lovely. Anyhow, it wouldn't matter if
it didn't--here."

Elsie shook her head despondently.

"But you don't understand," she said. "You know the twins dress alike,
and this was their green chambray. Aunt Kate always likes to use their
things, she says, because there's always double quantity; but this time
it didn't work so well. You see, Cora was sick a lot last summer, when
they had this dress, and she didn't wear hers half so much as Clara did,
so hers wasn't faded hardly any. It was an awful funny color to begin
with; but it's worse now, with part of it one shade, and part another.
You see, one sleeve's made of Cora's, and one of Clara's; and the front
breadth is Cora's and the back is Clara's. Of course Aunt Kate cut it
out where she could do it best, and didn't think but what they were
alike; but you don't know what a funny-looking thing that dress is! I--I
don't know whether to turn Clara toward folks, or Cora," she finished
with a little laugh.

Genevieve heard the laugh--but she saw that it came through trembling
lips.

"Well, I just wouldn't fret," she declared, with an affectionate little
hug. "If you don't want to wear it, wear something else. What a nuisance
clothes are, anyhow! I've always said I wished we didn't have to change
our dress every time we turned around!"

Elsie's eyes became wistful. She shook her head sadly.

"You don't know anything about it, Genevieve. Your clothes _haven't_
been a nuisance to you--even if you think they have. You see, you don't
realize how nice it is to have such a lot of pretty things--and all
new," she sighed as she turned away.

When Genevieve went to her room to dress for "church" that morning, she
looked a little thoughtfully at the array of pretty frocks hanging in
her closet.

"I wish I could give some to Elsie," she sighed; "but Elsie isn't poor,
of course, and I suppose she--she wouldn't take them. But I suspect I
don't half appreciate them myself--just as Elsie said," she finished, as
she took down a fresh, white linen.

At quarter before eleven Cordelia Wilson knocked at Genevieve's door.
Genevieve opened it to find Cordelia in a neat jacket suit, hat on, and
gloves in hand.

"Am I all right, Genevieve?" she asked. "I wasn't quite sure just what
to wear."

"Why, y-yes--only you don't need the hat, nor the gloves, dear; and I
shouldn't think you'd want that coat, it's so warm!"

"Not want a hat, or gloves," burst out Cordelia, looking distinctly
s