"And you?"

Another nod.

"Then there isn't a single word in the dictionary good enough to fit!"
screamed Mary, excitedly, spinning around and around in the kitchen
floor until the red ribbons stood out at right angles from her head.
"There isn't a single word, Holland; we'll just have to _squeal_!"

At that she gave a long, ear-piercing shriek that seemed to go through
the roof like a fine-pointed needle. Holland and the baby joined in,
each trying to make a louder noise than the other. Their eyes were
tightly shut, their mouths wide open, and their faces red to bursting.

"There, there, children!" exclaimed Mrs. Ware, laughingly, as they
stopped to take breath. "The neighbours will think that the house is on
fire. We'll have a policeman after us if you make such a noise."

"The kettle is boiling over!" cried Holland, and Joyce flew to the
rescue. Jack went to change his wet clothes, and the three smaller
children trotted back and forth, pushing chairs to the table, and
helping to carry in the supper.

Many a bedraggled passer-by that evening looked out from under his
dripping umbrella as he neared the little brown house, cheered by a
babel of happy voices. The lamplight streaming across the wet pavement
drew his gaze to a window whose blinds had not been closed, and the
picture lingered pleasantly in his memory for many a day. It was the
Ware family at supper. And afterward, when the dishes had been cleared