"She was a mite of a thing when we saw her
three years ago," ventured Jane; "she's had time
to improve."

"And time to grow worse!"

"Won't it be kind of a privilege to put her on the
right track?" asked Jane timidly.

"I don' know about the privilege part; it'll be
considerable of a chore, I guess. If her mother hain't
got her on the right track by now, she won't take to
it herself all of a sudden."

This depressed and depressing frame of mind had
lasted until the eventful day dawned on which Rebecca
was to arrive.

"If she makes as much work after she comes as
she has before, we might as well give up hope of
ever gettin' any rest," sighed Miranda as she hung
the dish towels on the barberry bushes at the side
door.

"But we should have had to clean house, Rebecca
or no Rebecca," urged Jane; "and I can't see why
you've scrubbed and washed and baked as you have
for that one child, nor why you've about bought out
Watson's stock of dry goods."