t had been brought over with the French great, great
grandmother. It had a tall glass coming down to the floor. At the sides
were several small drawers that went up about four feet, and the top had
some handsome carved work. It was one of Mrs. Underhill's choicest
possessions. In the mirror you could see yourself from "top to toe."

The little girl stood before it. She had on a brown woollen frock and a
gingham high apron. Her skirt _was_ straight and long. Her laced shoes
only came to her ankles. Her stockings were black, and she remembered
how she had watched these little girls coming down the street, their
stockings were snowy white. Of course she wore white yarn ones on
Sundays. A great piece of their pantalets was visible, ruffled, too.
Yes, she did look queer! And the starch was mostly out of her
sun-bonnet. It wasn't her best one, either.

She sat down on a little bench and cried as if her heart would break.

"Oh, Hanny dear, what is the matter?"

Margaret had entered the room unheard. She knelt by her little sister,
took off her sun-bonnet and pressed the child in her arms. "What is it,
dear?" in a soft, persuasive voice. "Have you hurt yourself?"

"No. I--I----" Then she put her little arms around Margaret's neck. "Oh,
Peggy, am I very, very queer?"

"You're a little darling. Did Martha scold you?"

"No. It wasn't--some girls came along----" She tried very hard to stop
her sobbing.

"There, dear, let me wash your face. Don't cry any more." She laid aside
the bonnet and bathed the small face, then she began to brush the soft
hair. It had not been cut all winter and was quite a curly mop. Stephen
had bought her a round comb of which she was very proud.

"It was two girls. They went by and they laughed----"

Her voice was all of a quaver again, but she did not mean to cry if she
could help it.

"Did they call you 'country'?"

Margaret smiled and kissed the little girl, who tried to smile also.
Then she repeated the ill-bred comment.

"We are not quite citified," said Margaret cheerfully. "And it isn't
pleasant to be laughed at for something you cannot well help. But all
the little girls _are_ wearing short dresses, and you are to have some
new ones. Mother has gone out shopping, and next week cousin Cynthia
Blackfan is coming to fix us all up. But I _do_ hope, Hanny, you will
have better manners and a kinder heart than to laugh at strangers, no
matter if they are rather old-fashioned."

"I don't b