little burned, peeling face, and big teeth missing when he smiled,
stood in the bay window, twisting the already limp net curtains into a
tight rope. Each boy gave Margaret a kiss that seemed curiously to
taste of dust, sunburn, and freckles, before she followed a noise of
hissing and voices to the kitchen to find Mother.

The kitchen, at five o'clock on Saturday afternoon, was in wild
confusion, and insufferably hot. Margaret had a distinct impression
that not a movable article therein was in place, and not an available
inch of tables or chairs unused, before her eyes reached the tall
figure of the woman in a gown of chocolate percale, who was frying
cutlets at the big littered range. Her face was dark with heat, and
streaked with perspiration. She turned as Margaret entered, and gave
a delighted cry.

"Well, there's my girl! Bless her heart! Look out for this spoon,
lovey," she added immediately, giving the girl a guarded embrace.
Tears of joy stood frankly in her fine eyes.

"I meant to have all of this out of the way, dear," apologized
Mrs. Paget, with a gesture that included cakes in the process of
frosting, salad vegetables in the process of cooling, soup in the
process of getting strained, great loaves of bread that sent a
delicious fragrance over all the other odors. "But we didn't look
for you until six."

"Oh, no matter!" Margaret said bravely.

"Rebecca tell you Dad didn't get his raise?" called Mrs. Paget, in a
voice that rose above the various noises of the kitchen. "Blanche!"