black for
such a time; it does feel so funny.'

'I think it's very pretty, and you've got such a beautiful sash!' said
Margaret admiringly. 'But I always think you and Jacinth are so nicely
dressed, even though you've been in black all the time. Bessie and I
can't have anything but very plain frocks, you know. Mother couldn't
afford it, for we're not _at all_ rich.'

'I don't fancy we are, either,' said Frances; 'I shouldn't think papa
would stay out in India if we were. But at Stannesley, where we lived
before, granny always got us very nice dresses: she used often to send
to London for them. I don't believe Aunt Alison will care so much how we
are dressed. Do you have an allowance for your gloves, Margaret? We do.
I got a new pair yesterday, but I'm afraid they're not very good; where
are they, I wonder? Oh yes, here in my pocket; there are little whity
marks in the black kid already, as if they were going to split.'

She drew the gloves out, as she spoke, but with them came something
else--a doubled-up, rather soiled white card.

'What's this?' said Frances, as she unfolded it. 'Oh, I declare! Just
look, Margaret--it's an old Christmas card of last year. I remember one
of the children gave it me at the Sunday school, and I've never had this
frock on since. Isn't it strange?'

She stood looking at the card--an ordinary enough little picture of a
robin on a bough, with 'Merry Christmas' in one corner--a mixture of
sadness and almost reverence in her young face. 'Last Christmas' seemed
so very long ago to Frances. And indeed, so much had happened since then
to change things for herself and her brother and sister, that it did
naturally seem like looking back to the other side of a lifetime to
recall the circumstances which then surrounded them. How well she
remembered that very Sunday, the last of the old year; how they had
chattered and laughed as they ran home over the frosty ground, and Uncle
Marmaduke, who had just joined them, had predicted skating before the
week was out! How tenderly granny had kissed them that night when they
went to bed, with some little remark about the ending of the year, and
how the next morning she was not well enough to get up, anxious though
she was in no way to cloud or damp their enjoyment; and how the doctor
had begun to come every day, and then--and then----The tears started to
Frances's eyes as she seemed to live through it all again, and for a
moment or two she did not speak; s