Elizabeth Brewster sat by the window of her sewing-room in the fading light of the winter afternoon. She had been straining her eyes a little over her work and the intent look did not leave them as she glanced out into the gathering dusk. She could see all three of the children at their play on the lawn. Carroll, tall and sturdy for his eight years; Doris slim and active, her reddish blond hair streaming out from under her hood and blowing about her eager little face, and three-year-old Baby Richard, toiling manfully to keep up with the others as they piled damp snow-balls into the rude semblance of a human figure.

"Darlings!" murmured the mother to herself, a happy light seemingly reflected from the red winter sunset shining on her face. She raised the sash a hand's breadth and called to them, "Come in now, children; it is growing too cold for Richard to stay out any longer."

She glanced regretfully at her unfinished sewing as she rose, gathering up thread, scissors and thimble with the absent-minded carefulness born of long habit. Something was scorching on the kitchen range, she feared, a well-founded distrust of the heavy-handed Norwegian maid hastening her steps down the precipitous back stairway.

The range was heated to redness, and several saucepans huddled together over the hottest place were bubbling furiously. Celia, the maid, was setting the table in the dining-room, with slow, meditative motions like those of an ox. She did not appear at all disturbed at sight of her mistress hurriedly dashing water into one of the utensils, from which arose an evil-smelling steam.

"Oh, Celia! how many times must I tell you to cook the vegetables in plenty of water?" demanded Mrs. Brewster, in despairing tones. "And look! your fire is almost up to the griddles. Have you shaken it down this afternoon?"

The girl shook her big head with its untidy braids of straw-coloured hair. "Naw!" she observed explosively, after a pause filled with the noise of descending ashes.

"You should say 'no, Mrs. Brewster,' or 'no, ma'am,'" her mistress said, with an obvious effort after self-control. "Try not to forget again, Celia. Now you may go up to your room and make yourself tidy before you finish dinner."

The girl obeyed with the heavy, lurching steps of one crossing a ploughed field. Elizabeth, hurriedly opening doors and windows to the frosty sunset caught sight of her three children still busy about their snow image.

"Carroll, dear!" she called, "didn't you hear mother when she told you to come in?"

The boy turned his handsome head. "Yes, mother; I did hear you," he said, earnestly, "an' I told Doris to go straight into the house an' bring Richard; but she wouldn't go. I had to finish this first, you see, 'cause I've planned——"

"Come in now," interrupted his mother, forestalling the detailed explanation sure to follow. "Come in at once!"

The boy dropped the snow-shovel with which he was carefully shaping the base of his image. "Don't you hear mother, Doris?" he demanded in a clear, authoritative voice. "You must go right in this minute an' take Buddy."

The little girl thrust out the tip of a saucy pink tongue at her brother.

"Mother said you too, Carroll Brewster; you don't have to tell me an' Buddy. Does he, mother?"

"Carroll! Doris!"

There was no mistaking the tone of the mother's voice. The baby, suddenly conscious of cold fingers and tingling toes, ran toward her with a whining cry, his short arms outstretched. The others followed slowly, exchanging mutinous glances.

"Carroll is always trying to make me an' Buddy mind him; but we won't," observed Doris, emphatically kicking her overshoes across the floor.

"All three of you should obey mother every time," chanted Elizabeth in the weary tone of an oft-repeated admonition. She sighed as she added, "It is very naughty to argue and dispute."

"But you see, mother, I'm the oldest," began Carroll argumentatively, "an' I generally know what the children ought to do just as well as anybody."

He hung up his hat and coat and set his overshoes primly side by side with a rebuking glance at his small sister, who tossed her mane of hair at him disdainfully.

"I see you've forgotten what mother said about overshoes, Doris," he whispered with an air of superior merit which appeared to exasperate the little girl beyond endurance. She leaned forward suddenly and a piercing squeal from the boy announced the fact that virtue frequently reaps an unexpected reward.

"Doris pinched my ear hard, mother," he explained, winking fast to keep back the unmanly tears. "I didn't even touch her."

Elizabeth looked up from kissing and cuddling her baby. "Oh, Doris dear; how could you! Don't you love your little brother?"

The little girl flattened herself against the newel-post, her brown eyes full of warm, dancing lights. "Sometimes I do, mother," she said, with an air of engaging candour; "an' sometimes I feel jus'—like biting him!"

Elizabeth surveyed her daughter with large eyes of pained astonishment.

"You make mother very sorry when you say such naughty things, Doris," she said, severely. "Hang up your coat and hood; then you must go up-stairs to your room and stay till I call you."

In the half hour that followed Elizabeth gave her youngest his supper of bread and milk and hurried him off to bed, endeavouring in the meanwhile to keep a watchful eye upon the operations of the heavy-handed Celia, now irreproachable in a freshly starched cap and apron, and an attentive ear for Carroll practicing scales and exercises in the parlour. Later there was a salad to make, which involved the skilful compounding of a French dressing, and last of all a hurried freshening of her own toilet before the quick opening of the front door announced the advent of the head of the house.

Elizabeth was fastening her collar with fingers which trembled a little with the strain of her multiplied activities, when she heard her husband's voice upraised in joyous greetings to the children. "Hello there, Carroll, old man! And daddy's little girl, too!"

She had entirely forgotten Doris, and that young person had quite evidently escaped from durance vile into the safe shelter of her father's arms. After all, it was a small matter, Elizabeth assured herself; and Sam disliked tears and unpleasantness during the hours, few and short, he could spend with the children. Promising herself that she would talk seriously with the small offender at bed-time she ran down stairs to receive her own greeting, none the less prized and longed for after ten years of married life.

