oming to Kate. She had a fixed theory that people with blue
eyes and gold hair should never wear pink or red, but Kate as usual had
her own way, and with her wild rose complexion had succeeded in looking
like the wild rose itself in spite of blue eyes and golden hair. Marcia
knew in her heart, in fact she had known from the minute the lovely pink
thing had come into the house, that it was the very thing to set her off.
Her dark eyes and hair made a charming contrast with the rose, and her
complexion was even fresher than Kate's. Her heart grew suddenly eager to
don this dainty, frilley thing and outshine Hannah Heath beyond any chance
of further trying. There were other frocks, too, in the trunk. Why should
she be confined to the stately blue one that had been marked out for this
occasion? Marcia, with sudden inspiration, answered calmly, just as though
all these tumultuous possibilities of clothes had not been whirling
through her brain in that half second's hesitation:

"I have not quite decided what I shall wear. It is not an important
matter, I'm sure. Let us go and see the piccalilli. I'm very much obliged
to your grandmother, I'm sure. It was kind of her."

Somewhat awed, Miranda followed her hostess into the kitchen. She could
not reconcile this girl's face with the stately little airs that she wore,
but she liked her and forthwith she told her so.

"I like you," she said fervently. "You remind me of one of Grandma's
sturtions, bright and independent and lively, with a spice and a color to
'em, and Hannah makes you think of one of them tall spikes of gladiolus
all fixed up without any smell."

Marcia tried to smile over the doubtful compliment. Somehow there was
something about Miranda that reminded her of Mary Ann. Poor Mary Ann!
_Dear_ Mary Ann! For suddenly she realized that everything that reminded
her of the precious life of her childhood, left behind forever, was dear.
If she could see Mary Ann at this moment she would throw her arms about
her neck and call her "Dear Mary Ann," and say, "I love you," to her.
Perhaps this feeling made her more gentle with the annoying Miranda than
she might have been.

When Miranda was gone the precious play hour was gone too. Marcia had only
time to steal hurriedly into the parlor, close the instrument, and then
fly about getting her dinner ready. But as she worked she had other
thoughts to occupy her mind. She was becoming adjusted to her new
environment and she found