"What are you dreaming about?" she said. "Where have you got the money?"
"Never mind. I have got the money. Which Would be your preference?"
"Oh, crab, dear; crab. I like it when it's well dressed; but then Maggie never can do anything properly."
"I'll dress it on this occasion," said Elma. "You shall have a good supper—crab and salad, and—There mother, do keep up heart again; you give way too much."
"Ah, child," said poor Mrs. Lewis, "I have had another terrible letter. He says he is starving; he cannot get work. I made the greatest possible mistake in allowing him to leave the country."
"You could do nothing else," said Elma, with a little stamp of her foot. "You know he would not help you in any way; he had to leave. But there, mother, you shall tell me the dismal news after tea. You will feel ever so much better when you have partaken of the dainty meal I mean to get for you."
Mrs. Lewis did not say anything further. Elma bent down, touched her parent on her brow with the lightest possible caress, and then stepped on tiptoe out of the room.
"Poor mother!" she muttered. "It is surprising the kind of things that comfort one; she is soothed at the thought of crab for supper with salad. Well, that is all right; she will be as amiable and petting to me as possible for the rest of the day. Now, then, for Carrie. A loose, untidy, badly, hung together girl like Carrie is a trial to any sister. However, I know the sort of thing that pleases her. I must be very careful of my treasure-trove. I shall not spend it lightly; but in giving my family small unexpected surprises it will be doing me an immensely good turn."
Elma now entered the room where Carrie was fuming up and down.
"Well, what have you to say for yourself, miss?" she cried, when her younger sister put in an appearance.