"Ah, I understand," returned Mr. Rowe playfully: "you want to help yourself a little by helping Ellen a great deal! That is just your way. Well, why not take Ellen a week on trial?" "Would you?" asked Mrs. Rowe. "Perhaps I'd better." Ellen came the very next Monday, and proved so useful about amusing Weezy that Mrs. Rowe was glad to have her come every day during the winter, to remain from eight o'clock until four. She was still with the Rowes, when the first of March arrived, bringing the Rev. Mr. Cutler's birthday. "We have invited Mr. Cutler to dine with us to-day, Ellen," Mrs. Rowe said to her that morning, "and I want the dining-room kept tidy. You and Weezy can play in the sitting-room; but remember, you must not go into the dining-room." "No'm," replied Ellen rather crossly. "If the minister is coming, they'll have out the new pink china dishes, and them pretty silver spoons with gold inside of 'em," she was thinking to herself. "And I say it's real mean of Mrs. Rowe not to let me go in and see the table _sut_." Of course, this was wrong, besides being silly; but Ellen dearly loved fine things, and she had handled so very, very few of them! As she built block houses for Weezy, it drove her nearly wild to hear the rattling of the dinner-service; and by and by, when she knew Lovisa had gone into the kitchen to see about the pudding, she opened the dining-room door,--"the least crack," you know,--and peeped in. Weezy always did what Ellen did: so she peeped too. "Weezy mustn't go in," said Ellen, with a longing look at the silver fruit-stand on the sideboard. "Yes, yes; her _must_," cried little Weezy, who had not thought of going in till Ellen spoke, as the crafty nurse-girl very well knew. "Her _must_ go," repeated Weezy, stamping her foot. "Well, then, hush. Don't make a teenty-tonty speck of noise," whispered Ellen, throwing the door wide open. "Her mother doesn't want her to cry, and get her eyes and nose all red when there's company coming, now, does she?" reasoned Ellen. "If Mrs. Rowe should happen to catch us in here, I could say I couldn't make Miss Weezy stay in the sitting-room best I could do." But, dear me! Ellen didn't have a bit of a good time after she crossed that forbidden threshold. While she stopped to examine the little silver owl that was really a pepper-box, Weezy tipped over the silver cat that sprinkled salt through its head. And she had hardly brushed the tablecloth clean before Weezy was in the closet, dipping her fingers into the pickle-jar. Worse than that, in the second of time it took to replace the cover of the jar, Weezy seized the best silver teapot, and ran away with it. "Oh, give it back to me, Weezy; do give it back to me!" begged Ellen, following in great distress. She dared not snatch the teapot, lest it might be injured; besides, Weezy would scream, and that would bring her mamma, who was up in her room dressing for dinner.