Her mother lifted an undaunted chin. "Well, what do you think o’ that!" she ejaculated. "Don’t cry, Cora. You ain’t hurt. You’re just flabbergasted. Flicker didn’t mean no harm, did you, Flicker? He was just dreamin’ he was one o’ them equestrienne bareback ladies, that rides horses four abreast in the circus, an’ jumps through hoops. Flicker’s prob’ly got ambitions, same’s the rest o’ us. An’ it’s all right to have ambitions, only you wanta be sure you’re suited to the part, if you got it. Sometimes the ideas _we_ got on that subjec’ an’ the ideas God’s got don’t kinda gee. That’s why, when we get to hankerin’ after what we wasn’t intended for, we so frequent land in the middle an’ fall through. Readin’ such little stories as Sweet Sibyl, gives a body wrong notions o’ that very kind. Now, it wouldn’t be healthy for me, or for you either, to dream we was Sweet Sibyls. We ain’t that typical type at all, so’s even if we got a gait on, an’ caught up with the millionaire before he got away from the sweat-shop (which it would be a stunt to do it, outside o’ THE INGLE-NOOK), he wouldn’t reco’nize us for his mate, on account o’ our eyes not bein’ vi’let, or our cheeks blush-rose, or our voices musical with ’motion. Looka here, Cora, d’you know what we’re in? We’re in luck! The lace part ain’t harmed a mite. It’s just the bobbinet Flicker went through. Acrow bobbinet can’t be hard to match. I’ll get a len’th of it, when I go to the city, an’ sew the lace on again, as easy as can be. _We’re_ in luck!" But, even as she spoke, Martha was calculating how much the _len’th_ would cost, and to just what extent her precious fifteen dollars would be depleted thereby. "You goin’ to tell Miss Claire?" asked Cora inquisitively. "No, ma’am. What’d be the use? What she don’t know won’t fret her, an’ it wasn’t nobody’s fault. When I’ve made it right, it’ll _be_ right. The less said, the sooner it’ll be mended. ’S that Sammy callin’?" "Mother! Mother!" the boy’s strident voice was heard shouting through the house. Martha composedly made her way to the stairhead. "Say, Sammy," she addressed him, "I ain’t dead, but if I was you’d ’a’ waked me, sure. Now, what is it?" "Mother! Whatcher think! You got a cow! Ol’ lady Crewe she made you a present of a cow! A man, name o’ Peter, he’s brought the cow. ’With the compliments o’ Madam Crewe,’ an’ she’s light yella, an’ she switches her tail like anything." Martha sat down upon the top step of the flight. "Well, what do you think o’ that!" she murmured. "This is my busy day, an’ no mistake. But who’d ’a’ thought I’d ’a’ had two such blows comin’ on top of another before noon? P’raps it ain’t true." But when she got downstairs she found it was true. She regarded the cow dubiously.