The three cats were all nestled cosily in Nancy’s lap or snuggled by her side.  Mother Carey had demurred at two, and when Nancy appeared one day after school with a third, she spoke, with some firmness, of refusing it a home.  “If we must economize on cats,” cried Nancy passionately, “don’t let’s begin on this one!  She doesn’t look it, but she is a heroine.  When the Rideout’s house burned down, her kittens were in a basket by the kitchen stove.  Three times she ran in through the flames and brought out a kitten in her mouth.  The tip of her tail is gone, and part of an ear, and she’s blind in one eye.  Mr. Harmon says she’s too homely to live; now what do you think?”

“I think nobody pretending to be a mother could turn her back on another mother like that,” said Mrs. Carey promptly.  “We’ll take a pint more milk, and I think you children will have to leave something in your plates now and then, you polish them until it really is indecent.”

To-night an impromptu meeting of the Ways and Means Committee was taking place by the sitting room fire, perhaps because the family plates had been polished to a terrifying degree that week.

“Children,” said Mother Carey, “we have been as economical as we knew how to be; we have worked to the limit of our strength; we have spent almost nothing on clothing, but the fact remains that we have scarcely money enough in our reserve fund to last another six months.  What shall we do?”

Nancy leaped to her feet, scattering cats in every direction.

“Mother Carey!” she exclaimed remorsefully.  “You haven’t mentioned money since New Year’s, and I thought we were rubbing along as usual.  The bills are all paid; what’s the matter?”

“That is the matter!” answered Mrs. Carey with the suspicion of a tear in her laughing voice, “The bills are paid, and there’s too little left!  We eat so much, and we burn so much wood, and so many gallons of oil’”

“The back of the winter’s broken, mother dear!” said Gilbert, as a terrific blast shook the blinds as a terrier would a rat.  “Don’t listen to that wind; it ’s only a March bluff!  Osh Popham says snow is the poor man’s manure; he says it’s going to be an early season and a grand hay crop.  We’ll get fifty dollars for our field.”

“That will be in July, and this is March,” said his mother.  “Still, the small reversible Van Twiller will carry us through May, with our other income.  But the saving days are over, and the earning days have come, dears!  I am the oldest and the biggest, I must begin.”

“Never!” cried Nancy.  “You slave enough for us, as it is, but you shall never slave for anybody else; shall she, Gilly?”

“Not if I know it!” answered Gilbert with good ringing emphasis.

“Another winter I fear we must close the Yellow House and—­”

The rest of Mother Carey’s remark was never heard, for at Nancy’s given signal the four younger Careys all swooned on the floor.  Nancy had secretly trained Peter so that he was the best swooner of the family, and his comical imitation of Nancy was so mirth-compelling that Mother Carey laughed and declared there was no such thing as talking seriously to children like hers.