meant to knock at the
front door and be company to-day. I've got my hair up!"

"Phoebe, Phoebe," the woman drew her nearer. "Let me look at you." Her
eyes scanned the face of the girl, her voice quivered as she spoke.
"You've grown up! Of course it didn't come in a night but it seems that
way."

"The May fairies did it, Mother Bab. Yesterday I wore a braid. This
morning when I woke I heard the robin who sings every morning in the
apple tree outside my window and he was caroling, 'Put it up! Put it
up!' I knew he meant my hair, so here I am, waiting for your blessing."

"You have it, you always have it! But"--she changed her mood--"are you
sure the robin wasn't saying, 'Get up, get up!' Phoebe?"

"Positive; it was only five o'clock."

"Now I must hear all about last night," said Mother Bab as they sat
together on the broad wooden settee in the sitting-room. "David told me
how nice you looked and how well you did."

"Did he tell you how pleased I am with the scarf? It's just lovely! And
the color is beautiful. I wonder why--I wonder why I love pretty things
so much, really pretty things, like crepe de chine and taffeta and panne
velvet and satin. Oh, sometimes I think I must have them. When I go to
Lancaster I want lots of lovely clothes and I hate ginghams and percales
and serviceable things."

"I know, Phoebe, I know how you feel about it."

"Do you really? Then it can't be so awfully wicked. You are so
understanding, Mother Bab. I can't tell Aunt Maria how I feel about such
things for she'd be dreadfully hurt or worried or provoked, but you seem
always to know what I mean and how I feel."

"I was eighteen myself once, a good many years ago, but I still remember
it."

"You have a good memory."

"Yes. Why, I can remember some of the dresses I wore when I was
eighteen. But then, I have a dress bundle to help me remember them."

"What's a dress bundle?"

"Didn't Aunt Maria keep one for you?"

"I never heard of one."

"It's a long string of samples of dresses you wore when you were little.
Wait, I'll get mine and show you."

She left the room and went up-stairs. After a short time she returned
and held out a stout thread upon which were strung small, irregular
scraps of dress material. "This is my dress bundle. My mother started it
for me when I was a baby and kept it up till I was big enough to do it
myself. Every time I got a new dress a little patch of the goods was
threaded on my dress bundle."