tailor-made purple dress--for
Thanksgiving."

"Oh, are you," said Grace, putting away some 7-1/2 gloves into the
6-3/4 box. "Well, it's me for red. You see more red on Fifth avenue.
And the men all seem to like it."

"I like purple best," said Maida. "And old Schlegel has promised to
make it for $8. It's going to be lovely. I'm going to have a plaited
skirt and a blouse coat trimmed with a band of galloon under a white
cloth collar with two rows of--"

"Sly boots!" said Grace with an educated wink.

"--soutache braid over a surpliced white vest; and a plaited basque
and--"

"Sly boots--sly boots!" repeated Grace.

"--plaited gigot sleeves with a drawn velvet ribbon over an inside
cuff. What do you mean by saying that?"

"You think Mr. Ramsay likes purple. I heard him say yesterday he
thought some of the dark shades of red were stunning."

"I don't care," said Maida. "I prefer purple, and them that don't
like it can just take the other side of the street."

Which suggests the thought that after all, the followers of purple
may be subject to slight delusions. Danger is near when a maiden
thinks she can wear purple regardless of complexions and opinions;
and when Emperors think their purple robes will wear forever.

Maida had saved $18 after eight months of economy; and this had
bought the goods for the purple dress and paid Schlegel $4 on the
making of it. On the day before Thanksgiving she would have just
enough to pay the remaining $4. And then for a holiday in a new
dress--can earth offer anything more enchanting?

Old Bachman, the proprietor of the Bee-Hive Store, always gave a
Thanksgiving dinner to his employees. On every one of the subsequent
364 days, excusing Sundays, he would remind them of the joys of the
past banquet and the hopes of the coming ones, thus inciting them
to increased enthusiasm in work. The dinner was given in the store
on one of the long tables in the middle of the room. They tacked
wrapping paper over the front windows; and the turkeys and other
good things were brought in the back way from the restaurant on the
corner. You will perceive that the Bee-Hive was not a fashionable
department store, with escalators and pompadours. It was almost
small enough to be called an emporium; and you could actually go
in there and get waited on and walk out again. And always at the
Thanksgiving dinners Mr. Ramsay--

Oh, bother! I should have mentioned Mr. Ramsay first of all. He is
more imp