fortunes dull, Fate
was spinning some mingled threads to throw into the pattern and give it
intricacy and liveliness. The next day Mrs. Stokes chaperoned her to
Norminster in quest of that blue bonnet. Mrs. Betts went also, and had a
world of shopping to help in on behalf of her young mistress. They drove
from the station first to the chief tailor's in High street, the
ladies' habitmaker, then to the fashionable hosier, the fashionable
haberdasher. By three o'clock Bessie felt herself flagging. What did she
want with so many fine clothes? she inquired of Mrs. Stokes with an air
of appeal. She was learning that to get up only one character in life as
a pageant involves weariness, labor, pains, and money.

"You are going to stay at Brentwood," rejoined her chaperone
conclusively.

"And is it so dull at Brentwood that dressing is a resource?" Bessie
demurred.

"Wait and see. You will have pleasant occupation enough, I should think.
Most girls would call this an immense treat. But if you are really tired
we will go to Miss Jocund now. Mrs. Betts can choose ribbons and
gloves."

Miss Jocund was a large-featured woman of a grave and wise countenance.
She read the newspaper in intervals of business, and was reading it now
with her glasses on. Lowering the paper, she recognized a favorite
customer in Mrs. Stokes, and laid the news by, but with reluctance. Duty
forbade, however, that this lady should be remitted to an assistant.

"I am sorry to disturb you, Miss Jocund, but it is important--it is
about a bonnet," cried Mrs. Stokes gayly. "I have brought you Miss
Fairfax of Abbotsmead. I am sure you will make her something quite
lovely."

Miss Jocund took off her glasses, and gave Bessie a deliberate,
discerning look-over. "Very happy, ma'am, indeed. Blue, of course?" she
said. Bessie acquiesced. "Any taste, any style?" the milliner further
queried.

"Yes. Give me always simplicity and no imitations," was the
unhesitating, concise reply.

"Miss Fairfax and I understand one another. Anything more to-day,
ladies?" Bessie and Mrs. Stokes considered for a moment, and then said
they would not detain Miss Jocund any longer from her newspaper. "Ah,
ladies! who can exist altogether on _chiffons_?" rejoined the milliner,
half apologetically. "I do love my _Times_--I call it my 'gentleman.' I
cannot live without my gentleman. Yes, ladies, he does smell of tobacco.
That is because he spends a day and night in the bar-parlor of t