Her father laid a tender hand on her shoulder, and gave her a playful little pat as he left the room. But Barbara felt anything but playful. Her eyes flashed, and her lips set in a hard, bitter line. “My stomach is proof against anything!” Such a stupid joke,—such a cruel bit of pleasantry! There were unshed tears in her voice, as well as her eyes, as she went to the stairway and called up, crossly: “Jack, Cecil—ia!” There was no answer. Repeated calls brought forth an angry response from Gassy, and a lazy one from Jack. “Breakfast is all over. If you’re not down in five minutes, there’ll be nothing for you; I’m not going to let my dishes stand all morning!” Gassy deigned no answer. Dangerously near the time-limit, Jack appeared. “The wind seems to be from the east this morning,” he remarked casually. Barbara did not answer. “Was there anything special requiring my attendance at this witching hour of the morn?” “The lawn-mower,” said his sister, sharply. “Ah, I thought it must be a telegram or a fire,—judging from your agonized voice.” “If it _had_ been a fire, you would have had to be roused! When you haven’t an earthly thing to do about the house, Jack, I do think that you might get up in time for breakfast.” “You have some new theories since you began housekeeping. I have some faint recollections about your being the last man in the house to rise, a few weeks ago. I’m sorry, though, I overslept, Barb. I got up the minute you called. I roused me from my slumbers, I hied me from my bed. If I had known what breakfast was, I would have slept, instead. Excuse me for turning up my trousers. The coffee seems to be somewhat muddy.” The storm that had been threatening all the morning came at last. College dignity was forgotten, and Barbara became a cross, over-worked, over-heated child, with a strong sense of grievance. “Jack Grafton, you are a lazy, selfish, inconsiderate _beast_! If you had to do anything but _eat_ the meals, you wouldn’t criticise them so sharply. You _know_ I’m doing the best I can,—you know it!—and it’s so hot, and there’s so much work—” David’s serious brown eyes looked reproach at his older brother. “I’m sorry, Barb,” said Jack, penitently. “I exaggerated about the coffee,—it’s not muddy, only riley. You mustn’t get so fussed up about things that are said in fun. You always _used_ to be able to take a joke. As for the grass, I’ll hie me hence at once. It needs a cutting as badly as Gassy’s hair.” In spite of herself, Barbara smiled at the comparison. “Poor Cecilia,” she sighed. “I don’t know what on earth to do with that hair of hers. It is so stiff and rebellious that it won’t lie smooth, and yet so thin and straight that it won’t fluff out, like other children’s. I want her to have it cut, but she objects, and pins her faith to that row of curl-papers that makes her look like a Circassian Lady. It is such an ugly shade of red, too. If the child only knew how she looked—”