that I
could see nothing without a brownish tinge over it. Now, I--I realise
what the matter is; and I ask what--_what_ is this stuff in which my
family is masquerading?'

"'Masquerading, Miles? I don't understand you. This is brown gingham, a
most excellent material, inexpensive, durable, and neat. I bought forty
yards of it, so that the children might all be dressed alike, and
without all this fuss and expense of different materials. You know you
said we must economise this summer, and I--'

"'Yes,' said Pater. 'Yes, I understand now. Miranda, you are a good
woman, but you have your limitations.'

"He would not say another word, but went off into the garden to smoke.
We forgot all about what he said, all but Mammy, and she thought he
would get used to the brown gingham in time, and, anyhow, she had meant
to do the best, dear darling.

"Hildegarde, the next morning, when we all came to dress, our clothes
were gone."

"Gone!" repeated Hildegarde.

"Gone,--vanished; frock and kilt, slip and apron. Not an atom of brown
gingham was to be found in the house. And the rest of the piece, which
Mammy had meant to make into a gown for herself, was gone, too. Mammy
looked everywhere, but in a few minutes she understood how it was. She
didn't say a word, but just put on our old dresses, such as were left of
them. They were pretty well outworn and outgrown, but we were glad to
get into them. We hardly knew how we had hated the brown gingham
ourselves, till we got out of it. Well, that day there came from one of
the big shops a box of clothes; an enormous box, big as a packing-case.
Oh! dresses and dresses, frocks and pinafores and kilts, everything you
can imagine, and all in the brightest colours,--pink and blue, yellow
and green,--a perfect flower-garden. White ones, too, three or four
apiece; and the prettiest slips for Baby, and a lovely flowered silk for
Mammy. You can imagine how I danced with joy; the boys were delighted,
too, and as for old Nursey, she beamed all over like an Irish sun. When
Papa came home that afternoon, we were all dressed up, the boys in
little white sailor suits, I in a ruffled pink frock, and Mammy and Baby
most lovely in white and flowers. He looked us all over again. 'Ha!' he
said, 'once more I have a family, and not a shoal of mud-fish. Thank
you, my dear.' And none of us has ever worn brown since that day,
Hildegarde."

"Poor, _dear_ Mrs. Merryweather!" cried Hildegarde, laughing. "I think