Cross-grained and trying, Rebecca Miller was unlike the majority of the plain, unpretentious people of that rural community. In all her years she had failed to appreciate the futility of fuss, the sin of useless worry, and had never learned the invaluable lesson of minding her own business. "She means well," Mrs. Reist said in conciliatory tones when Uncle Amos or the children resented the interference of the dictatorial relative, but secretly she wondered how Rebecca could be so--so--she never finished the sentence. "Well, my goodness, here she comes once!" Amanda heard her aunt's rasping voice as they entered the house. Stifling an "Oh yea" the girl walked into the sitting-room. "Hello, Aunt Rebecca," she said dutifully, then turned to her mother-- "You want me?" "My goodness, your dress is all wet in the back!" Aunt Rebecca said shrilly. "What in the world did you do?" Before she could reply Philip turned about so his wet clothes were on view. "And you too!" cried the visitor. "My goodness, what was you two up to? Such wet blotches like you got!" "We were wadin' in the crick," Amanda said demurely, as her mother smoothed the tousled red hair back from the flushed forehead. "My goodness! Wadin' in the crick in dog days!" exploded Aunt Rebecca. "Now for that she'll turn into a doggie, ain't, Mom?" said the boy roguishly. Aunt Rebecca looked over her steel-rimmed spectacles at the two children who were bubbling over with laughter. "I think," she said sternly, "people don't learn children no manners no more." "Ach," the mother said soothingly, "you mustn't mind them. They get so full of laughin' even when we don't see what's to laugh at." "Yes," put in Amanda, "the Bible says it's good to have a merry heart and me and Phil's got one. You like us that way, don't you, Mom?" "Yes," the mother agreed. "Now you go put on dry things, then I want to fit your dresses. And, Philip, are you wet through?" "Naw. These thick pants don't get wet through if I rutch in water an hour. Jiminy pats, Mom, girls are delicate, can't stand a little wettin'." "You just wait, Phil," Amanda called to him as she ran up-stairs, "you're gettin' some good wettin' yet. I ain't done with you." "Cracky, who's afraid?" he called. A little later the girl appeared in dry clothes. "Ach," she said, "I forgot to wash my hands. I better go out to the pump and clean 'em so I don't get my new dresses dirty right aways." She ran to the pump on the side porch and jerked the handle up and down, while her brother followed and watched her, defiance in his eyes.