"What's the matter, to-night, Teddy?" he asked, sympathetically tweaking the end of her long brown pigtail.
"The weather, I think," she replied, as she threw a dish-towel at him. "I don't like to wash dishes, and I don't like rainy days, and I don't like—"
"Nothin' nor nobody. Never mind filling up the list. You've a crick in your temper, that's all. It will be gone in the morning. Here, give me a towel, and I'll help wipe."
It was a service he had often performed before. The twins were close friends, and some of their most confidential talks had been held over the steaming dish-water. They finished their task together; then Hubert linked his arm in that of his sister and came out into the dining-room, where Hope, with the stocking still drawn on over her hand, was vainly trying to rescue Allyn from the torments imposed on him by Phebe.
"Don't, Babe," she urged. "Don't you see how it makes him cry? Why can't you let him alone? He is always cross at bedtime."
"So are you," Phebe retorted defiantly. "When she comes, Hope McAlister, I do hope she'll give it to you good."
Hope flushed, and her sensitive chin quivered a little.
"Let's hope not," she said gently. "Do be quiet, there's a dear Babe. It is almost your bedtime."
"But I sha'n't go to bed," proclaimed Phebe rebelliously.
"Phebe!"