the steps and began. Susie wanted "Red Riding
Hood," and Katie wanted "Goldilocks," so these were first. Then Mary
wanted "Cinderella," but Tommy was not to be forgotten.

"I want a boy's story. Tell me the one you promised me or I'll push the
rest all home," he said.

What could she do? She never remembered having read a boy's story. Oh
dear, maybe she couldn't win Tommy.

Over and over in her mind went the stories she had gotten ready. Then she
remembered one that she had loved years ago. It was about Cedric, the
Knight. This was just the one for Tommy. So she told it to him while his
eyes grew bigger and bigger. When the story was done, Barbara and Tommy
were friends and Tommy had a new hero.

When the dinner bell rang, she was still telling stories to the dirty
little group but she had forgotten why she was doing it, for she was
living the stories with the children.

The days went by and every morning found Barbara out in the garden, if
only for one story, but now the Lowinskys were not the only ones. They had
brought their neighbors and friends till the group sometimes numbered
forty. The steps had grown too small, so they had moved to the wall. Then
that had not been satisfactory, so they had moved out under the trees away
down by the little brook. Here the birds sang, the little brook whispered,
and everything was just right for the little story-teller. Over and over
she had told the stories with a new one now and then, but Cedric, the
Knight, was the favorite one. Tommy always stood near Barbara and saw to
it that all the boys were listening, so he had a fine chance to whisper,
"Now my story. Please tell mine."

And she was telling it again one morning when she realized that some one
stood near who was not a child. It was Miss Rose, her guardian, who
listened for a moment and then drew back where the children could not see
her. When the story hour was over, she was nowhere to be seen. But later
in the evening a package was left at the door for Barbara. It contained
that precious dress for which she had longed.

Pinned to the dress was a card which said, "Inasmuch as ye have done it
unto one of these, my little ones, ye have done it unto me." And below was
written, "I shall be glad to have you put your symbol on my dress before
Friday night so that we may tell the girls at the Ceremonial about your
story-group."

Later when Barbara had finished the embroidery, it showed a tiny figure of
a primitive woma