too busy, she thought, to care about her. She felt quite sure that he
did not even want her to help in whatever it was that he was doing.
Perhaps, she thought wistfully, peering through the little green
tunnel, perhaps if she could go and find him he might--when he saw how
miserable and lonely she was--he might be kind. But to go through the
hedge was forbidden, except when mother said she might.

Sorrowfully she turned away to seek the kitchen where the cook was
busy with the week's baking. But the cook, when the little girl
offered to roll the pie crust or stir the frosting for the cake, was
hurried and cross and declared that the little girl could not help but
only hinder and that it would be better for her not to get in the way.

Once more, in a favorite corner of the big front porch, she was just
beginning to find some comfort with her doll when the woman with the
broom forced her to move again.

Poor little girl! What could she do under such trying
circumstances--what indeed but go to mother. All the way up the long
stairs she went to where mother was as busy as ever a mother could be
doing something with a lot of things that were piled all over the
room. But mother, when she saw the tear stained little face,
understood in a flash and put aside whatever it was that she was
doing, quickly, and held the little girl, dolly and all, close in her
mother arms until the feeling of being in the way and of not being
wanted was all gone. And, when the tears were quite dry, mother said,
so gently that it did not hurt, "No dearie, I'm afraid you can't help
mother now because mother's girl is too little to understand what it
is that mother is doing. But I'll tell you something that you
_can_ do. Mother will give you some things from the pantry and