the eyes
of..." And she would send back the white lawn, and say--_What_ should
she say? Perhaps, after all, it would seem rather queer to keep the two
more elaborate gowns, and send back the simplest. It might appear as if
she did not consider it worthy of acceptance. She would keep them all;
wear them all; enjoy them all; and oh, dear, sweet, kind, and most
understanding Cornelia, if ever, ever, the time arrived when the gift
could be returned, with what a full heart should it be offered!

Pen, ink, and paper lay ready on the writing-table. Elma seated
herself, and wrote her thanks:--

"You dear Fairy-Godmother,--At first I thought I couldn't, but I've
tried on all three, and I simply _can't_ part from them. I don't know
what mother will say, but I'm living just for the hour. I'm going to
wear the net to-night, and if I look my best it will be _your_ doing,
and I'll never forget it! It's just wonderful up here, but I feel
wicked, for really and truly I'm not ill? Captain Guest asked me a
hundred questions about you last night, and I told him such nice
things, Cornelia! I wonder sometimes whether you are a witch, and
upset the cart on purpose, but of course there _was_ the parrot!
Madame is most kind, but I don't really _know_ her a scrap better than
the moment we arrived. She wears lovely clothes. If it were not for
you I should have to go downstairs to-night in an odd blouse and
skirt, and feel a _worm_! I hope you'll come up to inquire. Come
soon! Everyone wants to see you again. With a hundred thanks.--Your
loving friend, Elma."

"Why am I a `Moss Rose'?"

The note was slipped into the letter-box in the hall, as Elma went down
to dinner that night, lovely to behold in the "rucked gown," and the
perusal of it next morning was one of the pleasantest episodes which
Cornelia had known since her arrival. Truth to tell, she had felt many
doubts as to the reception of her fineries, but the mental vision of
Elma's tasteless home-made garments, against the background of the
beautiful old Manor, had been distressing enough to overcome her
scruples. She dimpled as she read, and laughed triumphantly. Things
were going well; excellently well, and those dresses ought to exercise a
distinctly hurrying effect. Four or five days--maybe a week. "My!"
soliloquised Cornelia, happily; "I recollect one little misery who
proposed to me at the end of an afternoon picnic. They're sl