Twaddles, assured of expert attention for his patient, scrambled
to his feet.

"I have to go out in front and watch for Daddy," he announced
importantly. "I want to see what color the new car's painted. Sam
said to be sure and write him."

Norah, working over the faintly peeping young robin, blushed very
red.

"You take the brush pan and broom," she directed Twaddles, "and
brush up that mud. Wasn't it only this morning your mother was
telling you not to be making extra work?"

Twaddles obediently seized the dustpan and the long-handled broom.
His intentions were doubtless of the best, but he was a stranger
to the ways of broom handles. This one, in his hands, caught the
lid of a kettle Norah had on the stove and sent it spinning across
the room to land with a noisy clatter in the sink. Twaddles
privately considered this a distinct feat, but Norah was
unappreciative.

"Glory be!" cried the long-suffering Norah. "Be off with ye, and
I'll clean up the mud. The more helpful ye try to be, Twaddles,
the more work ye make."

Twaddles departed with as much dignity as he could muster, and
running through the front hall found his mother and his brother
Bobby looking at the window boxes on the front porch. The boxes