things!" Mr. Baxter suddenly reined in his tongue; then added
abruptly, "Who's housekeeper generally, your mother or your aunt?"

"Mamma is," replied Polly.

"Oh!" Mr. Baxter's tone was rather annoyed. There was a prolonged
pause, while Polly watched the clock and reflected that it was
time to put on the potatoes.

"Are your children well?" inquired Molly politely, feeling that it
was her duty to say something.

"Quite well, only the baby has the croup almost every night. They
have a great many colds, but I tell them that it's good enough for
them, and perhaps it may teach them to be a little more careful,"
answered their fond parent sympathetically.

"I had a cold last winter," remarked Alan, launching himself into
the conversation with this bit of personal reminiscence.

"Oh," said Mr. Baxter again.

There was another pause, a long one this time. Polly broke it, for
she saw that both Molly and Alan were on the point of laughing.

"It is a beautiful day," she began. "We were going to ride this
morning with Job, but--" She paused abruptly. Job had done
conspicuous duty in Mrs. Baxter's funeral procession, in fact, he
had helped to bear the disconsolate widower and his children to
her grave. Polly felt that further mention of him would be ill-