rmerly her favorite hue.
She mentally resolved never to wear that horrible yellow night dress,
which had drawn upon her so many odious epithets, even though she froze
to death without it. She would rather wear her old ones, even if they
had ten thousand patches, than that bright, new, golden tinted garment,
so late the object of her intense admiration.

"I declare," cried Louis, unconscious of the Spartan resolution his
little sister was forming, and good naturedly seeking to turn her tears
into smiles, "I do declare, I thought Helen was a pumpkin, bursting into
the room with such a noise, wrapped up in this yellow concern. Mother,
what in the name of all that's tasteful, makes you clothe her by night
in Chinese mourning?"

"It was her own choice," replied Mrs. Gleason, taking the weeping child
in her own lap. "She saw a little girl dressed in this style, and
thought she would be perfectly happy to be the possessor of such a
garment."

"I never will put it on again as long as I live," sobbed Helen. "Every
body laughs at it."

"Perhaps somebody else will have a word to say about it," said her
mother, in a grave, gentle voice. "When I have taken so much pains to
make it, and bind it with soft, bright ribbon, to please my little girl,
it seems to me that it is very ungrateful in her to make such a remark
as that."

"Oh, mother, don't," was all Helen could utter; and she made as strong a
counter resolve that she would wear the most hideous garment, and brave
the ridicule of the whole world, rather than expose herself to the
displeasure of a mother so kind and so indulgent.

"You had better put her back in bed," said Mr. Gleason; "children
acquire such bad habits by indulgence."

Helen trembled and clung close to her mother's bosom.

"I fear she may again rise in her sleep and fall down stairs," said the
more anxious mother.

"Turn the key on the outside, till we retire ourselves," observed the
father.

To be locked up alone in the darkness! Helen felt as if she had heard
her death-warrant, and pale even to _blueness_, she leaned against her
mother, incapable of articulating the prayer that trembled on her ashy
lips.

"Give her to me," said Miss Thusa, "I will take her up stairs and stay
with her till you come."

"Oh, no, there is no fire in the room, and you will be cold. Mr.
Gleason, the child is sick and faint. She has scarcely any pulse--and
look, what a blue shade round her mouth. Helen, my darling, do