Julia had been pressed into service, and was stoning raisins, or eating them, a close observer would have found it difficult to discover which.  She was certainly rasping the nerves of her sister in a variety of those endless ways by which a thoughtless, restless, questioning child can almost distract a troubled brain.  Ester endured with what patience she could the ceaseless drafts upon her, and worked at the interminable cookies with commendable zeal.  Alfred came with a bang and a whistle, and held open the side door while he talked.  In rushed the spiteful wind, and all the teeth in sympathy with the aching one set up an immediate growl.

“Mother, I don’t see any.  Why, where is mother?” questioned Alfred; and was answered with an emphatic

“Shut that door!”

“Well, but,” said Alfred, “I want mother.  I say, Ester, will you give me a cookie?”

“No!” answered Ester, with energy.  “Did you hear me tell you to shut that door this instant?”

“Well now, don’t bite a fellow.”  And Alfred looked curiously at his sister.  Meantime the door closed with a heavy bang.  “Mother, say, mother,” he continued, as his mother emerged from the pantry, “I don’t see any thing of that hammer.  I’ve looked every-where.  Mother, can’t I have one of Ester’s cookies?  I’m awful hungry.”

“Why, I guess so, if you are really suffering.  Try again for the hammer, my boy; don’t let a poor little hammer get the better of you.”

“Well,” said Alfred, “I won’t,” meaning that it should answer the latter part of the sentence; and seizing a cookie he bestowed a triumphant look upon Ester and a loving one upon his mother, and vanished amid a renewal of the whistle and bang.

This little scene did not serve to help Ester; she rolled away vigorously at the dough, but felt some way disturbed and outraged, and finally gave vent to her feeling in a peremptory order.

“Julia, don’t eat another raisin; you’ve made away with about half of them now.”

Julia looked aggrieved.  “Mother lets me eat raisins when I pick them over for her,” was her defense; to which she received no other reply than—­

“Keep your elbows off the table.”

Then there was silence and industry for some minutes.  Presently Julia recovered her composure, and commenced with—­

“Say, Ester, what makes you prick little holes all over your biscuits?”

“To make them rise better.”

“Does every thing rise better after it is pricked?”

Sadie was paring apples at the end table, and interposed at this point—­

“If you find that to be the case, Julia, you must be very careful after this, or we shall have Ester pricking you when you don’t ‘rise’ in time for breakfast in the morning.”

Julia suspected that she was being made a dupe of, and appealed to her older sister: 

“Honestly, Ester, do you prick them so they will rise better?”