o'clock. Be sure you cover things up, and shut the buttery door, and
put the cat down cellar, and sift your meal. I'll see to the
buckwheats last thing before I go to bed."

Mrs. Grant subsided with her knitting, for her hands were never
idle; Tom tilted his chair back against the wall and picked his teeth
with his pen-knife; Dick got out a little pot of grease, to make the
boots water-tight; and Harry sat down at the small table to look
over his accounts, with an important air,--for every one occupied
this room, and the work was done in the out-kitchen behind.

Merry hated clearing up, but dutifully did every distasteful task,
and kept her eye on careless Roxy till all was in order; then she
gladly went to perch on her father's knee, seeing in all the faces
about her the silent welcome they always wore for the "little one."

"Yes, I do want something, but I know you will say it is silly," she
began, as her father pinched her blooming cheek, with the wish
that his peaches would ever look half as well.

"Shouldn't wonder if it was a doll now;" and Mr. Grant stroked her
head with an indulgent smile, as if she was about six instead of
fifteen.

"Why, father, you know I don't! I haven't played with dollies for
years and years. No; I want to fix up my room pretty, like Jill's. I'll
do it all myself, and only want a few things, for I don't expect it to
look as nice as hers."

Indignation gave Merry courage to state her wishes boldly, though