ous places."

Marguerite's letter in response to Judith's news came promptly. She
named a long list of sights which she had planned for Judith to see,
and mentioned a noted violinist who was to visit Washington the
following month and had promised to play at the musicale she intended
giving on the sixteenth.

"I am sure you will like that better than anything," she wrote. "Make
your visit to Miss Barbara first. I wish I could have you come on the
first of February, as I invited you to do, but, unfortunately, Mr.
Avery's mother and sisters are with us just now, and they occupy all our
spare room. They do not expect to stay long after my cousin's reception
on the third, however, and I will write as soon as they leave, and let
you know just what day to come."

The first week of Judith's visit in Packertown fairly flew by. Miss
Barbara was away much of the time, both morning and afternoon, with her
music pupils, but Judith busied herself with the making of the dainty
white dinner gown, and wove happy day-dreams while she worked. In the
evenings she and Miss Barbara pored over a map of Washington until they
could locate all the prominent places of interest, and then Miss Barbara
brought out a pile of borrowed magazines in which were interesting
descriptions of those very places, and they took turns in reading
aloud.

[Illustration: "SHE AND MISS BARBARA PORED OVER A MAP OF WASHINGTON"]

When the dress was completed they had a little jubilee. Judith wore it
one evening, with its dainty flutter of ribbons, for Miss Barbara to
admire, and they invited the landlady and her daughter in to have music
and toast marshmallows.

"You don't look a day over eighteen," Miss Barbara declared. "You ought
to wear white all the time."

"It is given only to saints and the 'lilies that toil not' to do that,"
answered Judith, gaily. "I am satisfied to be arrayed just on state
occasions." And then because she was so happy she seized the little
music teacher and waltzed her round and round before the mirror. "It's
all your doing, you blessed Cousin Barbara! See how you have
metamorphosed me."

Several days later she stood idly turning the calendar. "This is the day
of the reception," she said; "the Averys will certainly be going home
soon, and I ought to hear from Marguerite."

But no letter came the next day, nor the next, nor all the following
week, although she went to the post-office several times daily.

It grew dull waiting, wi