satin cup for the rose,"
she answered, gazing dreamily before her. She let Peter's stocking fall
to the ground while she clasped her hands ecstatically. "O, Maizie, it's
almost too much joy! To wear a flower dress and to recite something that
makes you so happy and yet you want to cry too."

Maizie nestled a little closer. "Do you think, Suzanna, when the green
petticoat's nearly worn, that it'll come down to me?"

Suzanna pondered this for a moment. "Yes, it'll go down to you, Maizie,
but not for years and years," she answered, finally. "Things do last so
in this family."

Maizie, by a sad little shake of the head, agreed with this statement,
and the sisters were silent. In different manner, however, for Maizie
simply accepted an unpleasant fact, while Suzanna worked mentally to a
solution of any situation. She found the solution at last.

"I'll tell you what I'll do, Maizie," she said. "Once a month, when we
love each other madly, I'll let you wear my petticoat."

"I hope it'll come on Sunday when we love each other that way," said
Maizie, wistfully; "I'm sure mother wouldn't let you lend the petticoat
to me for an every-day."

"We can fix that, too," said ready Suzanna. "Some Friday you can begin
to fuss about washing Peter. I'll have to wash him myself if you're
_too_ mean. And Saturday morning you can peel the potatoes so thick that
mother'll say: 'Maizie, do you think we're made of money! Here, let
Suzanna show you how to peel those potatoes thin.' And then I'll be so
mad I'll give you a push, and I won't speak to you for the rest of the
day."

"Yes, go on," said Maizie, her eyes shining.

"And then on Sunday morning, just before breakfast, you'll come to me
and put your arms around my neck and say: 'Dear, sweet, _lovely_
Suzanna, I'm so sorry I've been so hateful. I'll go down on my knees for
your forgiveness. _And I'll sew on all the buttons this week!_'"

Maizie drew away a little then. Suzanna went on, however. "And I'll say:
'Yes, dear sinner, I forgive you freely. You may wear my green petticoat
today.'"

There fell an hour of a never-to-be-forgotten day when the pink dress
lay on the dining-room table, full length, finished, marvelous to little
eyes with its yards and yards of valenciennes lace that graduated in
width from very narrow to one broad band around the bottom of the skirt.
Suzanna, Maizie, Peter, and even the baby bowed before the miracle of
beauty.

"How many yards of lace are on i