n deep
mourning and would not be at the ball to recognize me. Well, I made this
really awful silk into a very full skirt that just covered my ankles,
and near the bottom I put a broad band of orange-colored cambric--the
stiff and shiny kind. Then I made a Mother Hubbard apron of white
paper-cambric, also very stiff and shiny, putting a big full ruche of
the cambric around neck, yoke, and bottom of sleeves. For my head I made
a large cap of the white cambric with ruche all around, and fastened it
on tight with wide strings that were tied in a large stiff bow under the
chin. We drew my evening dress up underneath both skirt and apron
and pinned it securely on my shoulders, and this made me stout and
shapeless. Around this immense waist and over the apron was drawn a wide
sash of bright pink, glossy cambric that was tied in a huge bow at the
back. But by far the best of all, a real crown of glory, was a pigtail
of red, red hair that hung down my back and showed conspicuously on the
white apron. This was a loan by Mrs. Joyce, another friend in mourning,
and who assisted me in dressing.

We wanted the benefit of the long mirror in the little parlor of the
hotel, so we carried everything there and locked the door. And then
the fun commenced! I am afraid that Mrs. Joyce's fingers must have been
badly bruised by the dozens of pins she used, and how she laughed at me!
But if I looked half as dreadful as my reflection in the mirror I must
have been a sight to provoke laughter. We had been requested to give
names to our characters, and Mrs. Joyce said I must be "A Country
Girl," but it still seems to me that "An Idiot" would have been more
appropriate.

I drove over with Major and Mrs. Carleton. The dressing rooms were
crowded at Mrs. Gordon's, so it was an easy matter to slip away, give my
long cloak and thick veil to a maid, and return to Mrs. Carleton before
she had missed me, and it was most laughable to see the dear lady go
in search for me, peering in everyone's face. But she did not find me,
although we went down the stairs and in the drawing-room together, and
neither did one person in those rooms recognize me during the evening.
Lieutenant Joyce said he knew to whom the hair belonged, but beyond that
it was all a mystery.

That evening will never be forgotten, for, as soon as I saw that no one
knew me, I became a child once more, and the more the maskers laughed
the more I ran around. When I first appeared in the rooms