"We do," answered Bea, with much dignity, and flashing a resentful glance at Miss Strong. "Papa loved flowers dearly, and we always love to have them under his picture; but Kittie must have been in a hurry, and forgotten it this morning." "In-deed," said Miss Strong slowly. "But excuse me, pray do, I wouldn't have spoken of it, but I supposed, of course, that this room had not been arranged for the day yet." "Well, it is very early," retorted Bea, stung quite out of her patient politeness; and Miss Strong got up immediately, shutting her mouth with a vicious snap. "I'm sure I wouldn't have called so early," she said shortly. "But I am soliciting for the Church Fund, and having heard how exceedingly generous and willing you all were to give to all such causes, I made my first call here, confident that it would yield me encouragement." Poor Bea colored violently again, remembering that she only had enough money to pay the grocery bill, due to-morrow, and yet Miss Strong had made her feel as though she must give something; every one would expect it. "I'm very sorry," she said, slowly. "But I really cannot this morning." "In-deed," said Miss Strong again. "But then, people will be mistaken once in a while; I must bid you good morning, Miss Dering;" and out she stalked, before Bea could gain her breath. When Kittie and Kat came in from the pond a little while later, they found Bea, lying on the lounge and sobbing, with a despairing energy, that excited their liveliest alarm, and made all horrible things seem possible, from mother's death down to the breaking of the cherished family tea-pot. Bea told her story, but hadn't room to remonstrate, for the sobs that caught her breath; and the girls listened in grave alarm. "Who cares for old Polly Strong?" cried Kat, with defiant irreverence, and throwing her hat to the ceiling. "Well, I'm sorry," cried Kittie, running to comfort the prostrate chief. "It's all my fault; Kat swept the parlor this morning and I cleaned in here. Oh, I am ashamed, and so sorry, Bea dear." "Well--well, I think it's too--too bad," sobbed Bea, uncomforted. "She talked so mean, and--and--she'll tell everybody that--that--I'm no housekeeper, and then--then, mama--" "If she does," interrupted Kat fiercely, "I'll tell every mortal man, woman and child, in turn, that she's a meddling old thing, if they don't know it already; and I'll tell them just the truth about this room, too." "It was horrible in me," sighed Kittie in great self-reproach. "And when you were so kind as to change, too. We'll go right back to the dishes, Bea, and not disgrace your work any more, and I'll go right to work and clean this room decent, so that everything will shine until you can see your face in it."