s, with injunctions to spare no pains or expense in
trimming and making both. And so the dressmaking for Katy's bridal was
proceeding in New York, in spite of Helen's letter; while down in
Silverton, at the farmhouse, there were numerous consultations as to
what was proper and what was not, Helen sometimes almost wishing she had
thrown off her pride and suffered Mrs. Ryan to come. Katy would look
well in anything, but Helen knew there were certain styles preferable to
others, and in a maze of perplexity she consulted with this and that
individual, until all Silverton knew what was projected, each one
offering the benefit of her advice until Helen and Katy both were nearly
distracted. Aunt Betsy suggested a blue delaine and round cape, offering
to get it herself, and actually purchasing the material with her own
funds, saved from drying apples. That would answer for one dress, Helen
said, but not for the wedding; and she was becoming more and more
undecided, when Morris came to the rescue, telling Katy of a young woman
who had for some time past been his patient, but who was now nearly well
and anxious to obtain work again. She had evidently seen better days, he
said; was very ladylike in her manner, and possessed of a great deal of
taste, he imagined; besides that, she had worked in one of the largest
shops in New York. "As I am going this afternoon over to North
Silverton," he added, in conclusion, "and shall pass Miss Hazelton's
house, you or Helen might accompany me and see for yourself."

It was decided that Helen should go, and about four o'clock she found
herself ringing at the cottage over whose door hung the sign: "Miss M.
Hazelton, Fashionable Dressmaker." She was at home, so said the little
slipshod girl who answered the ring, and in a few moments Helen was
talking with Marian Hazelton, whose face showed signs of recent illness,
but, nevertheless, very attractive, from its peculiarly sad expression
and the soft liquid eyes of dark blue, which looked as if they were not
strangers to tears. At twenty she must have been strikingly beautiful;
and even now, at thirty, few ladies could have vied with her had she
possessed the means for gratifying her taste and studying her style.
About the mouth, so perfect in repose, there was when she spoke a
singularly sweet smile, which in a measure prepared one for the low,
silvery voice, which had a strange note of mournful music in its tone,
making Helen start as it asked: "Di