y this Saturday afternoon, but we have no other
housekeeper but you and Helen. See that the children get their suppers
early, and be careful about fire."

I believe to "be careful about fire" is the last command that every
parent gives to children on leaving them alone.

Now I know that people who write stories are very careful nowadays not to
make their boys too good. I suppose that I ought to represent Willie as
"taking on" a good deal when he found that he couldn't play all Saturday
afternoon, as he had expected. But I shall not. For one thing, at least,
in my story, is true; that is, Willie. If I tell you that he is good you
may believe it. I have seen him.

He only said, "Yes, sir."

Mrs. Blake did not keep a girl. The minister did not get a small fortune
of a salary. So it happened that Willie knew pretty well how to keep
house. He was a good brave boy, never ashamed to help his mother in a
right manly way. He could wash dishes and milk the cow, and often, when
mamma had a sick-headache, had he gotten a good breakfast, never
forgetting tea and toast for the invalid.

So Sancho, the Canadian pony, was harnessed to the minister's rusty
buggy, and Mr. and Mrs. Blake got in and told the children good-by. Then
Sancho started off, and had gone about ten steps, when he was suddenly
reined up with a "Whoa!"

"Willie!" said Mr. Blake.

"Sir."

"Be careful about fire."

"Yes, sir."

And then old blackey-brown Sancho moved on in a gentle trot, and Willie
and Helen and Richard went into the house, where Curlypate had already
gone, and where they found her on tiptoe, with her short little fingers
in the sugar-bowl, trying in vain to find a lump that would not go to
pieces in the vigorous squeeze that she gave in her desire to make sure
of it.

So Willie washed the dishes, while Helen wiped them, and Richard put them
away, and they had a merry time, though Willie had to soothe several
rising disputes between Helen and Richard. Then a glorious lot of wood
was gotten in, and Helen came near sweeping a hole in the carpet in her
eager desire to "surprise mamma." Curlypate went in the parlor and piled
things up in a wonderful way, declaring that she, too, was going to
"_susprise_ mamma." And doubtless mamma would have felt no little
surprise if she could have seen the parlor after Curlypate "put it to
rights."

Later in the evening the cow was milked, and a plain supper of bread and
milk eaten. Then Richard and Curl