d the girl, starry-eyed. "All
she needs is rest, and then she will be quite well again. Cora
Mason's mother died--" the expressive face sobered and, sitting on
the edge of her pretty white bed, Rosemary's twelve-year old mind
filled with somber thoughts. Presently she slipped noiselessly to
her knees and buried her curly head in the comforting cool white
pillow.

"Dear God--" she began, but the tide of joy and relief began to beat
loudly again in her heart, sending rich waves of color into her
hidden face.

"I am so happy," prayed Rosemary tumultuously. "I am so happy! I am
so happy!"

Presently she rose and dragged her white shoes from the closet.
Sitting in the middle of the floor, she started contentedly cleaning
them.

"Rosemary?" sounded a little voice. "Rosemary, you in here?"

Rosemary straightened up so that she could see across the bed which
stood between her and the doorway.

"Yes, Shirley darling," she answered. "Did you tell Winnie about
mother?"

"Yes," said Shirley scrambling upon the bed. "We told her. What you
doing, Sister?"

"Cleaning my white shoes," replied Rosemary, applying whitener
vigorously. "I'm going to put them on and wear my white linen dress.
Don't you want to dress up to-night, Shirley? Bring me your shoes,
if they are dirty, and I'll do them for you."

"All right, I'll get them," decided Shirley, sliding off the bed
backward. "Could I put on my blue sash, Rosemary?"

"Not with that dress," said Rosemary firmly. "I'll have to wash your
face and hands and neck and then you can wear the cross-bar muslin
with the lace yoke."

"Are you up here, Rosemary?" demanded another voice. "What are you
doing?"

"Cleaning my shoes," said Rosemary patiently. "Say, Sarah, don't
you think it would be nice if we dressed up a little for dinner
to-night?"

"Why?" asked Sarah bluntly.

"Oh, because--because, well, we know Mother is going to get well,"
explained Rosemary. "And everything has been in such a mess this
week, the table half set and nobody caring whether they ate or not.
I'd like to show Hugh that we can have things done properly."

"What difference does it make?" drawled Sarah lazily. "I hate a lot
of fuss, you know I do. Rosemary, do you suppose it hurts worms to
use them for fishing bait? Will you ask Jack Welles?"

"I'll ask him the next time I see him, if you will put on your tan
linen with the red tie," promised Rosemary. "And do brush your hair
back the way Mother like