``I'm sorry, Mrs. Minks,'' Arlene said in a tone so low you could hardly hear it.

My mother constituted herself the voice of all of us. ``It's perfectly understandable, Arlene,'' my mother said in a friendly way. ``I suppose you all were playing and forgot?''

``Yes, ma'am,'' the children chorused heartily.

We couldn't help laughing.

The children rushed off to get rid of their sweaters; and Arlene began tapping the kitchen door open. ``Arlene's a good girl,'' my uncle remarked to us; but he said it too soon, for it came out just before the tap to which the door responded. That tap had a slight bang ish quality.

``She really is a dear little thing,'' my mother agreed. Her upper lip lifted slightly. She was biting into a small red radish; and that action always caused her to lift her lip from the sting of the thing. Also, she lived in continual fear of finding a white worm curled up in a neat, mean little heap at the white center of the radish. She would try to see over the bulge of her cheeks and somewhat under her teeth to the place where she was biting. It never worked, naturally; but it made her look unusual. Also, when she had bitten off half of the small radish, she found the suspense unbearable; and she would snatch the finger held half of the radish out to where she could inspect it. One could hear a very faint, ladylike sigh of relief. Actually, it was inaudible to anyone not expecting it. But the warm joy of her brown eyes was open to the general public.