were
yards of silk braid and of cream net. There were sparkling buttons
and spools of thread, and a "neck" of cream filling with silver
spangles on it, and at the bottom of the box; rolled in tissue paper,
were two pairs of embroidered stockings and a pair of glittering
black patent leather slippers that you could see your face in!

"Look at that now!" Mrs. Watson exclaimed. "Doesn't it beat all?"

But Pearl, breathing heavily, was in a state of wordless delight.
"It's just as well I wasn't for scoldin' Bugsey for cryin' over his
suit," she said at length; "for if it wasn't that I'm feart o'
spottin' some of these, I'd be for doin' a cry myself. I've got such
a glad spot here in me Adam's apple. Reach me yer apron, Ma--it's
comin' out of me eyes in spite of meself. Camilla must ha' told them
what I would like, and wasn't it kind of them, Ma, to ever think o'
me? And who'd ever 'a' thought of Mr. Mason being so kind, and him so
stern lookin'?"

"Ye never can tell by looks, Pearlie," her mother said sententiously.
"Many's the kind heart beats behind a homely face." Which is true
enough in experience, though perhaps not quite in keeping with the
findings of anatomical science.

That night there were prohibitory laws made regarding the taking of
cherished possessions to bed by the owners thereof; but when the
lights were all out, and peaceful slumber had come to the little
house, one small girl in her nightgown went quietly across the bare
floor to the lounge in the "room" to feel once more the smooth
surface of her slippers and to smell that delicious leathery smell.
She was tempted to take one of them back with her, but her conscience
reminded her of the rule she had made for the others, and so she
imprinted a rapturous kiss on the sole of one of them, where it would
not show, and went back to her dreams.

All week the sound of the sewing machine could be heard in the Watson
home, as Mary Barner, Camilla, Mrs. Watson, and one real dressmaker
fashioned various garments for the young Watsons. Even Mrs. Francis
became infected with the desire to help, and came over hurriedly to
show Mrs. Watson how to put a French hem on her new napery. But as
the only napery, visible or invisible, was a marbled oilcloth tacked
on the table, Mrs. Francis was unable to demonstrate the principle of
French hemming. Camilla, however, showed her mistress where to work
the buttonholes on Patsey's nightshirt, and later in the afternoon
she f