When Amos came up the path at a half after six, his dinner pail in his
hand, he found Lydia flat on her back on the little front porch. Her
curly head was wet with perspiration; face, hands and blouse were
black. The baby sat beside her, trying to get Florence Dombey to sleep.

"Well," said Amos, looking down on his family, "how do you like it,
Lydia?"

"It's great! My back's broken! Supper's ready."

"You shouldn't lift heavy things, child! How often have I told you?
Wait until I get home."

"I want to get things done," replied Lydia, "so's I can do a little
playing before school opens. Come on in and see all we've done, Daddy."

She forget her aching back and led the way into the house. Amos was as
excited and pleased as the children and Lizzie, so tired that her old
hands shook, was as elated as the others.

"It's much more roomy than the old house and all on one floor. 'Twill
save me the stairs. And the garden'll be fine," she said, failing to
call attention to the fact that the water was far from the house and
that there was no kitchen sink.

"We've got to try to keep this place cleaner than we did the other,"
said Amos. "Lydia, better wash up for supper."

"Oh, Daddy," said Lydia, "I'm too tired! Don't make me!"