our black dresses--they are made
very neatly, and we have done them all ourselves. Staying in the house
this lovely weather won't bring dear mamma back again; we will have
tea a little earlier than usual, and go for a walk this evening."

Jasmine, whenever she could stop crying, had been longing for a walk,
but had crushed down the desire as something unnatural, and
disrespectful to dear mamma, but of course if Primrose suggested it it
was all right. Her face brightened visibly, and as to Daisy, she sat
down and began to play with the kitten on the spot.

That evening the three desolate young creatures put on their new black
dresses, and went down a long, rambling, charming country lane. The
air was delicious--Jasmine refused to cover her hot little face with a
crape veil--they came back after their ramble soothed and refreshed.
As they were walking up the village street a girl of the name of
Poppy, their laundress's child, stepped out of a little cottage,
dropped a courtesy, and said, in a tone of delight--

"Oh, Miss Mainwaring, I'm glad to see you out; and Miss Jasmine,
darling, the little canary is all reared and ready for you. I took a
sight of pains with him, and he'll sing beautiful before long. Shall I
bring him round in the morning, Miss Jasmine?"

"Yes, of course, Poppy; and I'm greatly obliged to you," answered
Jasmine, in her old bright tones. Then she colored high, felt a good
deal ashamed of herself, and hurried after Primrose, who had pulled
down her crape veil, and was holding Daisy's hand tightly.

That night the sisters all slept well; they were the better for the
fresh air, and also for the thought of seeing Poppy and the canary
which she had reared for Jasmine in the morning.

Sharp to the hour Poppy arrived with her gift; she was a pretty little
village girl, who adored the Misses Mainwaring.

"The bird will want a heap of sunshine," she said; "he's young, and my
mother says that all young things want lots and lots of sun. May I
pull up the blind in the bay window, Miss Primrose; and may I hang
Jimmy's cage just here?"

Primrose nodded. She forgot, in her interest over Jimmy, to remember
that the bay window looked directly on to the village street.

"And please, miss," said Poppy, as she was preparing to return home,
"Miss Martineau says she'll look in this evening, and that she was
glad when she saw you out last night, young ladies, and acting
sensible again."

Primrose had always a ve