She lifted Rebecca's starched petticoat from the bed to give Mother a
seat, when Mother came rather wearily in to watch them.

"Sweet girl to take them, Mark," said Mother, appreciatively. "I
was going to ask Brucie. But he's gone to bed, poor fellow; he's
worn out to-night."

"He had a letter from Ned Gunther this morning," said Rebecca,
cheerfully,--powdering the tip of her pretty nose, her eyes almost
crossed with concentration,--"and I think it made him blue all day."

"Ned Gunther?" said Margaret.

"Chum at college," Rebecca elucidated; "a lot of them are going to
Honolulu, just for this month, and of course they wanted Bruce. Mark,
does that show?"

Margaret's heart ached for the beloved brother's disappointment. There
it was again, all wrong! Before she left the house with the rioting
youngsters, she ran upstairs to his room. Bruce, surrounded by
scientific magazines, a drop-light with a vivid green shade over his
shoulder, looked up with a welcoming smile.

"Sit down and talk, Mark," said he.

Margaret explained her hurry.

"Bruce,--this isn't much fun!" she said, looking about the room
with its shabby dresser and worn carpet. "Why aren't you going
to the concert?"