to take so much of your time, dear--you should let Betty do for me."

"But I want to do it," laughed Margaret. "Don't you want me?"

"Want you! That isn't the question, dear," objected Mrs. Whitmore
gently. "Of course, a maid's service can't be compared for an instant
with a daughter's love and care; but I don't want to be selfish--and you
and Kathie never let Betty do a thing for me. There, there! I won't
scold any more. What are you going to do to-day, Meg?"

Margaret hesitated. She was sitting by the window now, in a low chair
near her sister's. In her hands was a garment similar to that upon which
Katherine was still at work.

"Why, I thought," she began slowly, "I'd stay here with you and
Katherine a while."

Mrs. Whitmore set down her empty cup and turned a troubled face toward
the sound of her daughter's voice.

"Meg, dear," she remonstrated, "is it that fancy-work?"

"Well, isn't fancy-work all right?" The girl's voice shook a little.

Mrs. Whitmore stirred uneasily.

"No, it--it isn't--in this case," she protested. "Meg, Kathie, I don't
like it. You are young; you should go out more--both of you. I
understand, of course; it's your unselfishness. You stay with me lest I
get lonely; and you play at painting and fancy-work for an excuse. Now,