ins, not caring for the name given her by her maternal parent,
had assumed that of Violet Featherstone. Also, being an only child and
greatly desiring a sister, she had plucked a certain little Nellie
Taylor from a family near by, named her "Rose Featherstone" and taken
her to and from the kindergarten daily, a distance of at least half a
mile of crowded streets. The affair was purely one of innocent romance.
Emma Abby Googins never told a fib or committed the slightest fault or
folly save that of burying her name, assuming a more distinguished one,
and introducing a sister to me who had no claim to the Googins blood.
Her mother was thoroughly mystified by the occurrence and I no less so,
but Emma Abby simply opened her blue eyes wider and protested that she
"liked to be Violet" and Rose liked to be Rose, and that was the only
excuse for her conduct, which she seemed to think needed neither apology
nor explanation.

Now comes the darling of the group, the heart's ease, the nonesuch, the
Rose of Erin, the lovely, the indescribable Rosaleen Clancy.

We were all working busily and happily one morning when a young woman
tapped at the door and led in that flower and pearl of babyhood, the
aforesaid Rosaleen.

The young woman said she knew that the kindergarten was full, and indeed
had a long waiting list, but the Clancy family had just arrived from
Ireland; that there were two little boys; a new baby twenty-four hours
old; Mr. Clancy had not yet found work, and could we take care of
Rosaleen even for a week or two?

As I looked at the child the remark that we had not a single vacant seat
perished, unborn, on my lips. She was about three and a half years old,
and was clad in a straight, loose slip of dark blue wool that showed her
neck and arms. A little flat, sort of "pork pie" hat of blue velveteen
sat on the back of her adorable head, showing the satiny rings of yellow
hair that curled round her ears and hung close to her neck. (No wonder!)
She had gray-blue eyes with long upper and under lashes and a perfect
mouth that disclosed the pearly teeth usually confined to the heroines
of novels. As to her skin you would say that Jersey cream was the
principal ingredient in its composition.

The children had stopped their weaving needles and were gazing
open-mouthed at this vision of beauty, though Rosaleen had by no means
unmasked all her batteries. She came nearer my chair, and without being
invited, slipped her hand in mi