"All right," answered Amos, "but your mother was always clean and so am
I. I don't see where you get it."

"Maybe one of my ancestors was a garbage man," suggested Lydia, sliding
into her place at the table.

She allowed Lizzie to carry Patience into their bedroom after supper
and Amos, smoking in the yard and planning the garden for next year,
waited in vain to hear "Beulah Land" and "Wreathe me no gaudy chaplet"
float to him from the open window.

"Where's Lydia, Lizzie?" he asked as the old lady came out to empty the
dish water.

"She ain't come out yet. Maybe she's fell asleep too."

The two tip-toed to the window. On the bed under the covers was little
Patience, fast asleep, and beside her, on top of the covers, fully
dressed, lay Lydia, an arm across her little sister, in the sleep of
utter exhaustion.

"I'll just take her shoes off and cover her and leave her till
morning," said Lizzie.

But Amos, gazing at his two ill-kempt little daughters, at the chaotic
room, did not answer except to murmur to himself, "Oh, Patience!
Patience!"

The cottage was somewhat isolated. Amos was three quarters of a mile
from his work. The schoolhouse was a mile away and the nearest