And he certainly could not. Whatever her faults were, Dot was a little lady to the backbone, and would have been always sweet and fresh, and guiltless of pins and rents if she had never been able to afford more than fourpence half-penny prints to clothe herself with. Shabby finery she had a wholesome detestation for; however plain her dress might be, it was always dainty, her shoes fitted trimly, her collar was above reproach and fastened with precision, her gloves were unsoiled, and her hats always fresh if only trimmed with Indian muslin. But she was certainly a shocking young person where household matters were concerned. There was plenty of work to do even in so small a place; Peggie, however, had cheerfully taken it on her own shoulders at the beginning, and the things she ought to have done and left undone, the little mother did. It was not until there was a third member in the family that the housework was appreciably neglected. When the fascination of 'dressing baby' was no longer new to Dot, and Peggie, its devoted worshipper, begged to add that duty to her others, Dot consented with alacrity. And Larrie looked on and told himself daily these things ought not to be. One day there was a very great passage-at-arms. Peggie had gone to Sydney for the day to spend her month's wages in a fearful and wonderful hat she had long had her eye upon, and Dot was left with the whole burden of the household upon her shoulders. Generally on the rare occasions of Peggie's absence, the mother came down and presided over the kitchen and the baby, and Dot had little else to do than lay the table and help to dish up. But to-day Larrie's wicked conspiracy stood in the way. The mother sent down a little note; it was very hot, would Dot mind if she did not come, her head was inclined to ache badly? And Larrie had 'business in town' and would be back by the train just in time for dinner. Dot felt overwhelmed with the responsibilities of her position. 'I think you had better take baby up to mother's first, Larrie,' she said, 'I don't see how I am to mind him and cook the dinner and do everything.' 'How does Peggie manage when you're away? My dear Dot, I hope you are not going to give me the idea that you are one of those women utterly without resource,' said my lord Larrie. 'My sister Charlotte--' 'Grace!' cried Dot, 'spare me the recapitulation of the puddings she could make and the wonders she could do at sixteen.' 'Well, I only wanted to show you,' said Larrie. He brushed the dust off his shoulders, set his straw hat perfectly straight on his head--he always wore it tilted forward or stuck jauntily back in these wilds--and with a paternal kind of kiss to Dot and a grandfatherly one to the baby, he departed. 'I'll just show him what I can do,' said Dot going kitchenwards. 'Horrid boy!'