e across it in
Thibet. Penelope Saverne was the daughter of my mother by her first
husband. Penelope was four years older than I was, but we were
devoted to each other. Oddly enough, our birthdays fell on the same
day, and when Penelope was twenty and I sixteen, my father gave us
each a silk dress of this very material. I have mine yet.

"Soon after this our mother died and our household was broken up.
Penelope went to live with her aunt and I went West with Father. This
was long ago, you know, when travelling and correspondence were not
the easy, matter-of-course things they are now. After a few years I
lost touch with my half-sister. I married out West and have lived
there all my life. I never knew what had become of Penelope. But
tonight, when I saw you come in in that waist made of the rosebud
silk, the whole past rose before me and I felt like a girl again. My
dear, I am a very lonely old woman, with nobody belonging to me. You
don't know how delighted I am to find that I have two grandnieces."

Penelope had listened silently, like a girl in a dream. Now she patted
Mrs. Fairweather's soft old hand affectionately.

"It sounds like a storybook," she said gaily. "You must come and see
Doris. She is such a darling sister. I wouldn't have had this waist if
it hadn't been for her. I will tell you the whole truth--I don't mind
it now. Doris made my party waist for me out of the lining of an old
silk quilt of Grandmother Hunter's that Aunt Adella sent us."

Mrs. Fairweather did go to see Doris the very next day, and quite
wonderful things came to pass from that interview. Doris and Penelope
found their lives and plans changed in the twinkling of an eye. They
were both to go and live with Aunt Esther--as Mrs. Fairweather had
said they must call her. Penelope was to have, at last, her longed-for
musical education and Doris was to be the home girl.

"You must take the place of my own dear little granddaughter," said
Aunt Esther. "She died six years ago, and I have been so lonely
since."

When Mrs. Fairweather had gone, Doris and Penelope looked at each
other.

"Pinch me, please," said Penelope. "I'm half afraid I'll wake up and
find I have been dreaming. Isn't it all wonderful, Doris Hunter?"

Doris nodded radiantly.

"Oh, Penelope, think of it! Music for you--somebody to pet and fuss
over for me--and such a dear, sweet aunty for us both!"

"And no more contriving party waists out of old silk linings," laughed
Pe