pretty one. Happy Jack prophesied plenty of trouble, and boasted that
she couldn't haul _him_ into no s'ciety. Slim declared again that by
golly, she wouldn't do no improving on _him_, and the others--Weary
and Irish and Pink and Jack Bates and Andy--discussed ways and means
and failed always to agree. When each one hoots derision at all plans
but his own, it is easy guessing what will be the result. In this
particular instance the result was voices raised in argument--voices
that reached Chip, grinning and listening on the porch of the White
House--and tardy slumber overtaking a disgruntled Happy Family on the
brink of violence.

It was not a particularly happy Family that woke to memory and a snowy
Sunday; woke late, because of the disturbing evening. When they spoke
to one another their voices were but growls, and when they trailed
through the snow to their breakfast they went in moody silence.

They had just brightened a bit before Patsy's Sunday breakfast, which
included hot-cakes and maple syrup, when the door was pushed quietly
open and the Little Doctor came in, followed closely by Miss Martin;
an apologetic Little Doctor, who seemed, by her very manner of
entering, to implore them not to blame _her_ for the intrusion. Miss
Martin was not apologetic. She was disconcertingly eager and glad to
meet them, and pathetically anxious to win their favor.

Miss Martin talked, and the Happy Family ate hurriedly and with
lowered eyelids. Miss Martin asked questions, and the Happy Family
kicked one another's shins under the table by way of urging someone to
reply; for this reason there was a quite perceptible pause between
question and answer, and the answer was invariably "the soul of
wit"--according to that famous recipe. Miss Martin told them naively