er, who was a little taller than her elder, had
a more pronounced nose, but a weaker slope of mouth and chin. She still
permitted herself the frivolity of waving her pale hair, and its
tight little ridges, stiff as the tresses of an Assyrian statue,
were flattened under a dotted veil which ended at the tip of her
cold-reddened nose. In her scant jacket and skirt of black cashmere she
looked singularly nipped and faded; but it seemed possible that under
happier conditions she might still warm into relative youth.

"Why, Ann Eliza," she exclaimed, in a thin voice pitched to chronic
fretfulness, "what in the world you got your best silk on for?"

Ann Eliza had risen with a blush that made her steel-browed spectacles
incongruous.

"Why, Evelina, why shouldn't I, I sh'ld like to know? Ain't it your
birthday, dear?" She put out her arms with the awkwardness of habitually
repressed emotion.

Evelina, without seeming to notice the gesture, threw back the jacket
from her narrow shoulders.

"Oh, pshaw," she said, less peevishly. "I guess we'd better give up
birthdays. Much as we can do to keep Christmas nowadays."

"You hadn't oughter say that, Evelina. We ain't so badly off as all
that. I guess you're cold and tired. Set down while I take the kettle
off: it's right on the boil."

She pushed Evelina toward the table, keeping a sideward eye on her
sister's listless movements, while her own hands were busy with the
kettle. A moment later came the exclamation for which she waited.

"Why, Ann Eliza!" Evelina stood transfixed by the sight of the parcel
beside her plate.

Ann Eliza, tremulously engaged in filling the teapot, lifted a look of
hypocritical surprise.

"Sakes, Evelina! What's the matter?"

The younger sister had rapidly untied the string, and drawn from
its wrappings a round nickel clock of the kind to be bought for a
dollar-seventy-five.

"Oh, Ann Eliza, how could you?" She set the clock down, and the sisters
exchanged agitated glances across the table.

"Well," the elder retorted, "AIN'T it your birthday?"

"Yes, but--"

"Well, and ain't you had to run round the corner to the Square every
morning, rain or shine, to see what time it was, ever since we had to
sell mother's watch last July? Ain't you, Evelina?"

"Yes, but--"

"There ain't any buts. We've always wanted a clock and now we've got
one: that's all there is about it. Ain't she a beauty, Evelina?" Ann
Eliza, putting back the kettle on the st