over the
tree-tops and a field of stars above it."

"Mother dear, you are too poetical and romantic for anything, but I
believe," said Amy, "that it could be done, and if it could it ought."

The tower at Wishing-Brae was then a large, light garret-room, used for
trunks and boxes. Many a day have I spent there writing stories when I
was a child, and oh! what a prospect there was and is from those
windows--prospect of moors and mountains, of ribbons of rivers and white
roads leading out to the great world. You could see all Highland from
the tower windows. In sunny days and in storms it was a delight beyond
common just to climb the steep stairs and hide one's self there.

We put our heads together, all of us. We resolved at last that the
tower-room should be our birthday gift to Grace. It was quite easy to
contrive and work when she was absent, but not so easy to keep from
talking about the thing in her presence. Once or twice we almost let it
out, but she suspected nothing, and we glided over the danger as over
ice, and hugged ourselves that we had escaped. We meant it for a
surprise.

First of all, of course, the place had to be thoroughly cleaned, then
whitewashed as to the ceiling, and scoured over and over as to the
unpainted wood. Archie Vanderhoven and all the brothers of both families
helped manfully with this, and the two dear old doctors both climbed up
stairs every day, and gave us their criticism. When the cleanness and
the sweetness were like the world after the deluge, we began to furnish.
The floor was stained a deep dark cherry red; Mrs. Raeburn presented the
room with a large rug, called an art-square; Mrs. Vanderhoven made
lovely ecru curtains of cheese-cloth, full and flowing, for the windows
and these were caught back by cherry ribbons.

We had a regular controversy over the bed, half of us declaring for a
folding bed, that could be shut up by day and be an armoire or a
book-case, the others wanting a white enameled bed with brass knobs and
bars. The last party carried the day.

The boys hung some shelves, and on these we arranged Grace's favorite
books. Under the books in the window were her writing-table and her
chair and foot-stool. The Vanderhovens sent a pair of brass andirons for
the fireplace, and the little Hastings children, who were taken into the
secret, contributed a pair of solid silver candlesticks.

Never was there a prettier room than that which we stood and surveyed
one soft