the other girls' white dresses had ruffles on them somewhere. Carrie's
had two ruffles on the skirt, and Mamie Cole's had _three_. Bertha
Dean's had only one ruffle around the shoulders and the skirt was
tucked, but it was very pretty; and if Tabitha could not have ruffles on
the skirt, she would want at least a shoulder ruffle with lace around
it. Well, there was no use in planning, she could not have a white
dress. But how could she face all those people in a green gingham and be
the only odd girl there?

"Tabitha Catt!" The voice was sharp and insistent, and at the sound of
the hateful name almost forgotten now, the child came suddenly out of
her unhappy reverie.

"What is it, Aunt Maria?"

"Where in the world have you been? I've called you half a dozen times
already. Go to my trunk and bring me that box of odd pieces just under
the tray. I want to mend this dress before dark. Mind you are careful
now. The tray is broken; lift it carefully."

Tabitha rose slowly to do her bidding, still thinking of the dress she
did not have. Under ordinary circumstances she considered it a great
honor to be allowed even to lift the cover of the big, old trunk in the
corner, for it contained many wonderful relics for childish eyes, and
sometimes Aunt Maria would let her look at some of the treasures, and
even tell her a little about them on rare occasions. Today, however,
even this prospect was not alluring, and with listless hands Tabitha
pulled the rickety tray out of its place and bent over the trunk in
search of the box in question. There were several boxes under the tray,
but Aunt Maria never remembered this, and it was always necessary to
open them to discover which was the one wanted. So the child seized the
nearest and pulled off the cover. No pieces in that. But in the act of
replacing the cover she noticed something shining in a mass of white,
and paused to investigate. It was a string of glistening beads, and as
she lifted them from their crushed tissue wrappings there lay disclosed
the shimmering folds of a white silk dress, carefully laid away with
dried "Sweet Mary" leaves.

"Child, are you making those pieces?" The girl started guiltily, dropped
the cover over the box and pulled open its neighbor. There were the
scraps Aunt Maria wanted, and with these in her hands she scurried out
into the kitchen where the fussy old lady sat sewing in the waning
light.

"There are seven boxes just under the tray, Aunt Maria,"