"What was it you said," she asked.
"Have you a good girl?"
"We haven't any," replied Polly meekly; "ours went away this morning."
"Just like them! They're the greatest plague in the world!" said Mr. Baxter explosively, and so rapidly that his words appeared to be tumbling over each other, in their haste to escape from his lips. "They haven't any honor; mine went off yesterday, and I haven't any to-day. She was a splendid girl with a great trunk full of real nice clothes, and such refined tastes, she always drank English breakfast tea. But she wouldn't stay, because I would not let her have all the soap she wanted. Extravagant things!" Mr. Baxter suddenly reined in his tongue; then added abruptly, "Who's housekeeper generally, your mother or your aunt?"
"Mamma is," replied Polly.
"Oh!" Mr. Baxter's tone was rather annoyed. There was a prolonged pause, while Polly watched the clock and reflected that it was time to put on the potatoes.
"Are your children well?" inquired Molly politely, feeling that it was her duty to say something.
"Quite well, only the baby has the croup almost every night. They have a great many colds, but I tell them that it's good enough for them, and perhaps it may teach them to be a little more careful," answered their fond parent sympathetically.
"I had a cold last winter," remarked Alan, launching himself into the conversation with this bit of personal reminiscence.
"Oh," said Mr. Baxter again.