most delicious brogue you ever heard, and she was so funny, we
were in fits of laughter all the time. We made twenty dollars,--think of
it!--all in a little over an hour. And some of these things I bought
with what little money I had, and the rest were just left over, and as
the girls would not take them back, I brought them along for the box.
See! here is a pair of knitted shoes,--really perfectly new. Anna Waring
said that she had a dear aunt who sent her a pair every Christmas and
every birthday, and she has ten pair now, and never hopes to catch up.
Three pair were sold beside these; got them for ten cents, and see how
pretty they are!"

"Why, charming!" cried Hildegarde. "Bell, why don't you wear these
yourself?"

"I! Perish the thought! I never wear _any_ shoes in my room, Hilda; bare
feet are part of my creed."

"But--but you have no carpet here, dear," said Hildegarde, with a little
shiver. "And it must be very cold--"

"Delightfully cold!" cried Bell. "I know few things pleasanter than the
touch of a good cold floor to the bare feet on a winter morning."

"She is volcanic, Hilda!" put in Gertrude. "She sleeps under a sheet all
winter, and never looks at a blanket; it is true!"

Bell nodded gaily in answer to Hildegarde's horrified look. "No use,
dear! I am hardened in mind as well as in body, and cannot change my
ways. Look here! Perhaps one of the boys might like this?"

She held up a string of chenille monkeys, and danced them up and down.

"Of course he would," said Hildegarde. "And what--what _is_ that, Bell
Merryweather?"

Bell looked rather ruefully at the object she now drew from the trunk.

"Nobody else would buy it," she said. "The girl who brought it down is
new and shy, and--well, somehow, you felt that she wanted to help, and
had nothing else to bring. I was so sorry for her,--I gave my last
quarter for it."

It was a long strip of coarse twine lace, with a yellow ribbon quilted
in and out its entire length. One of those objects that sometimes appear
at fancy fairs, for which no possible use can be imagined.

"It _is_ queer," said Bell. "I suppose it must have been meant for
something; I didn't like to ask her what."

"Oh, but, my dear, it is a lovely ribbon!" said Hildegarde. "Why not
take the ribbon out, and make bows and things? I am sure you must want
ribbon for some of your Christmasings."

Bell confessed that she might, and the ribbon was carefully laid aside,
freed from its