Janice Day, the Young Homemaker

by Helen Beecher Long

"Yes, Stella asked me. But she didn't send out: all the invitations at once," said Janice slowly,

"You'll go of course, won't you?"

"Why—"

Then suddenly Amy's voice stopped. She looked at her mother. The glow went out of her face. She let one of the smaller children take the invitation out of her hand.

"I don't know," she said slowly. "I'll have to see."

"Won't you come in, Janice?" asked Mrs. Carringford, seeking to cover her daughter's embarrassment.

"I will for a minute, thank you," was Janice Day's smiling reply. "You know, I like Amy, Mrs. Carringford, and I have never been to her house before, and she has never been to mine."

Her speech helped to cover her friend's hesitation. Amy tripped in behind Janice and suddenly gave her a hearty squeeze.

"She's an awfully nice girl, Mumsy!" she said to her mother.

Janice laughed. But her bright eyes were taking in much besides the smiling expression on her friends' faces. The Carringford kitchen was like wax. Mrs. Carringford had been washing in one comer of the room, and there was a boiler drying behind the stove. But there was nothing sloppy or sudsy about the room. The woman had whisked off the big apron she had worn when Janice entered, and now the latter saw that her work dress was spotless.