at I
think,--that I hate to see a man chop off his first name with a
capital and write his middle name in full. It always looks like an
alias. The man who does it is either trying to attract attention or
trying to get rid of it.

Everything else about the birthday scheme ran as smooth as a ribbon
from Jordan & Marsh's. I begged leave to make the cake, and it came
out of the oven done to a turn, white as snow inside and a golden
brown on the crust. Nora Costello and her brother came at eight
o'clock just as they had promised, with unfashionable promptness. They
looked somewhat surprised to see the house so lighted up, and Nora
gave a timid little glance at Winifred's rose-colored waist (a woman
doesn't forget how clothes look just because she joins the Salvation
Army); but she herself was a picture in spite of her dress--perhaps
because of it, for the close-fitting blue gown, with its plain band at
the neck and sleeves, set off her fine features and the noble carriage
of her head. The chief decoration of her dress was a scarlet ribbon
coming diagonally from the shoulder to the belt, marked "Jesus is My
Helper." I did wish she had not felt called to make a guy of herself
with that thing; but she seemed so unconscious of it herself that I
should have forgotten it too if Mr. Flint had not been coming; but I
hate to see a scoffer like him get hold of anything ridiculous in
religion. Now we Unitarians stand midway between scepticism and
superstition. I wonder everybody can't see it as we do.

I am bound to say, however, that Mr. Flint behaved exceedingly well. A
thorough acquaintance with the world seems to give pleasanter manners
sometimes than a religious nature. Anyway, he came forward and greeted
her very handsomely. He handed her a little volume of Thomas a Kempis,
"For those leisure hours which you never have," he said. The girl
looked mightily pleased but a little bewildered, and still more so
when Philip Brady followed with a great bunch of the reddest of red
roses (trust men for always picking out red flowers--I don't believe
they know there is any other color). Tied by a satin ribbon to the
flowers was the little blue bag which I made at Nepaug, and inside it
lay the lost brooch. I never saw any such delight as shone on Nora
Costello's face when she drew out the pin. She looked from one to
another of us, then at the pin in her hand, which she turned about and
about, crying over it softly. At length she brushed awa