Prayers had been shorter than usual this morning, and we had sung only two stanzas of the hymn, instead of four or five.  Usually if mamma is anxious about anybody or anything, papa is all sympathy and attention.  But not on a Friday.  He paid no heed either to her tone or her words, but only said impressively: 

“My love, please do not allow me to be disturbed in any way you can avoid between this and the luncheon hour; and keep the house as quiet as you can.  I dislike being troublesome, but I’ve had so many interruptions this week; what with illness in the congregation, and funerals, and meetings every night, my work for Sunday is not advanced very far.  Children, I rely on you all to help me,” and with a patient smile, and a little wave of the hand quite characteristic, papa withdrew.

We heard him moving about in his study, which was over the sitting-room, and then there came a scrape of his chair upon the floor, and a creaking sound as he settled into it by the table.  Papa was safely out of the way for the next four or five hours.  I would have to be a watchdog to keep knocks from his door.

“I should think,” said Amy, pertly, tossing her curls, “that when papa has so much to do he’d just go and do it, not stand here talking and wasting time.  It’s the same thing week after week.  Such a martyr.”

“Amy,” said mamma, severely, “don’t speak of your father in that flippant manner.  Why are you lounging here so idly?  Gather up the books, put this room in order, and then, with Laura’s assistance, I would like you this morning to clean the china closet.  Every cup and saucer and plate must be taken down and wiped separately, after being dipped into hot soap-suds and rinsed in hot water; the shelves all washed and dried, and the corners carefully gone over.  See how thorough you can be, my dears,” said mamma in her sweetest tones.  I wondered whether she had known that Amy had planned to spend the rainy morning finishing the hand-screen she is painting for grandmother’s birthday.  From her looks nothing could be gathered.  Mamma’s blue eyes can look as unconscious of intention as a child’s when she chooses to reprove, and yet does not wish to seem censorious.  Amy is fifteen, and very headstrong, as indeed we all are, but even Amy never dreams of hinting that she would like to do something else than what mamma prefers when mamma arranges things in her quiet yet masterful fashion.  Dear little mamma.  All her daughters except Jessie are taller than herself; but mother is queen of the Manse, nevertheless.

Amy went off, having with a few deft touches set the library in order, piling the Bibles and hymn books on the little stand in the corner, and giving a pat here and a pull there to the cushions, rugs, and curtains, went pleasantly to begin her hated task of going over the china closet.  Laura followed her.

Elbert, our seventeen-year-old brother, politely held open the door for the girls to pass through.