, better still, she might
charge at one of the city department stores where the Prescotts still
kept an account. It would be too bad if Alma's first dance should be
spoiled, even if the couch did go in its shabby plush for another month
or so. Five yards of silk would come to about fifteen dollars--new
slippers not less than seven, silk stockings, two--that made
twenty-four dollars--thirty to give a margin for odds and ends like
lining and trimming. Alma would need a pretty evening dress when she
went off to school, and she might as well have it now.

"Well, listen, you poor old darling," she said slowly. "To-day's
Saturday. If we trot in town on Monday and get the material, we could
easily make up a pretty dress for you to wear on Friday night. Let's
see----"

"She could have a pale blue taffeta," Mrs. Prescott suggested, who was
in her element when the subject turned to the matter of clothes, "made
perfectly plain--with a broad girdle--or you could have a girdle and
shoulder-knots of silver ribbon--and wear silver slippers with it. It
would be dear with a round neck, and tiny little sleeves, and a short,
bouffant skirt. You could wear my old rose-colored evening wrap,--it's
still in perfect condition."

"That would be _scrumptious_!" shrieked Alma, flinging her arms about
them both. "You two are angelic _dumplings_, that's what you are."

"Monday morning, then," said Nancy. "We'd better take an early train."

When her mother and sister had gone to bed, she took out her little
account book and began to figure, then all at once she flung the pencil
down in disgust at herself.

"Alma's right. I'm turning into a regular old miser. I'm not going to
bother--I'm not going to bother. But--but somebody's _got_ to." She
frowned, staring at the small old-fashioned picture of her father,
which smiled gaily at her from the top of the desk. "You left that
little job to me, didn't you?" she said aloud, and the memory of some
words her father had once spoken to her laughingly came back to her
mind--"You're my eldest son, Nancy--mind you take care of the women."

"Only I'm jolly well sick of being a boy, Daddy," she said, as she
jumped into bed. "I'll let the first person who steps forward take the
job."

CHAPTER III

A MODERN CINDERELLA

"Let's take a cab to the station. The roads are awfully wet still, and
I'll ruin my shoes," suggested Alma. The little family were at
breakfast, Nancy and Alma ha