, she put on the
delicate ones that belonged to the dress.

Looking at herself in the glass, another thought occurred to her:
"I'll wear my gold beads, too; mother never lets me wear them in the
street, but other folks wear them, and I don't see any use of having
things if you can't wear them."

From a jewel case in her drawer she took a beautiful string of large
gold beads. They had belonged to her grandmother, and had been given
to her because she was named after her, Letitia, though she had
softened it into Lettie, "and little enough, too," she had said, "to
pay for having such an old-fashioned name, when Mildred, or Ethel, or
Eva, or Maude would have been so much prettier."

The beads she clasped around her throat, then she pinned on the little
gold chatelaine watch her mother had given her at Christmas,
and--resolving for once to wear as much jewelry as she liked--she
slipped on to her finger a ring bequeathed to her by her Aunt Letitia.
It was of diamonds; five beautiful stones in a row, worth a great deal
of money, and far too fine for a schoolgirl to wear, her mother said.
Much as she longed to wear it and show it to the girls, she had never
been allowed to do so. "Now," she exultingly thought, "now I'll have
the good of it for once!"

To all this finery she added her best hat, which had just come home
from the milliner's, and taking a pair of fresh white kid gloves in
her hand, which she couldn't put on to cover up that ring, she started
out, feeling more elegant than she had ever felt in her life before.

The way to Stella's was through a corner of the park, and everything
that morning was so fresh and sweet that Lettie lingered as she passed
through. There were not many people there so early in the morning, and
Lettie paid no attention to a rough-looking man she passed, sitting on
a bench and looking as if he had passed the night there. Her way lay
on the border of the wilder and more secluded part of the park, and
her mother had always warned her to avoid this part when she was
alone. She had therefore never penetrated the fascinating little paths
which led among the close-growing trees and bushes, though she had
always longed to do so. Now, on the day of her perfect freedom, the
temptation came up again. She hesitated; her mother's warning recurred
to her.

"I don't believe there's a bit of danger," she said to herself;
"mother's so old-fashioned. Girls don't do as they did when she was
young; they