WINNING HER WAY 



221 



was. She was always busy, always at 

 work. She had no sympathy with idle- 

 ness. She "couldn't abide shiflessness 

 or laziness/' Miss Betty would have ex- 

 pressed it that way. 



This being the case, Mary felt that 

 one of the easiest and surest ways of 

 winning her aunt's favor was to set about 

 doing something to prove that she was 

 willing to pay her way. 



Accordingly, when Miss Betty came into 

 the room, she said : 



"Isn't there something I can do. Aunt 

 Betty? I got so tired sitting still in the 

 cars that it seems as if it would rest me 

 more than anything else to stir about." 



"It must be she takes after the Pea- 

 bodys more'n the Grahamses, or she 

 wouldn't say that," thought Miss Betty. 

 "I never knew one o' the Grahams to want 

 to stir, s'long's they could set still." Then 

 aloud : "You c'n feed the chickens if you 

 want to. I'll mix the dough fer 'em." 



"But can't I do that. Aunt Betty?" 

 asked Mary. 



"N'o, I wouldn't trust ye to," said Miss 

 Betty. "Ef you want chickens to grow, 

 you've got to be partic'ler with their vit- 

 tles, an' I never yit see a young one that 

 had sense enough to be partic'ler with 

 anything." 



Mary said nothing. She took the dough 

 when it was ready, and fed it to the chick- 

 ens in the back yard, under Miss Betty's 

 sharp supervision. 



Then Miss Betty began to get supper. 

 Mary asked to be allowed to help her, 

 but the offer was met with a prompt re- 

 fusal. 



"I don't trust my dishes to young ones," 

 said Miss Betty. "Ketch me squanderin' 

 money in that way ! You c'n wash the 

 tin things, but don't ye ever dare to touch 

 the chiny." 



"I used to wash the dishes for mother," 

 said Mary. "I only broke one cup." 



"I don't s'pose she'd bothered her head 

 over it if ye'd broke a dozen of em to 

 a clatter," said her aunt. " 'Twa'n't her 

 way to fret over little things like that," 



she added, sarcastically. "The Grahamses 

 al'ays went in for takin" things easy." 



Mary ate but little supper. When the 

 meal was over she began to feel tired and 

 sleepy. The weariness of her long journey 

 told on her at last. 



"You'd better go to bed," said Miss 

 Betty, seeing what hard work it was for 

 the little girl to keep her eyelids ^rom 

 closing. 



Mary got up and went toward the room 

 where she was to sleep. She paused on its 

 threshold as if reluctant to go. 



"Well, what is it?" asked Miss Betty, 

 sharply. 



"Mayn't I kiss you good-night?" asked 

 Mary, timidly. "I always did that to 

 mother." 



"But I ain't yer mother," was the harsh 

 reply, " 'n I don't b'leeve in kissin'." 



Mary's lip quivered, and the tears came 

 as she turned away. 



She was really a great deal more weary 

 with her long journey than she had real- 

 ized in the excitement of it and her in- 

 troduction to her new home. It was not 

 long before she fell asleep. 



When she woke up the sun was shining 

 in at the window of her room. A morning- 

 glory vine grew over it, and the sunlight 

 made dancing shadows on the floor as its 

 beams sifted through the green leaves. 

 Two or three pink and purple blossoms 

 peeped in through the panes, as if to say 

 good-morning to her. Out in the old 

 cherry trees, whose branches she could 

 see a little way from the window, the 

 robins were singing away for dear life, 

 and over in the pasture she could hear the 

 lambs calling to their mothers. All sights 

 and sounds were pleasant ones, but they 

 could not shut out the memory of her 

 loneliness. 



"Oh, if mother were only here," she 

 thought, and then she laid her head down 

 on the pillow again and cried softly. 



She heard Miss Betty stirring about in 

 the kitchen, and jumped out of bed and 

 dressed herself at once. 



( To be continued.) 



