And Sadie looked down on her pink gingham, ruffled apron, shining cuffs, and laughed.

“O, I’ll take off my cuffs, and put on this distressingly big apron of yours, which hangs behind the door; then I’ll do.”

“That’s my clean apron; I don’t wash dishes in it.”

“O, bless your careful heart!  I won’t hurt it the least speck in the world.  Will I, Birdie?”

And she proceeded to wrap her tiny self in the long, wide apron.

“Not that pan, child!” exclaimed her mother “That’s a milk-pan.”

“O,” said Sadie, “I thought it was pretty shiny.  My! what a great pan.  Don’t you come near me, Birdie, or you’ll tumble in and drown yourself before I could fish you out with the dish-cloth.  Where is that article?  Ester, it needs a patch on it; there’s a great hole in the middle, and it twists every way.”

“Patch it, then,” said Ester, dryly.

“Well, now I’m ready, here goes.  Do you want these washed?” And she seized upon a stack of tins which stood on Ester’s table.

“Do let things alone!” said Ester.  “Those are my baking-tins, ready for use; now you’ve got them wet, and I shall have to go all over them again.”

“How will you go, Ester?  On foot?  They look pretty greasy; you’ll slip.”

“I wish you would go up stairs.  I’d rather wash dishes all the forenoon than have you in the way.”

“Birdie,” said Sadie gravely, “you and I musn’t go near Auntie Essie again.  She’s a ‘bowwow,’ and I’m afraid she’ll bite.”

Mrs. Ried laughed.  She had no idea how sharply Ester had been tried with petty vexations all that morning, nor how bitter those words sounded to her.

“Come, Sadie,” she said; “what a silly child you are.  Can’t you do any thing soberly?”

“I should think I might, ma’am, when I have such a sober and solemn employment on hand as dish-washing.  Does it require a great deal of gravity, mother?  Here, Robin Redbreast, keep your beak out of my dish-pan.”

Minnie, in the mean time, had been seated on the table, directly in front of the dish-pan.

Mrs. Ried looked around.  “O Sadie! what possessed you to put her up there?”

“To keep her out of mischief, mother.  She’s Jack Horner’s little sister, and would have had every plum in your pie down her throat, by this time, if she could have got to them.  See here, pussy, if you don’t keep your feet still, I’ll tie them fast to the pan with this long towel, when you’ll have to go around all the days of your life with a dish-pan clattering after you.”

But Minnie was bent on a frolic.  This time the tiny feet kicked a little too hard; and the pan being drawn too near the edge, in order to be out of her reach, lost its balance—­over it went.

“O, my patience!” screamed Sadie, as the water splashed over her, even down to the white stockings and daintily slippered feet.