Thus the seventy-five dollars covered less ground every month as prices mounted, and little bills began to be left outstanding.  Part of the income was from a house which rented for twenty dollars but this last month the tenants had abruptly moved, and that much was cut off.  Migwan, unbusiness-like as she was, began to be worried about the condition of their affairs, and worked on her story feverishly, that it might be turned into money as soon as possible.  She was deep in the intricacies of literary construction when her mother entered the room, broom in hand and dust cap on head, and sank into a chair.

“Do you suppose you could finish this sweeping?” she asked Migwan.  “My back aches so I just can’t stand up any longer.”

“Why can’t Betty do it?” asked Migwan a little impatiently, for she thought she ought not be disturbed when she was engaged in such an important piece of work.

“Betty’s off in the neighborhood somewhere,” said her mother wearily.  “Did you ever see her around when there was any work to be done?” Migwan was filled with exasperation.  That was the way things always went at their house.  Tom was allowed to upset the place from one end to the other without ever having to pick up his things; Betty was never asked to do any housework, and her mother left the Saturday dinner dishes standing and began to sweep in the afternoon and then was unable to finish.  Migwan was just about to suggest a search for the errant Betty, when she remembered the “Give Service” part of the Camp Fire Law.  She rose cheerfully and took the broom from her mother’s hand.

“Lie down a while, mother,” she said, plumping up the pillows on the couch.  Mrs. Gardiner sank down gratefully and Migwan put away her story and went at the sweeping.  She soon turned it into a game in which she was a good fairy fighting the hosts of the goblin Dust, and must have them completely vanquished by four o’clock, or her magic wand, which had for the time being taken the shape of a broom, would vanish and leave her weaponless.  Needless to say, she was in complete possession of the field when the clock struck the charmed hour.  Being then out of the mood to continue her writing, she passed on into the kitchen and attacked the Fortress of Dishes, which she razed to the ground completely, leaving her banner, in the form of the dish towel, flying over the spot.

“What are you planning for supper?” she asked her mother, looking into the sitting room to see how she was feeling.

“Oh, dear, I don’t know,” said Mrs. Gardiner.  “I hadn’t given it a thought.  I don’t believe there’s anything left from dinner.  Run down to the store, will you, and get a couple of porterhouse steaks, there’s a dear.  And stop at the baker’s as you come by and get us each a cream puff for dessert.  Betty is so fond of them.”  Migwan returned to the kitchen and got her mother’s pocketbook.  There was just twenty-five cents in it.  Migwan realized with a shock that it would not pay for what her mother wanted, and her sensitive nature shrank from asking to have things charged.