It was Mrs.Markham's weakness that her wash should be fluttering in the wind before that of Mrs.Jones, which could be plainly seen from her kitchen window.

But to-day Mrs.Jones was ahead, and Melinda's pink sun-bonnet was visible in the little back-yard as early as eleven, at which time the Markham garments had just commenced to boil.

The bride had brought with her a great deal of extra work, and what with waiting breakfast for her until the coffee was cold and the baked potatoes "all soggy," and then cleaning up the litter of "that box," Mrs.Markham was dreadfully behind with her Monday's work.

And it did not tend to improve her temper to know that the cause of all her discomposure was "playing lady" in a handsome cashmere morning gown, with heavy tassels knotted at her side, while she was bending over the washtub in a faded calico pinned about her waist, and disclosing the quilt patched with many colors, and the black yarn stockings footed with coarse white.

Not that Mrs.Markham cared especially for the difference between her dress and Ethelyn's--neither did she expect Ethelyn to "help" that day--but she might at least have offered to wipe the dinner dishes, she thought.