How did Mr. Holbrook know so well what Kitty needed to help her? His words had given her such new thoughts; some way it was all new to her, the idea that she had any duty to perform towards her mother. She stood thinking of it that bright winter day,--stood before the little fire, and wondered how it was that she ought to commence. She was to be alone all day. Mrs. Stebbens, their next neighbour, had fallen down and sprained her ankle, and sent to know if Mrs. Lewis could do her promised day's work in the village. Kitty was left in charge of the house and her sick father. She looked around the room: what an ugly, dreary little room it was!--dust, dirt, and cobwebs everywhere; her hood and shawl lying in one corner; her mother's apron on the floor in the middle of the room; the breakfast dishes not yet washed; the stove all spattered with grease from the pork gravy; the hearth thickly covered with ashes; the paper window-curtain hanging by one tack; and on the mantelpiece, behind the stove, such an array of half-eaten apples, matches, forks, sticky spoons, broken teacups, and dirty candlesticks, as would have frightened any one less used to it than was Kitty. As she looked around her, a forlorn smile came over her face, for she thought of Mr. Holbrook's words: "When you brush up the floor, or brighten the fire to please your mother"-- "He don't know," she said to herself, "that mother don't care for sweeping and such things; he don't know how we live. I wonder if mother _would_ notice now if things were different. What if we did live like other folks,--had nice tilings, and kept them put up, and the room swept. Suppose I try it. What could I do? I might sweep and wash off the stove, and--and clean off the mantelpiece. I'll just do it, and see if anybody in this house will care." No sooner thought than commenced. Kitty went to work. The dishes were washed until they shone; those clean dishes shouldn't go in such a disorderly cupboard. There was no help for it, the shelves must be washed; down came the bottles and bundles, papers of this and boxes of that, which had been gathering, Kitty didn't know how long, and the astonished shelves felt soap and water once more. How they were scrubbed! "Kitty," called her father from his bedroom, hearing the racket, "what are you doing?" "I'm cleaning house," answered Kitty promptly. And her father, because he did not know what else to do, let her work. From the cupboard she went to the mantelpiece, bundled the things all off in a heap, washed it thoroughly, and put everything in order. What a day it was to Kitty! One improvement led to another, and as things began to grow clean in her hands, she grew wonderfully interested, and only stopped at noon to warm her father's gruel.