enough about me," she added, lightly. "Here is the box! Now we shall
see how nicely all Bell's prettinesses will fit into the corners!

"This is Mamma's present for Cousin Ursula. A nice, fat down puff, for
her feet in winter; it is very cold there, and she is not strong, poor
dear. And I trimmed this hat for Mary, the daughter. Rather pretty, do
you think?"

"Rather pretty!" cried both girls. "Hilda, it is a perfect beauty! Oh,
how did you learn to do these things? Will you trim all our hats for us,
for the rest of our lives?"

"I should be delighted," said Hildegarde, laughing. "I learned all I
know from my mother. She _is_ clever, if you will. I cannot compare with
her in skill. Yet I was once offered a position as assistant to a
milliner. These things underneath are things we have worn, but they are
all good."

"This has never been worn!" exclaimed Bell, lifting a pretty gray silk
blouse, trimmed with knots of cherry-coloured ribbon. "This is just out
of the box, Hildegarde. Oh, what a pretty, dainty thing!"

Hildegarde laughed. "I am proud of that!" she said. "I made that out of
an old underskirt of Mamma's. Yes, I did!" as the girls exclaimed with
one accord. "It was good silk to begin with, you see. I washed it, and
pressed it, and made it up on the other side; and it really does look
very nice, I think. The ribbon is some that Mamma had had put away ever
since the last time they wore cherry colour,--twenty-five years, she
says. Lovely ribbon! Well, and I knew that Mary, the daughter, is just
my age, so I had to 'run for luck,' and make it to fit me. I do hope she
will like it!"

"Like it!" exclaimed Bell. "If she does not like it, she deserves to
wear brown gingham all her life. It is as pretty a blouse as I ever
saw."

"What is the matter with brown gingham?" asked Hildegarde. "One of my
pet dresses, a year or two, was a brown gingham."

"Oh, but not like _our_ brown gingham!" said Bell. "You see--well, it is
treasonable, I know, Gerty, but Hildegarde is almost like ourselves. You
see, our blessed Mammy (this was long ago, when Toots was a baby, and
the boys still in kilts) got tired of all our clothes, and felt as if
she could not bear to think about them for a while. So she got a whole
piece of brown check gingham,--forty mortal yards,--and had it all made
up into clothes for us. Oh, dear! Shall I ever forget those clothes? It
was a small check, rather coarse, stout gingham, because she thought
th