stration: "'WAS SUCH A HAT EVER SEEN IN PARIS?'"]

Indeed, the work suited Rita's nimble fingers to perfection, and yard
after yard of snowy braid rolled over her lap and grew into a pile at
her feet. She was eager to make her first hat. After an hour or two
of braiding, she discovered that it suited Manuela's genius better than
her own. The basket of splints was turned over to the willing
handmaiden, and good-natured Marm Prudence showed Rita how to sew the
braids together smooth and flat, and initiated her into the mysteries of
crown and brim. In a creditably short space of time, Rita, with infinite
pride, held her first hat aloft, and twirled it round and round on her
finger.

"But, it is perfect!" she cried. "The shape, the colour, the air of it.
Manuela, quick! a mirror! hold it for me--so! look!" She took the ribbon
from her belt, and began to twist it in one coquettish knot after
another about the hat, which she had set on her dark hair.

"Is that _chic_? Is it adorable, I ask you? Was such a hat ever seen in
Paris? Never! I wear no other from this day on; hear me swear it! It
will become the rage; I will make it so. Or--no! I will keep to myself
the secret, and others will die of envy. I name it, Manuela. The
Prudencia, for thee, my kind hostess. Why do you laugh?"

Marm Prudence was twinkling in her quiet way. "I was only thinkin'
there'd have to be one soldier boy go without his hat to-morrow!" she
said, good-humouredly. "It does look nice on you, though, Miss
Margaritty, that's certin."

Blushing scarlet, Rita tore the hat from her head.

"Ah!" she cried, casting it on the floor. "Wretch, ingrate, _serpent_
that I am! Take away the glass, girl! take it away; break it into a
thousand pieces, to shame my vanity, and never speak to me of hats
again. Henceforward I tie a shawl over my head, for the remainder of my
life; I have said it."

Much depressed, she worked away in silence, as if her life depended upon
it. Manuela, shrugging her shoulders, carried off the glass, but did
not think it necessary to obey the injunction to break it. She was used
to her senorita's outbreaks, and returned placidly to her braiding as if
nothing had happened.

The good hostess regarded her pretty visitor with some alarm, mingled
with amusement and admiration. She might have her hands full, she
thought, if she attempted to keep this young lady occupied, and out of
mischief. The time when she was asleep was likely to be the