"How would Hickey do?" he inquired lazily. "George is forty, if not fat and fair; and he's a thoroughly good fellow." III Elizabeth Brewster had been awake in the night, as was her custom, making her noiseless rounds of the children's beds by the dim light of a candle. A cold wind had sprung up, with driving snow and sleet, and she feared its incursion into her nursery. Daylight found her in the kitchen superintending the slow movements of Celia, who upset the coffee-pot, dropped a soft-boiled egg on the hearth and stumbled over her untied shoe-strings in her untutored efforts to assist. Close upon the hurried departure of her husband to his office in a distant part of the city, came the sound of small feet and voices from above. With Sam's kiss still warm on her lips she ran lightly upstairs. Carroll, partly dressed, stood before the mirror brushing his hair, in funny imitation of his father's careful manner of accomplishing that necessary process; while Doris scampered wildly about in her night-gown, her small bare feet pink with cold. "I wanted to see my daddy," she pouted, as her mother remonstrated. "I wanted to tell him somesing." "You can tell him to-night, girlie.--Yes, baby; in just a minute!" Elizabeth's fingers were flying as she pulled on the little girl's warm stockings and buttoned her shoes. "Now then, kittykins, slip into your warm dressing-gown and see how nicely you can brush your teeth, while mother--What is it, Carroll? Oh, a button off? Well, I'll sew it on. Give Buddy his picture-book.--Yes, pet; mother knows you're hungry; you shall have breakfast in just a minute. See the pretty pictures.--That's right, Carroll, my work-basket. Now stand still while I--Oh, Doris dear! Did you drop the glass?" "It was all slippy, mother, an' I couldn't hold it. It's on the floor, mother, all in teeny, weeny pieces!" "Don't step on them! Wait, I'll sweep up the pieces.--Yes, baby, mother hears you! See the pretty picture of the little pigs! Those nice little pigs aren't crying!--Wait, Carroll, till mother fastens the thread. There, that's done! Now put the basket--What is it, Doris? Oh, poor little girl; you've cut your finger. Don't cry! But you see you should have minded mother and not touched the broken glass. Now we'll tie it up in this nice soft cloth, and---- "Yes, Celia; what is it? Oh, the butcher? Well, let me think--We had beefsteak last night. Tell him to bring chops--nice ones; not like the last.--Oh, I must run down and speak to that boy; he's so careless with the orders! Tell him to wait a minute, Celia.--Carroll, won't you show baby his pictures and keep him quiet till I--No, Doris; you mustn't touch that bottle; that is father's bay-rum. Put it down, quick!"