A Christmas Story

'Is that you, Dinah?'

'Yes marm.'

'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