ine large house.

Uncle Win looked her all over as she sat at the dinner table. She was a
pretty child, with her hair gathered up high and falling in a golden
shower. Her frock was some gray woolen stuff, and he wondered vaguely if
blue or red would have been better. He had seen little girls in red
frocks; they looked so warm and comfortable in winter. Elizabeth
Leverett would be shocked at the color, he knew. What made so many women
afraid of it, and why did they cling to dismal grays and browns? He
wished he knew a little more about girls.

They had a splendid young goose for the Christmas dinner, vegetables and
pickles and jellies. Cider was used largely then; no hearty dinner would
have been the thing without it. Even the Leveretts used that, while they
frowned on all other beverages. And then the thick mince pie with a
crust that fairly melted before you could chew it! One needed something
to sustain him through the long cold winter, and the large rooms where
you shivered if you went out of the chimney corner.

Doris stole a little while for her enchanting Primrose people, though
Cary kept teasing by saying: "Has Moses gone to the Fair? Just wait
until you see the sort of bargains he makes!"

Uncle Winthrop went out to Miss Recompense.

"She looks very plain for a little--well, I suppose it _is_ a party, and
I dare say there is another frock at the Leveretts'. I think the first
time I saw her she had on something very pretty--silk, I believe it was.
But there is no time to get it. Recompense, if you could find a ribbon
or any suitable adornment to brighten her up. In that big bureau
upstairs--I wish you would look."

Years ago the pretty things had been laid away. Recompense went over
them every spring during house-cleaning time, to see that moths had not
disturbed them. Thieves were never thought of. She always touched them
with a delicate regard for the young wife she had never known.

She put a shawl about her now and went upstairs, unlocked the drawer of
"trinkets," and peered into some of the boxes. Oh, here was a pretty bit
of lace, simple enough for a child. White ribbons turned to cream,
pale-blue grown paler with age, stiff brocaded ones, and down at the
very bottom a rose color with just a simple silvery band crossing it at
intervals. There was enough for a sash and a bow for the hair, and with
the lace tucker it would be all right.

"Doris," she called over the baluster.

"Yes, ma'am," and Dori