Her husband's eyes met her own with a smile. "Betty—dear!" he whispered, passing his arm about her shoulders. Doris from the other side peered around at her mother, her bright eyes full of laughing triumph.

"If I'm not very much mistaken," her father said mysteriously, "there's something in my coat pocket for good children."

Doris instantly joined her brother in a race for the highly desirable pocket, and the two were presently engaged in an amicable division of the spoils.

"You mustn't eat any candy till after dinner, children," warned Elizabeth.

Doris had already set her sharp white teeth in a bonbon, when her father's hand interposed. "Hold hard, there, youngsters," he said; "you heard the order of the court; no candy till after dinner."

"Just this one, daddy," pouted Doris. "I think I might." She swallowed it quickly and reached for another.

"Not till after dinner, young lady," and the pasteboard box was lifted high out of reach of small exploring fingers.

"Oh, Sam, why will you persist in bringing home candy?" Elizabeth asked, with a sort of tired indulgence in her voice. "You know they oughtn't to have it."

"I forgot, Betty. Please, ma'am, will you 'xcuse me, just this once—if I'll never do it again?"

His upraised hands and appealing eyes were irresistibly funny. Elizabeth laughed helplessly, and the children rolled on the floor in an ecstasy of mirth.

When presently all trooped out to dinner neither parent observed Doris as she nibbled a second bonbon.

"Oh-o-o! You naughty girl!" whispered Carroll enviously. "Where did you get that?"

"Out of the box," replied the small maiden, with a toss of her yellow head. "Um-m, it's good; don't you wish you had some?"

"Mother said——"

"Don't talk so loud; I'll give you half!"

"It's most all gone now. I'll tell mother, if you don't give me all the rest." And the boy reached masterfully for the coveted morsel.

"You're such a rude child you oughtn't to have any," observed Doris, nonchalantly bestowing the debatable dainty in her own mouth. "If you tell, I'll call you 'tattle-tale'!" she said thickly; "then the' won't either of us get any."

Carroll scowled fiercely at this undeniable statement. His father did not encourage unmanly reprisals.

"You're an awful selfish child, Doris," he said reproachfully, "an' that's worse 'an being rude; mother said so. It's worser 'an anything to be selfish. I wouldn't do it; guess I wouldn't!"

"I am not selfish!"

"You are, too!"

"Chil—dren!"

Their mother's vaguely admonitory voice caused the belligerents to slip meekly enough into their respective seats. They were hungry, and the soup smelled good. But their eyes and explorative toes continued the skirmish in a spirited manner.

"I had a letter from Evelyn Tripp to-day," Elizabeth was saying, as she fastened the children's long linen bibs. "——Sit up straight in your chair, Doris, and stop wriggling."

Sam Brewster cast an admonitory eye upon his son. "Evelyn Tripp!" he echoed, "I haven't heard you mention the lady in a long time."

"You know they left Boston last year and I hardly ever see her now-a-days. Poor Evelyn!"

"It is too bad," he said with mock solicitude. "Now, if you hardly ever saw me it would be 'poor Sam,' I suppose."

"The Tripps lost most of their money," she went on, ignoring his frivolous comment; "then they moved to Dorchester."

He helped himself to more soup with a reminiscent smile. "Worse luck for Dorchester," he murmured.

"Why, Sam," she said reprovingly. "Of course Evelyn was—Evelyn; but she was as kind as could be just after we were married, and before, too. Don't you remember?"

"Oh, yes; I remember perfectly. We were pawns on the chess-board in Miss Tripp's skilful hands for awhile," he agreed drily. "She's a Napoleon, a—er—Captain of Industry, a——"

"Please don't, Sam," interrupted Elizabeth. "Poor Evelyn has been very unfortunate, and I'm sorry for her. She—wants to come and make us a visit, and I——"

An appalling thump and a smothered squeal marked the spot where, at this crucial point in the conversation, Doris suddenly disappeared from view. Her father stooped to peer under the cloth.

"Will you kindly tell me what you were trying to do, Doris?" he demanded, as he fished his daughter out from under the table in a more or less dishevelled condition.

"It was Carroll's fault, daddy," replied the child. "He kicked me under the table, an' course I was 'bliged to kick him back; an' I did it!"

Her air of sparkling triumph provoked a smile from her father; but Elizabeth looked grave.

"I really think," she said, "that Doris ought to go upstairs without dessert. You know, Doris, you disobeyed mother when you came down without leave."

The little girl's eyes flashed angry fire. "Carroll kicked me first," she pouted, "an' I couldn't reach him; he wasn't fair 'cause he got 'way back in his chair on purpose; you know you did, Carroll Brewster!"

Elizabeth turned judicially to her son.

"No, mother," explained the boy, "I didn't really kick Doris; I just put out my toe and poked her,—just a small, soft poke; you know it didn't hurt, Doris; but I did squeeze back in my chair so you couldn't reach me." His candid blue eyes, so like his father's, looked full into hers.

"Well, in view of the evidence, I propose that you suspend sentence, Betty, and let them both off," put in the head of the house. "You'll be a good girl and keep your toes under your chair, won't you, Dorry?"

"Yes, daddy, I will," promised the little girl, gazing up at her father from under her curved lashes with the dimpled sweetness of a youthful seraph. "I do love you so, daddy," she cooed gently. "I feel just like kissing you!"

Her father caught the child in his arms and pressed half a dozen kisses on her rosy cheeks before depositing her in her chair. "Remember, girlie, you must be as quiet as a mouse or your mother will whisk you off to bed before you can say Jack Robinson." He cast a laughing glance across the table at his wife. "You see we all stand in proper awe of you, my dear!"

"Oh, Sam!" murmured Elizabeth reprovingly; but she laughed with the children.

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