during the summer. Now it was next to the last day of October, and
no suitable occasion had arrived for Ann to wear them.

As she stood scattering the corn to the chickens, a daring plan began to
form itself in her busy brain. The trees suggested it; the trees of the
surrounding woodland, decked out in their royal autumn colouring of red
and yellow, that the sunset was just now turning into a golden glory.

"Even the trees get to wear their best clothes sometimes," she said to
herself. "They look like a lot of princesses ready for a ball. Oh,
that's what they are," she exclaimed aloud. "They are all Cinderellas.
October is their fairy godmother who has changed their old every-day
dresses into beautiful ball-gowns, for them to wear on Hallowe'en. I
don't see why I couldn't wear my best clothes too, to-morrow." Then she
went on, as if she were talking to the old white rooster: "I'd rather be
dressed up and look nice than to play, and I needn't romp at all. If we
were to begin trying charms after supper, Mrs. Grayson would be almost
sure to let us stay until after Jennie's party begins, and then all the
big boys and girls would see my lovely clothes. Nobody out here knows
I've got 'em. And then if I should go down cellar with a looking-glass
and candle and somebody should look over my shoulder, I'd be so glad
that the first time he ever saw me I was all in green and white like the
Princess Emeralda, with my beautiful pale green party shoes on."

Alas! Aunt Sally was right. The flotsam and jetsam of too many
sentimental stories and fairy tales were afloat in the child's active
mind. A few minutes later she had gathered the eggs and put them away in
the pantry. Then she stepped into the sitting-room, awed by the solemn
stillness that enveloped the usually cheerful room. How strange and
dark it seemed with all the blinds closed! She groped her way across the
floor, and tiptoed through the hall as if she were afraid that the great
eight-day clock in the corner might hear her and call her back. Its loud
tick-tock was the only sound in the house, except her own rapid
breathing.

[Illustration: "IT WAS THE BOX THAT HELD THE GREEN KID SHOES."]

Throwing open a western window, she pushed back the shutters until the
guest-chamber was all alight with the glow of the sunset. Then she
clutched the handles of the bureau drawer with fingers that twitched
guiltily, and gave a jerk. It was locked. For a moment her
disappointment was s