.

AT THE RECEIPT OF CUSTOM.
"What are you laughing at, Kitty?
You cackle like a young hen with her first egg." So spoke Mrs.Tynan to her daughter, who alternately swung backwards and forwards in a big rocking-chair, silently gazing into the distant sky, or sat still and "cackled" as her mother had said.
A person of real observation and astuteness, however, would have noticed that Kitty's laughter told a story which was not joy and gladness--neither good humour nor the abandonment of a luxurious nature.
It was tinged with bitterness and had the smart of the nettle.
Her mother's question only made her laugh the more, and at last Mrs.
Tynan stooped over her and said, "I could shake you, Kitty.

You'd make a snail fidget, and I've got enough to do to keep my senses steady with all the house-work--and now her in there!" She tossed a hand behind her fretfully.
Quick with love for her mother, as she always was, Kitty caught the other's trembling hand.

"You've always had too much to do, mother; always been slaving for others.

You've never had time to think whether you're happy or not, or whether you've got a problem--that's what people call things, when they're got so much time on their hands that they make a play of their inside feelings and work it up till it sets them crazy." Mrs.Tynan's mouth tightened and her brow clouded.