my vacation just now," sighed librarian Elsie.
"And I had to travel three hours to get here from Portland," said Winifred. "Of course it's nice to be here at the house with mother for a day or two, but there's only one bathroom, as you all know. I didn't have the courage to disappoint poor mother, however."
"Here we've all been just miserable and hot and unhappy all day long, and she thinks we like it!" sputtered Mary.
"It makes me just weary to think about Christmas," broke in Linda. "Mother never wants any presents for herself. That isn't the difficulty. In fact, the poor thing never gets any of much account, but she makes the rest of us hustle. The way she finds out what we're all giving to each other, lists the things up, and then, if any one of us seems to appear neglected, gets after the others, is ridiculous. I found her list, one year. Why really, when I select a present for you, Elsie, for instance, I'm wondering if it's good enough to suit mother. She makes Christmas a terrible burden—so many presents, such a lot of work and expense. Father hates it, too."
"I think," said Elsie, "one of the reasons father hates celebrations so is because mother celebrates so hard. It's making us all hate them—that is what it's doing. Mother is a dear, but
