ephen's baby, there wasn't any word in Webster's Dictionary to
do him justice. He grew fat and fair, his nose became shapely, his
dimple was deeper, his chin double, and his pretty hands began to grasp
at everything. Stephen said the only drawback was that his hair would be
red. Hanny felt curiously teased about it. She couldn't be sure that it
was quite a subject for prayer; but she took great comfort in two lines
of the old hymn--

"Prayer is the soul's sincere desire,
Uttered or unexpressed,"

and she hoped God would listen to the sincere desire of her heart.

Early in February the children were all excitement about Mr. Bradbury's
concert. The Dean children were among the chorus singers, and Charles
Reed had a prominent part. Would his mother let him go?--the children
all wondered.

"Mr. Reed can manage it," said Josie Dean, confidently. "Wives have to
mind their husbands about boys, because the men know best, and the boys
are to grow up into men."

Hanny's interest was divided by Margaret being made ready for the
Valentine ball. Everybody was to go in a fancy dress. Dr. Hoffman chose
Margaret's, which was to be a lady of 1790. Miss Cynthia came and looked
over the old green-and-white brocade that had descended from Miss Lois.
It had a low square neck, and a bodice with deep points back and front,
laced with a silver cord. The front breadth, "petticoat," as it was
called, was white satin, creamy now with age, embroidered with pink and
yellow roses and mossy green leaves. The brocade fell away in a long
train, and at the joining was a cascade of fine old lace called Mechlin.
The elbow-sleeves were edged with it, and at the neck, the lace had a
fine wire run through it at the back that made it stand up, while in
front, it fell to a pretty point, and was clasped with a brooch. It had
been made for Miss Lois' wedding outfit when she was a happy young girl,
dreaming over a joyous future that had never come to pass.

But Margaret's hair they all thought the crowning glory. Miss Cynthia
was very fond of adorning people for parties, and so deft that she was
in frequent demand. She had brought a great high comb of beautiful,
clear shell that had belonged to her mother. There was a loose twist
made like the figure eight at the back, and in front, rows of dainty
puffs and ends of curls, that dropped down on her white forehead.

The brooch, too, was curious. It was a portrait painted on ivory of the
Marquis de La