It had, indeed, been a very sad evening for the four little girls. They had spent it alone, for Grandma had not come home to tea. She had sent a note to say the children were not to wait for her, as she had accepted the invitation of a neighbor to remain to supper, and go to hear a distinguished speaker at the town hall. As for Lizzie, chief cause of all the trouble, she had been driven home by her husband, a very sad and depressed Lizzie, for every one had blamed her for telling the children a piece of news which Mrs. Winslow had strictly forbidden every member of the household to mention. So the children had sat on the piazza in the twilight, after tea, Molly and Maud with their heads on their elder sisters’ laps, and nobody had talked much. There really did not seem anything to say, and it had been a relief to them all when bedtime came. They had undressed in the same quiet, subdued way, and Molly and Maud had soon forgotten their troubles in sleep. Dulcie cried softly into the pillow for a few minutes, while Daisy soothed and comforted her as best she could, both of them still mindful of their sleeping sisters in the other bed, for, as in the city, the four little girls shared the same room. Then Dulcie pulled herself together again, and began to talk. “I’ve been thinking of it for hours and hours,” she whispered, “and I’ve made up my mind we’ve got to do something.” Daisy gasped. “There isn’t anything we can do,” she protested. “We’ve just got to make the best of it. I’ve been praying a lot, Dulcie dear, and I think perhaps God won’t let the stepmother be so very dreadful, after all. There may be some nice stepmothers, you know, even if we’ve never heard of them.” “But there is something we can do,” said Dulcie, not without a touch of pride in her tone. “I’ve thought of it. You see, it isn’t as if we were all little as we were when Mamma died. Then, of course, we couldn’t do anything for ourselves, and Papa had to bring us to Grandma, but now you and I are old enough to earn our living, and even Molly could work--wash dishes, you know, and shell peas, and little things like that. Between the three of us we ought to be able to earn enough to take care of Maud.” “Earn our own living!” repeated Daisy, incredulously. “Why, Dulcie, how could we? Papa wouldn’t let us, or Grandma either. Grandma would say we had disgraced the family, the same as she did when that cousin of hers went away to be an actress.” Dulcie sniffed scornfully. “We can’t help what Grandma says,” she said. “Papa won’t think we are a disgrace to the family. Besides, it will all have to happen before he gets home. He may not like it just at first, but I don’t believe he’ll really mind much, because, of course, it will make the stepmother happy not to have any burdens.” “But--but,” faltered Daisy, “Papa is coming home to-morrow. How can it possibly happen before that?”