“I have such a queer feeling whenever I look at Miss Brown,” confessed Ernie, as we put away the dinner dishes,—Rose having begged for an unexpected afternoon out. “Sort of as if we were a Cannibal family, and she was the last captive we had left. Just think, she means muttonchops, and beefsteak, and milk for Robin, and butter, and eggs, and everything except rent! We must guard her carefully, Elizabeth, and see to it that she does not escape!” Poor Miss Brown! I had had somewhat the same feeling myself, though I would not have thought of expressing it in exactly Ernie’s words. I think mother must have guessed from our faces how worried we were, for, as soon as the dishes were finished, she sat down at the piano and began to play the jolliest lot of college airs. And soon we were all singing and laughing; to hear us you wouldn’t have thought we had a care in the world. Certainly, for a time we forgot we had! Even Haze shut up his Cæsar, and joined in the frolic. Now wasn’t that exactly like mother,—and no one but her? “We’ll think it out together, Elizabeth,” she whispered, as I bade her good-night. “Don’t worry, dear.” Monday, December 15. Mother and I have had our consultation, and we feel better. It was rather like a general and his adjutant preparing for a siege. First, we mustered our resources,—the house; so much coal in the cellar, furnace, and range; Miss Brown’s seven dollars a week, Hazard’s three: next, the demands that were to be met,—lighting (always an expensive item at this season of the year); milk for Robin; and the table expenses generally. “The first thing to be done is to dispense with Rose,” said mother, pencil on lip. “Apart from the question of wages, she eats a great deal!” At this we could not help laughing. The parsimonious picture presented was certainly ludicrous;—but, on an income of ten dollars a week, every potato counts, and Rose has never been either efficient or economical. We have kept her for her cheapness and general good temper. She has washed the dishes, cooked, after a fashion, and attended a _great_ many funerals,—apparently the more the merrier. “It’s ma cousin’s step-brudder’s lil’ boy, dis time, Mis’ Graham,” she explained to mother, Saturday afternoon. “That ain’ no very close kin, ’cordin’ to some folks’ way ob reckonin’, Ah know. But Ah’m one o’ them that believes in keepin’ up the dispectability ob the fambly tie. C’n Ah go?” Of course, mother answered that she might, and consequently Ernie and I washed the dinner dishes. So, though perhaps Rose will be sorry to leave us, since she once confessed to Robin in an unconsidered burst of confidence, she considers us “a right sma’t fambly to do fer,” we cannot feel that she will be much of a loss; and, as we know she can get a place any time she wants it with her sister “at a swell boa’ding house in the fash’nable distric’s,” we are relieved of responsibility on that score.