and frills was swallowed up in Mrs. Robertson's shawl--the
old, ragged "Paisley" she wore only when she went to milk the cows or
feed the chickens! Miss Hillary had even taken the pink ribbon out of
the poor little singer's curls; and Rosie confided to Elizabeth
afterwards, with sobs, she had actually bidden her take off her boots
and stockings and go barefoot! Rosie had been almost overwhelmed by
this stripping of her ornaments, but she found spirit enough remaining
to rebel at this last sacrifice. And, as Elizabeth indignantly
declared, even a worm would turn at being commanded to take off its
boots, when they were a brand new copper-toed pair with a lovely loud
squeak! But even the copper toes were concealed by the trailing ends
of Mrs. Robertson's barnyard shawl, and the poor little worm was none
the better for her turning.

The song was a melancholy failure. Rosie sang in such a dismayed,
quavering voice that no one could hear her, and everyone was relieved
when she finally broke down and had to leave before the clock in the
steeple had a chance to strike more than ten.

Rosie's mother had sat through the pitiful performance, fairly boiling
over with indignation, and as soon as the Paisley shawl, heaving with
sobs, had disappeared behind the sheets, she followed it and "had it
out" violently with Miss Hillary. Wasn't her girl as good as anybody
else's girl, was what she wanted to know, that she had to be dressed up
like a tinker's youngster before all those people from town? Miss
Hillary tried to explain that the play's the thing, and the artist must
make sacrifices to her art, but all in vain. Mrs. Carrick took Rosie
away weeping, before the concert was over, and Miss Hillary sat down
behind the sheets and cried until the Red Cutter had to come up and
make her stop.

One disaster was followed by another. Elizabeth suffered even more
agony in the next number, for this was a reading by John. Why he
should have been chosen for an elocutionary performance no one could
divine, except that he flatly refused to do anything else in public,
and his teacher was determined he should do something. With
Elizabeth's help, John had faithfully practiced in the privacy of his
room, but had never once got through his selection without breaking
down with laughter. It was certainly the funniest story in the world,
Elizabeth was sure--so funny they had not submitted it to Aunt
Margaret. It was about a monkey named Dani