for brewis or a pudding. Mother never has anything between loaves and
crumbs when _she_ manages; then all is nice, and keeps nice.

"Clean beginnings are beautiful," said Rosamond, looking around. "It
is the middle that's horrid."

"We won't have any middles," said Ruth. "We'll keep making clean
beginnings, all the way along. That is the difference between work and
muss."

"If you can," said Rose, doubtfully.

I suppose that is what some people will say, after this Holabird story
is printed so far. Then we just wish they could have seen mother make
a pudding or get a breakfast, that is all. A lady will no more make
a jumble or litter in doing such things than she would at her
dressing-table. It only needs an accustomed and delicate touch.

I will tell you something of how it was, I will take that Monday
morning--and Monday morning is as good, for badness, as you can
take--just after we had begun.

The room was nice enough for breakfast when we left it over night.
There was nothing straying about; the tea-kettle and the tin boiler
were filled,--father did that just before he locked up the house; we
had only to draw up the window-shades, and let the sweet light in, in
the morning.

Stephen had put a basket of wood and kindlings ready for Mrs. Dunikin
in the kitchen below, and the key of the lower door had been left on a