ing up" her own frocks without help, and she easily managed the few
hooks and eyes. The satin was creased, but in the dim light it looked
fresh and beautiful as the petals of some gorgeous flower, and the long,
straight-hanging gown with magic suddenness turned the childlike girl
into a young woman. The two massive tails of hair, which fell over
Barrie's shoulders, ending in thick curls at her waist, now offended her
sense of fitness. They were not "grown up" enough to suit the wearer of
this fairy robe; and crossing the braids at the back of her head, she
brought them round it over her ears, tying the two curls together in a
sort of bow at the top.

"I'm like Cinderella dressed for the ball," she thought, "all except the
glass slippers," and she glanced down distastefully at the thick,
serviceable boots whose toes pointed out from under a line of gold
embroidery.

There must once have been shoes to match this dress. Perhaps they were
at the bottom of the big trunk, whose depths she had not yet reached.
Bending down for another search, she caught sight of something in the
background which she had not seen--a large picture with its face against
the wall.

Instantly Barrie forgot the shoes. Her heart jumped as it had jumped
when she first saw the key in the door of the garret stairs. Would they
have turned to the wall in this dark corner any picture save one? The
girl knew that in another moment she would be looking at the portrait of
her mother.

To get at it, she had to shut the trunk and climb on the rounded lid,
for the big wooden Noah's Ark was too heavy to lift, and too firmly
wedged in among large pieces of furniture to be pushed out of the way.
Kneeling on the trunk, regardless of her finery, Barrie grasped the
picture frame with both hands and pulled it up from its narrow
hiding-place. Then, scrambling down, she backed out into a space clear
enough to permit of turning the picture, round. Then she could not help
giving a little cry, for it seemed that she was beholding a miracle. Her
own face, her own figure, the very dress she wore, and the odd way she
had looped up her red braids, were repeated on the dusty canvas.

It seemed too wonderful to be true, yet it was true that she had chosen
to put on the gown in which its owner had long ago stood for her
portrait. And the knotted curls just above the picture-forehead were
like little ruddy leaping flames.

Just at first glance Barrie thought that she was exa