er."

There was a service in the morning and the afternoon on Sunday. Uncle
Leverett accompanied them in the morning. He generally went out in the
evening, and often some neighbor came in. It was quite a social time.

When Doris came home from school Monday noon Aunt Elizabeth handed her a
package addressed to "Miss Doris Adams, from Mr. Winthrop Adams."

"It is a new frock, I know," cried Betty laughingly. "And it is very
choice. I can tell by the way it is wrapped. Open it quick! I'm on pins
and needles."

"It is a nice cord; don't cut it," interposed Aunt Elizabeth.

Betty picked out the knot. There was another wrapper inside, and this
had on it "Miss Betty Leverett. From her little cousin, Doris Adams."

Mr. Leverett came at Betty's exclamation and looked over her shoulder.

"Are you sure it is for me? Here is a note from Uncle Win that is for
you. Oh! oh! Doris, was this what you did Saturday?"

A soft shimmering China silk slipped out of its folds and trailed on the
floor. It was a lovely rather dullish blue, such as you see in old
china, and sprays of flowers were outlined in white. Betty stood
transfixed, and just glanced from one to the other.

"Oh, do you like it?" cried Warren, impatient for the verdict. "Uncle
Win asked me to go out and do an errand with him. I was clear amazed.
But it's Doris' gift, and bought out of her own money. We looked over
ever so many things. He said you wanted something young, not a
grandmother gown. And we both settled upon this."

Betty let it fall and clasped Doris in her arms.

"Down on the dirty floor as if it was nothing worth while!" began Mrs.
Leverett, while her husband picked up the slippery stuff and let it fall
again until she took it out of his hands. "And do come to dinner!
There's a potpie made of the cold meat, and it will all be cold
together, for I took it up ever so long ago. And, Betty, you haven't put
on any pickles. And get that quince sauce."

"I don't know what to say." There were tears in Betty's eyes as she
glanced at Doris.

"Well, you can have all winter to say it in," rejoined her mother
tartly. "And your father won't want to spend all winter waiting for his
dinner."

They had finished their washing early. By a little after ten everything
was on the line, and now the mornings had grown shorter, although you
could piece them out with candlelight. Betty had suggested the cold meat
should be made into a potpie, and now Mrs. Leverett half wi