Lettie slammed down the lid of the piano with a bang, and went into the kitchen with a discontented air.
"When you put on the potatoes, Lettie," said her mother, "run up and make the boys' beds. I must go and dress Carrie's burn. Poor child! She has been left too long this morning."
Lettie's frown deepened. "What are boys good for, I should like to know? They might just as well make their own beds as I."
"Yes," said Theo, coming in at the back door, "and I suppose you might just as well feed the cows and horses and hoe corn as we."
"Well, you don't have to slave from morning till night for somebody else, and put up with all the children's whims." And the potatoes were tumbled into the pot with a vim that sent the scalding water up over her hands, which of course was a new grievance.
Up-stairs went Lettie and jerked off the bedclothes, and flung them on a chair.
"Lettie," called her mother's voice from her own room, where she was dressing Carrie's burn.
"In a moment," answered Lettie crossly. When she was done she went to see what her mother wanted.
"Run and lift Ruby. I've heard her talking to herself for the last fifteen minutes, and I'm afraid she will fall out of bed."
O baby Ruby! With your clear black eyes shining with love for everybody, your dimpled peachy cheeks, your hair in little damp ringlets, and your four little teeth peeping like pearls through your parted lips. Why does your cry of joy hush, and a grieved look come into the pretty eyes? What could any mortal do but take you up and hug you again and again? Ah! Lettie's frowning face bends over her instead of mother's, and with a jerk she is lifted. Of course she cries and Lettie's evil spirit whispers, "What a nuisance a crying baby is!" In vain she tried to hush her, for she was in no mood to sing or talk baby talk to her. But now mother is done, and in a very short time Ruby's tears are changed to smiles.