e as
she burst forth with this confession of poverty. "This blue suit and
three house dresses are all the clothes I have in the world. Don't say
you feel sorry for me. I shall hate you if you do. I sha'n't always be
poor. Some day," her eyes grew dreamy, "I'll have all sorts of lovely
clothes. When I am a----" She stopped abruptly, then said in her usual
half-sullen tones, "I can't go, so don't ask me."

Marjorie looked curiously at this strange girl. The longer she knew
Constance the better she liked her, but she did not in the least
understand her. Suddenly a bright idea popped into her head. "I'm so
sorry you can't go to the dance," she commented, then promptly dropped
the subject. When she left Constance, however, she remarked innocently:
"Don't forget, you are coming home with me to-night. Don't say you can't.
You promised, you know."

"I will come," promised Constance, brightening. "Good-bye."

The moment Marjorie reached home she made a dash for her room and going
to her closet, emerged a moment afterward with an immense white
pasteboard box in her arms. Stopping only long enough to drop her wraps
on her bed she ran downstairs and burst into the dining-room with: "I
have found her, Mother. I've found the girl this was made for."

"What is all this commotion about, Lieutenant?" asked her father,
teasingly. "Are we about to be attacked by the enemy? Salute your
superior officers and then state your case. Discipline must be preserved
at all costs in the army. Is it a requisition for new uniforms? You
soldiers are dreadfully hard on your clothes. Or is the post about to
move and is that a packing case?"

Marjorie made a most unsoldierlike rush for him and, throwing her arms
about his neck, kissed his cheek. "You are a great big tease, and I
choose to salute you this way." Then she kissed her mother, saying:
"I've the loveliest plan, Captain. I'm sure that this dress will fit
Constance. She says she won't go to the school dance because she has no
pretty gown to wear. May I give her this darling blue one?" She opened
the box and drew forth a dainty frock of pale blue chiffon over silk.
The chiffon was caught up here and there with tiny clusters of
pinky-white rosebuds. The round neck was just low enough to show to
advantage a white girlish throat, while the soft, fluffy sleeves reached
barely to the elbows. It was a particularly beautiful and appropriate
frock for a young girl.

"You see, General," explained Mar