at anything--on their way to the dining-room. She was rendering
desperate the two smaller boys, Frank X., Jr., and John Henry Newman
Costello, who staggered hopelessly in her wake. They were all
hungry, clean, and good-natured, and Alanna's voice led the other
voices, even as her feet, in twinkling patent leather, led their
feet.

Following the children came their mother, fastening the rich silk
and lace at her wrists as she came. Her handsome kindly face and her
big shapely hands were still moist and glowing from soap and warm
water, and the shining rings of black hair at her temples were
moist, too.

"This is all my doin', Dad," said she, comfortably, as she and her
flock entered the dining-room. "Put the soup on, Alma. I'm the one
that was goin' to be prompt at dinner, too!" she added, with a
superintending glance for all the children, as she tied on little
John's napkin.

F.X. Costello, Senior, undertaker by profession, and mayor by an
immense majority, was already at the head of the table.

"Late, eh, Mommie?" said he, good-naturedly. He threw his newspaper
on the floor, cast a householder's critical glance at the lights and
the fire, and pushed his neatly placed knives and forks to right and
left carelessly with both his fat hands.

The room was brilliantly lighted and warm. A great fire roared in
the old-fashioned black marble grate, and electric lights blazed
everywhere. Everything in the room, and in the house, was costly,