sounds I hear," said Jean, "that Mr. Black must be scrubbing the kitchen."
"What!" gasped the girls.
"Come and see," said Jean, stealing in on tiptoe.
There, sure enough, was stout Mr. Black dipping a broom every now and then into a pail of soapy water and vigorously sweeping the floor with it.
"I think," whispered Mabel, ruefully, "that that's mother's best broom."
"Never mind," consoled Jean. "You can take mine home if you think she'll care. It's really mine because I bought it when we had that broom drill in the sixth grade. It's been hanging on my wall ever since."
"Hi there!" exclaimed Mr. Black, who, looking up suddenly, had discovered the smiling girls in the doorway. "You didn't know I could scrub, did you?"
Mr. Black, quite regardless of his spotless cuffs, and his polished shoes, drew a bucket of fresh water and dashed it over
