettily," said Elsie. "She's a sweet
child."

"She's good as gold," said her mother. "And she's perfectly wild about
you. She calls you the Princess Moss-rose and makes up stories about
you after she goes to bed."

Elsie smiled and colored.

"Don't tell her I told you," warned Mrs. Howe, "she'll be right back.
She had the baby's clean dress ready to pop over his head the moment he
woke up."

Elsie looked up quickly as if she were about to speak. But though she
said nothing, Mrs. Howe seemed to reply.

"She takes most all the care of him when she isn't in school," she
admitted. "Some people think she's too young and that it's too hard
for her. But I hardly think so. She's naturally thin, just as I am,
but she's never sick, and she likes it, though, of course, like any
child, she'd like more time to herself. But she's a born mother. And
she really seems to make better use of her spare time than most of the
little girls she plays with. And though I suppose I ought not to say
it, she and Charles Augustus are ever so much better-behaved and
better-mannered than most children who have nothing to do but play--and
sometimes it seems they're happier. You see I taught school three
years up in the State of Maine, which is my home, and I understand
children pretty well, by and large."