he'd only say, 'Yes, child, yes, I'll attend to it,' and never do a
thing."

This used to be Molly's lament, when some especially trying event
occurred, and if the girls were not there to condole with her, she
would retire to the shed-chamber, call her nine cats about her, and,
sitting in the old bushel basket, pull her hair about her ears, and
scold all alone. The cats learned to understand this habit, and
nobly did their best to dispel the gloom which now and then
obscured the sunshine of their little mistress. Some of them would
creep into her lap and purr till the comfortable sound soothed her
irritation; the sedate elders sat at her feet blinking with such wise
and sympathetic faces, that she felt as if half a dozen Solomons
were giving her the sagest advice; while the kittens frisked about,
cutting up their drollest capers till she laughed in spite of herself.
When the laugh came, the worst of the fit was over, and she soon
cheered up, dismissing the consolers with a pat all round, a feast of
good things from Miss Bat's larder, and the usual speech:--

"Well, dears, it's of no use to worry. I guess we shall get along
somehow, if we don't fret."

With which wise resolution, Molly would leave her retreat and
freshen up her spirits by a row on the river or a romp with Boo,
which always finished the case. Now, however, she was bound to
try the new plan and do something toward reforming not only the
boy's condition, but the disorder and discomfort of home.

"I'll play it is Siam, and this the house of a native, and I'm come to
show the folks how to live nicely. Miss Bat won't know what to