e must put mamma and papa in the driest room and see what the cellar is like, and perhaps we may find some boy about who will cut away some of those branches and let a little sunlight in on this window that I see mamma has marked for her own. A little shaking and shivering won't matter so much for us, Sybil. We are young and can stand it, but papa is not strong and fever would simply eat him up, poor dear!"
Sybil bent suddenly, and, kissing her sister's cheek: "You're a patient little soul, Dorrie," she said, "but I tell you I shall go mad presently over this never-ending mending and turning and dyeing, this wearing of each other's clothes, this mad effort to keep up appearances! Why can't we do something as other girls do--who help themselves?"
"Ah, but mamma!" interposed Dorothy. "She would never consent. We are ladies, you know, dear, and----"
"Idiots!" savagely completed Sybil, "who don't know how to do one single thing well. I can paint--a little; you can play--a little. We both can