Sam bit his lip. "Yes, but that was a little different. Somehow, I think HAIL TO THE BRIDE might be better, don’t you?" "No!" said Martha, with decision. "First place, she ain’t exackly a bride by this time. When a lady’s been married almost a year, an’ traveled ’round the world in the meanwhile, I wouldn’t call her a bride. An’, besides, it wouldn’t be polite to single her out, an’ sorta leave _him_ in the cold. Everybody knows bridegrooms don’t cut much of a figga, but you needn’t rub it in. No, I thought it over careful, an’ HAIL TO THE CHIEF is what I decided on. HAIL TO THE CHIEF lets us out on responsibility. It’s up to them to prove which it hits, see?" Whether Sam did or didn’t, he made no further comment. He went and sat himself down in his own particular chair, took up from the center-table the latest number of _The New England Farmer_, and commenced studying it assiduously. A second later, the machine was in motion again, running with great velocity, impelled by Martha’s tireless foot. Mrs. Slawson did not look up, when the eldest of her four children, just home from school, came in, and made straight for her side. "Mother-r-r!" No answer. "Say, mother-r-r!" "For goodness’ sake, Cora, let go that R. The way you hang on to it, you’d think you was drownin’, an’ _it_ was a lifeline. Besides, d’you know what I decided to do? I decided to strike. For the rest o’ this week, I ain’t answerin’ to the name o’ ’Mother-r-r.’ See? There ain’t a minute in the day, when some one o’ you childern ain’t shoutin’ it—you, or Francie, or Sammy, or Sabina—an’ it’s _got on my nerves_, as Mrs. Sherman says. You can call me ’Martha’ or ’Little Sunshine’ or anythin’ else you got a mind to, but ’Mother-r-r,’ not on your life." "Say, moth——!" "Look out, now!" "What you sewin’ on?" "The machine." "Pooh, you know I don’t mean that. What you making? Anything for me?" "No, ma’am." "Well, what _are_ you, then?" "I’m a perfeck lady, an’ I’m makin’ a motta that proves it." "Mother-r-r, I think you’re real mean. All the girls at school have fancier clo’es ’n I got, an’ I think you just might make me some new ones, so there!" "Sure I might!" admitted Mrs. Slawson blandly. Cora’s lip went out. "Then, why don’t you? You got as much time as any other girl’s mother. Ann Upton’s mother makes all Ann’s dresses ’n’ things, an’ she’s got twice’s many as I got. She had a new dress, when school took in, in September, an’ she got another new one, ’round about New Year’s, and now she’s got another new one for summer." Martha stroked down a seam with deliberation. "That’s nice for Ann, ain’t it, havin’ so many? She can _spell_ ’m, as they say here. When she gets tired o’ wearin’ one dress, she can change to another, an’ look like one o’ them fashion-plates from mornin’ till night, an’ feel like——"