The Old Woman Who Lived in a Shoe (Musaicum Christmas Specials). Amanda M. Douglas

good many little darns here and there, and she was wearing it for the last time. She had tied a blue ribbon in her curls, and pinned a tiny bouquet on her bosom. She looked very much dressed, but that was pretty Flossy's misfortune.

      Mrs. Van Wyck gathered up her silk gown,—a great staring brocade in blue and gold, that might have been her grandmother's, it looked so ancient in style.

      "I've come over on some business," she began, with an important air and a mysterious shake of the head.

      Granny sat down, and took Dot upon her lap. Kit and Charlie peered out of their hiding-places, and Joe perched himself upon the window-sill.

      "How do you ever manage with all this tribe?" And Mrs. Van Wyck gave each of them a scowl.

      "There's a houseful," returned Granny, "but we do get along."

      "Tough scratching, I should say."

      "And poor pickings the chickens might add, if they had such an old hen," commented Joe soto voce. "There'd be something worse than clucking."

      Hal couldn't help laughing. Mrs. Van Wyck was so ruffled and frilled, so full of ends of ribbon about the head and neck, that she did look like a setting hen disturbed in the midst of her devotions.

      "Them children haven't a bit of manners," declared Mrs. Van Wyck, in sublime disregard of syntax. "Trot off, all of you but Florence: I have something to say to your grandmother."

      Joe made a somerset out of the window, and placed himself in a good listening position; Hal went out and sat on the doorstep; and Charlie crawled under the table.

      "I don't see how you manage to get along with such a houseful. I always did wonder at your taking 'em."

      "Oh! we do pretty well," returned Granny cheerily.

      "They're growing big enough to help themselves a little. Why don't you bind Joe out to some of the farmers. Such a great fellow ought to be doing something besides racing round and getting into mischief."

      Joe made a series of such polite evolutions, that Hal ran to the gate to have a good laugh without being heard.

      "He's going to school," said Granny innocently. "They all begin on Monday."

      "Going to school?" And Mrs. Van Wyck elevated her voice as if she thought them all deaf. "Why, I never went to school a day after I was twelve year old, and my father was a well-to-do farmer. There's no sense in children having so much book-larnin'. It makes 'em proud and stuck up, and good for nothing.

      "Oh! where's that dog? Put him out! Put him out! I can't bear dogs. And the poorer people are, the more dogs they'll keep."

      Joe, the incorrigible, was quite a ventriloquist for his years and size. He had just made a tremendous ki-yi, after the fashion of the most snarling terrier dog, and a kind of scrabbling as if the animal might be under Mrs. Van Wyck's feet.

      "Oh, my! Take the nasty brute away. Maybe he's full of fleas or has the mange"—

      "It is only Joe," explained Florence, as soon as she could put in a word.

      "I'd Joe him, if I had him here! You're a ruining of these children as I've always said; and you may thank your stars if Joe escapes the gallows. I've positively come on an errand of mercy."

      "Not for Joe," declared the owner of the name with a sagacious shake of the head, while Mrs. Van Wyck paused for breath.

      "Yes. Not one of them'll be worth a penny if they go on this way. Now, here's Florence, growing up in idleness"—

      "She keeps pretty busy," said Granny stoutly.

      "Busy! Why, you've nothing for her to do. When I was a little girl, my mother made me sit beside her, and sew patchwork; and before I was twelve year old I had finished four quilts. And she taught me the hymn,—

      'Satan finds some mischief still

       For idle hands to do.'"

      "They always learn a verse for Sunday," said Granny deprecatingly.

      "But you let 'em run wild. I've seen it all along. I was a talkin' to Miss Porter about it; and says I, 'Now, I'll do one good deed;' and the Lord knows it's needed."

      Everybody listened. Joe from the outside made a pretence of picking his ears open with the handle of a broken saucepan.

      "Florence is getting to be a big girl, and it's high time she learned something. As I was a sayin' to Miss Porter, 'I want just such a girl; and it will be the making of Florence Kenneth to fall into good hands.'"

      "But you don't mean"—and Granny paused, aghast.

      "I mean to make the child useful in her day and generation. It'll be a good place for her."

      Mrs. Van Wyck nodded her head until the bows and streamers flew in every direction.

      Granny opened her eyes wide in surprise.

      "What do you want of her, Mrs. Van Wyck?"

      Charlie peeped out from between the legs of the table to hear, her mouth wide open lest she should lose a word.

      "Want of her?" screamed the visitor. "Why, to work, of course! I don't keep idle people about me, I can tell you. I want a girl to make beds, and sweep, and dust, and wash dishes, and scour knives, and scrub, and run errands, and do little chores around. It'll be the making of her; and I'm willing to do the fair thing."

      Granny was struck dumb with amazement. Florence could hardly credit her ears. Hal sprang up indignantly, and Joe doubled his fists as if he were about to demolish the old house along with Mrs. Van Wyck.

      "Yes. I've considered the subject well. I always sleep on a thing before I tell a single soul. And, if Florence is a good smart girl, I'll give her seventy-five cents a week and her board. For six dollars a month I could get a grown girl, who could do all my work."

      Granny looked at Florence in helpless consternation; and Florence looked at Granny with overwhelming disdain.

      "Well! why don't you answer?" said the visitor. She had supposed they would jump at the offer.

      "I don't expect to go out doing housework, Mrs. Van Wyck," said Florence loftily.

      "Hoity-toity! how grand we are! I've never been above doing my own housework; and I could buy and sell the whole bunch of you, a dozen times over."

      "Florence wouldn't like it, I'm afraid," said Granny mildly.

      "A fine way to bring up children, truly! You may see the day when you'll be thankful to have a home as good as my kitchen."

      There was a bright red spot in Florence's cheeks.

      "Mrs. Van Wyck," Florence began in a quiet, ladylike manner, although she felt inclined to be angry, "grandmother is right: I should not like it. I have no taste for housework; and I can earn more than you offer to give by doing embroidering and crocheting. Through the six weeks of vacation I earned sixteen dollars."

      "Fancy work! What is the world coming to? Children brought up to despise good, honest employment."

      "No, I don't despise it," amended Florence; "but I do not like it, and I think it a hard way of earning a little money. If I can do better, of course I have the right."

      Granny was amazed at the spirit Florence displayed.

      "You'll all be paupers on the town yet, mark my words. Flaunting round in white dresses and ribbons, and"—

      She glanced around for some further vanity to include in her inventory.

      "I am sure we are obliged to you," said Granny mildly. "But Florence"—

      "Yes, Florence is too good to work. There's no sense in such high-flown names. I'd have called her plain Peggy. She must curl her hair, and dress herself—oh my lady, if I had you, you'd see!"

      And Mrs. Van Wyck arose in great wrath, her streamers flying wildly.

      "You'll remember this when you come to beggary,—refusing