later.

The dishes were washed, the rooms in order, and the two girls were
luxuriously settled on the sofa, which they had drawn up in front
of Alan's blazing fire on the hearth. Alan himself was stretched
out on the rug, with his yellow head resting against the seat of
the sofa, beside Polly's hand. Too tired to talk, the children had
sat there quietly watching the fire until Molly broke the silence.

"I don't see, I'm sure," returned Polly. "It never seems as if
mamma did much, even when we haven't any girl; and I'm tired
almost to death, with what little we've done."

"I'm slowly getting to think," said Molly reflectively; "that our
mothers are wonderful women. If it takes three of us to spoil one
dinner, how do they get along, to do all the housekeeping and look
out for us and sew and all?"

"Perhaps they know more to start with," suggested Alan, ducking
his head out of reach of Polly's threatening fingers.

"If you hadn't been and gone and burned yourself in our service,
Alan," she said, laughing, "I would turn you out of the house."

But Molly was too much in earnest to heed this by-play.

"I believe I'll learn to cook," she went on. "I don't mean fancy
cooking, but good, plain things that one could live on."

"Why not go to cooking school?" asked Polly.