tive night,
and I had quite a festive dinner prepared. Suppose we keep the occasion,
although we are only to be by ourselves. You shall dine with me
to-night, Judy, and we'll both dress for dinner. You shall wear white,
for you look so sweet in white, and I'll do the same."

"Have you got the old India muslin dress that you used to wear at the
Rectory before--before there was a Jasper?" said Judy, in a queer,
steady kind of little voice. "If you have that old India muslin that
father loved and Aunt Marjorie loved, and that Babs and I used always to
say you looked like an angel in, will you put it on to-night,
Hilda?--will you wear that dress once again?"

"What a queer thing!" replied Hilda. "I never threw the old muslin away.
I think I can poke it out of some depths somewhere; and it is so soft
that, if I shake it out and hang it up for about half an hour, it will
be quite presentable. Yon funny Judy, why do you wish to see me in that
dress?"

"You were all mine when you wore that dress last," said Judy.

"I am always yours, my dearest. But don't let us talk sentiment; let us
make ourselves smart, and let us come downstairs and be happy. We'll
imagine that we are at a very gay party; heaps and heaps of other people
in the room, but we two, as is sometimes the case, are more or less
alone in the crowd. We are so completely one that other people scarcely
affect us. We can talk together, and whisper old secrets about the
garden, and Babs, and the animals, and the organ in the church, and the
funny chorister-boy who would never sing in tune; we can talk of all
these things, although there are throngs and throngs around us, for in a
crowd those who love each other often find the best sort of solitude.
Come down, Judy, come down, and let's be happy!"

"How flushed you are, Hilda; are you well?"

"Yes; I never felt better."

"You look awfully pretty; you look quite lovely."

"What a dear little flatterer you are! Does it really matter whether I
look pretty or not? Aunt Marjorie would scold you, child, for praising
my looks to my face; she would say you were encouraging vanity."

"And I should tell her to her face that I was not," answered Judy
stoutly. "It's right to look beautiful; it's copying the flowers. Now
run and put on your India muslin dress, Hilda."

Hilda left the room, and half an hour later the two sisters met in the
little drawing room. There were fresh flowers in the vases; and a great
bowl of primr