Sister Sue herself, hurrying through the hall, heard her father's voice in the library. He was speaking, she suspected, to her sister May; though it might be, of course, to her brother Gordon. In either case it would be the same some petty detail of daily living that was to be referred to her; and Sister Sue did not want some petty detail of daily living referred to her just now. She was tired and sick of petty details of daily living. They were so petty, so small, so insignificant, so trivial! As if there were no one else in the house who could tell whether or not May should wear her rubbers, or where Gordon's baseball bat was! But there did not seem to be. Ask your sister Sue. If she heard it once, she heard it a dozen times a day or, rather, she might have heard it, if she had chanced to be near, as she was to — day.