“Homer, you, and I could have divided the housework, as we did in other places,” continued Hetty, attacking a row of forks, now that the spoons were done with, “and we could hire a woman by the day to wash and iron. The cook may justify Mrs. Gilchrist’s recommendation. I dare say she will. Only—but I’ll not utter another croak to-day! You are an angelic optimist, and I am given over to pessimism of the opposite type. We will accept Mary Ann and the rest of the goods the Fairhill gods provide, including the open-air studio, eat, drink, and be merry, and make up our minds that to-morrow we _won’t_ die! I’d seal the covenant with a kiss if I were quite certain that I am not silicon-ed up to the eyes.” Mrs. Wayt bore a pained and heavy heart to the nursery and her mending basket. She loved Hetty fondly, and with what abundant reason no one knew so well as the heroic wife of a selfishly eccentric man. She trusted her sister’s sterling sense, and in most instances was willing to abide by her judgment, but there were radical differences in their views upon certain subjects. The very pains Hetty took to avert open discussion of what lay like a carking blight upon the spirits of both caused friction and rawness, and the feigned levity with which she closed the door upon the topic would have been insult from anyone else. She had no alternative but to submit, no help but in the Refuge of all pure souls tempted almost out of measure by the sins and perversities of those dearest to them. Upon the knees of her heart she besought wisdom and comfort, and—sweet satire upon the pious duty of self-examination!—forgiveness for her intolerance of others’ foibles! Baby Annie was building block houses upon the floor, and filling them with dandelions. Homer had brought a small basketful up to her just before Mrs. Wayt was summoned to her visitor, and had helped the child erect a castle while the mother was below. Upon her entrance, he shuffled out as sheepishly as if she had detected him rifling the pockets of her husband’s Sunday clothes. These lay over a chair by her work table. While she prayed, her fingers plied the needle upon a ripped lining and two loose buttons.