little 'slack.'"

"Polly!" and Mrs. Oliver half rose from the sofa, "I will not allow you
to call this a boarding-house in that tone of voice."

"A boarding-house, as I take it," argued Polly, "is a house where the
detestable human vipers known as boarders are 'taken in and done for.'"

"But we have always prided ourselves on having it exactly like a
family," said her mother plaintively. "You know we have not omitted a
single refinement of the daintiest home-life, no matter at what cost of
labor and thought."

"Certainly, that's the point,--and there you are, a sofa-invalid, and
here am I with my disposition ruined for life; such a wreck in temper
that I could blow up the boarders with dynamite and sleep peacefully
after it."

"Now be reasonable, little daughter. Think how kind and grateful the
boarders have been (at least almost always), how appreciative of
everything we have done for them."

"Of course; it is n't every day they can secure an--an--elderly Juno
like you to carve meat for them, or a--well, just for the sake of
completing the figure of speech--a blooming Hebe like me (I 've always
wondered why it was n't _She_be!) to dispense their tea and coffee; to
say nothing of broma for Mr. Talbot, cocoa for Mr. Greenwood, cambric
tea for Mrs. Hastings, and hot water for the Darlings. I have to keep
a schedule, and refer to it three times a day. This alone shows that
boarders are n't my vocation."