"Hope to find you here next summer," they shouted in driving off.
"Hope so," responded Sam.
Why Charlie Didn't Go.
BY MARY JOANNA PORTER.
"Dear me! There come Uncle Josh and Aunt Jane, and not a bed in the house is made!" Mrs. Upton glanced nervously at the clock—then about to strike eleven—surveyed with dismay the disordered kitchen, looked through the open door into the dining-room, where the unwashed breakfast dishes were yet standing, took her hands out of the dough and ran to wash them at the faucet.
"Maria, Maria, stir around. See what you can pick up while they're getting out of the cab. Isn't it always just so?"
Maria, the daughter of fifteen, hastily laid aside her novel and did her best to remove the cups and saucers from the breakfast table, not omitting to break one in her hurry. Meanwhile her mother closed the kitchen door, caught up from the dining-room sofa a promiscuous pile of hats, coats, rubbers and shawls, threw them into a convenient closet, placed the colored cloth on the table and hastened to open the front door to admit her guests.
"Come in! Come in! I'm ever so glad to see you, but you must take us just as we are. Did you come on the train?"