ion. Nothing, so the old colored woman declared,
was so good for one's face as washing it in dew before the sun had
touched the grass, at the same time repeating a hoodoo rhyme. Mary had
been intending to try it, but never could waken early enough.

Now it was only a little after five. Slipping out of bed, she drew
aside the curtain. Smoke was rising from the chimney down in the
servants' quarters, and the sun was streaming red across the lawn. But
over by the side of the house, in the shadow of Hero's monument, the dew
lay sparkling like diamonds on the daisies and clover that bloomed
there--the only place on the lawn where the sun had not yet touched.

Thrusting her bare feet into the little red Turkish slippers beside her
bed, Mary caught up her kimono lying over a chair. It was a long,
Oriental affair, Cousin Kate's Christmas gift; a mixture of gay colors
and a pattern of Japanese fans, and so beautiful in Mary's eyes that she
had often bemoaned the fact that she was not a Japanese lady so that she
could wear the gorgeous garment in public. It seemed too beautiful to be
wasted on the privacy of her room.

Fastening it together with three of Joyce's little gold pins, she stole
down the stairway. Mom Beck was busy in the dining-room, and the doors
and windows stood open. Stepping out of one of the long French windows
that opened on the side porch, Mary ran across to the monument. It was a
glorious June morning. The myriads of roses were doubly sweet with the
dew in their hearts. A Kentucky cardinal flashed across the lawn ahead
of her, darting from one locust-tree to another like a bit of live
flame.

The little red Turkish slippers chased lightly over the grass till they
reached the shadow of the monument. Then stooping, Mary passed her hands
over the daisies and clover, catching up the dewdrops in her pink palms,
and rubbing them over her face as she repeated Mom Beck's charm:

"Beauty come, freckles go!
Dewdops, make me white as snow!"

The dew on her face felt so cool and fresh that she tried it again, then
several times more. Then she stooped over farther and buried her face in
the wet grass, repeating the rhyme again with her eyes shut and in the
singsong chant in which she often intoned things, without giving heed to
what she was uttering. Suddenly, in the midst of this joyful abandon, an
amused exclamation made her lift her head a little and open her eyes.

"By all the powers! What