scarcely ever neatly dressed.

Betty knows this well enough. It would be well if she understood the look of love in her mother's eyes as clearly as she sees the untidiness of her mother's dress.

"Well, Betty, I'm glad to have you back again, that I am; there's so much to be done in this house, and time slips away so. Now, to-day, I really made up my mind to have everything ready by the time you came in, but what with one thing and another—Pollie, take your fingers out of the sugar-bowl, you naughty child—Jennie, fetch the knives, they're in the scullery, I forgot them; make haste now! Can't you see your sister wants her tea?"

She pushes a few loose tags of hair out of her eyes, and begins making the tea, talking all the time.

"Well, my dear, did your Grannie send any message to me? What sort of journey did you have? How did those boots wear? Now did you——?"

"Betty's too tired to talk just yet, I think," interposes her father, coming in that moment. "She'll tell us everything after tea."

Indeed, Betty does feel dreadfully tired. The noise and confusion bewilder her. Every one seems to be talking at once. It is all so different from the quiet orderliness of Grannie's home.

The knives are brought at last, the tea made, and for awhile the younger children are too busy with their bread and butter even for talk.

Tea over, however, the tumult begins afresh. The tea-things are just pushed to one side of the table, and then mother begins to unpack the bag.

Shrieks of delight greet the various packages, the table is soon strewn with Grannie's good things. The paper is torn from the cake; Bob seizes on a great pot of blackberry jam, bumps against a chair and drops the pot with a crash to the floor. The sticky mess, mixed with broken glass, spreads slowly over the carpet.

"There you go, you tiresome boy!" cries mother fretfully. "Always smashing something, always spoiling things. If you eat a bit of it you'll swallow broken glass, and serve you right. Lucy, ask Clara for a duster and pail of water to mop up the mess. Who told you to touch that cake, Pollie? Jennie, how dare you meddle with the honey—you'll overset that next! I don't believe there ever were such rude, tiresome, disobedient children! I'm sure I don't know what to do with you all. Harry, Jennie, Pollie, I won't have that cake eaten to-night! You shall all just pack off to bed."

The younger children sober down a little at this threat, and presently, between coaxings, and slappings, and the promise of unlimited cake to-morrow, they go off noisily to bed.

How thankful Betty is when she manages at last to escape to her own little room, and lays her weary head on her pillow!

She is utterly tired out. Too tired to remember any of her good resolutions; too tired even to think.

CHAPTER III

THE BATTLES BEGIN

The morning is bright and clear, and just one glint of sunshine has actually found its way into the room. Betty sits up in bed. She has slept soundly all night, and feels thoroughly refreshed.

Grannie's daffodils and wallflowers, carefully placed in a large glass on the little toilet-table, have lifted their drooping heads, and look almost as bright as they did yesterday morning in their far-away country home.

"The battle is to begin to-day," Betty thinks, as she springs lightly out of bed. "Yes, to-day I am to begin to change everything in this untidy, stuffy old house—to-day I must commence the fight that is not to end until I have made it a really bright, cosy home.

"Half-past six! I shouldn't wonder if Clara hasn't got up yet; she's such a lazy girl in the mornings. Never mind, I'll soon shame her out of that. One of the very first things I have to do is to make every one in this house understand that they must get up early in the morning."

Betty's mind is so full of this grand idea that she quite forgets to ask the Lord for His blessing and guidance during the day.

Lucy is sleeping peacefully on her pillow by the side of the bed that Betty has just left. This will never do.

"Come, Lucy, wake up!" and she shakes her by the arm.

Lucy opens her blue eyes, and blinks at her sleepily. "It isn't time to get up yet; it can't be," she murmurs.

"Yes, it is. You've all got into fearfully lazy habits in this house. While I was with Grannie I always got up at half-past six."

"Oh, dear!" sighs Lucy, ruefully.

"Now, make haste. Those children are going to be properly washed and combed before they go to school this morning; it's a disgrace to see them sometimes."

"Well, I suppose it is," admits Lucy. "But aren't you dreadfully tired, Betty, after yesterday?"

"If I am, I'm not going to let that stand in the way of doing my duty," answers Betty loftily.

"Oh, dear!" sighs Lucy, feeling quite guilty because she would so much rather stay in bed one extra half-hour.

But the stern resolution in Betty's face shows no signs of relenting, and she begins to dress.

Betty splashes vigorously in the cold water, combs her hair back until not a single hair is out of place, and runs downstairs.

Clara, the little maid-of-all-work, is sleepily laying the kitchen fire. Her dirty apron has a great "jag" all across the front, and her tumbled cap is set all askew on her mass of dusty-looking hair.

"What, the fire not alight yet? Really, Clara, this is too bad. How can you expect to get through your day's work well when you begin it so badly! Now just get that kettle to boil as soon as possible, and I'll prepare the porridge and haddock.

"And, Clara, your face is as smutty as anything. Why don't you wash it properly? And your hair's just dreadful."

Clara tosses her head indignantly, and mutters something about "never having time for anything in this house."

"There's plenty of time for everything; it's all because you manage so badly," says Betty severely. "Where's the porridge-pot? Not cleaned; how shameful! And here's the frying-pan with all the fat in it. How can you expect to be ready in time at this rate?"

Clara mutters that "Everything would be right enough if some folks would let her alone."

Betty takes no notice of this just now, for Lucy appearing at this moment, she orders her off upstairs to wash and dress the younger children.

By dint of a great deal of most energetic bustling on Betty's part, and sulky help from Clara, the breakfast is actually ready by eight o'clock, and the boys and younger girls sent off to school in good time. Betty feels greatly elated. "What a difference already!" she thinks.

And father, coming in for breakfast, she hurries down to the kitchen for his fish and tea.

Returning with the tray, she meets her mother coming downstairs.

"What, Betty, up already? I made sure you would like to lie in bed a bit and hurried down early on purpose."

"Hurried down, mother! Why, I've been up since half-past six, and just sent the children off to school."

"Dear me. Is it really so late? I made sure the clock struck eight only a few minutes ago."

"Half an hour, at least, mother," answers Betty, sharply.

"You're going by the kitchen clock—that's always wrong, you know."

"Everything is in this house, it seems to me," snaps Betty, and she carries father's breakfast into the sitting-room. Mother follows her.

"Where's your father? Why, you don't mean to say you've finished breakfast? Good gracious