er opened the entry door and listened--the kitchen door soon shut and somebody came up stairs slowly, with a waiter full of something.
'Is that you, Dinah?'
'Why didn't you come before?'
'I don't know, mum.'
'Didn't Sabina tell you I wanted you?'
'No, mum. She told me you wanted to know how many were down stairs, and I counted seventeen.'
'Take care Dinah, you're spilling that milk!'
'I can't help it, this pitcher leaks.'
'Where's the children's bowl?'
'I don't know, mum--I think it's broke.'
'Broken! Why, I bought a new one yesterday.'
''Tain't my fault.'
Hopelessly resigned, my sister Mary politely requested her to put down the waiter, and explained the nature of a witness's duty. We acknowledged our signatures and Dinah wrote out her name in a neat hand, then picked up the waiter and walked out of the room with the air of an injured innocent.
I jumped up, kissed my sister, informed her that for the