eculiar that its description becomes difficult. In 1886, Mrs.
Schofield, then unmarried, had worn at her "coming-out party" a dress of
vivid salmon silk which had been remodelled after her marriage to accord
with various epochs of fashion until a final, unskilful campaign at a
dye-house had left it in a condition certain to attract much attention
to the wearer. Mrs. Schofield had considered giving it to Della, the
cook; but had decided not to do so, because you never could tell how
Della was going to take things, and cooks were scarce.

It may have been the word "medieval" (in Mrs. Lora Rewbush's rich
phrase) which had inspired the idea for a last conspicuous usefulness;
at all events, the bodice of that once salmon dress, somewhat modified
and moderated, now took a position, for its farewell appearance in
society, upon the back, breast, and arms of the Child Sir Lancelot.

The area thus costumed ceased at the waist, leaving a Jaeger-like and
unmedieval gap thence to the tops of the stockings. The inventive genius
of woman triumphantly bridged it, but in a manner which imposes upon
history almost insuperable delicacies of narration. Penrod's father
was an old-fashioned man: the twentieth century had failed to shake his
faith in red flannel for cold weather; and it was while Mrs. Schofield
was putting away her husband's winter underwear that she perceived how
hopelessly one of the elder specimens had dwindled; and simultaneously
she received the inspiration which resulted in a pair of trunks for the
Child Sir Lancelot, and added an earnest bit of colour, as well as a
genuine touch of the Middle Ages, to his costume. Reversed, fore to aft,
with the greater part of the legs cut off, and strips of silver braid
covering the seams, this garment, she felt, was not traceable to its
original source.

When it had been placed upon Penrod, the stockings were attached to it
by a system of safety-pins, not very perceptible at a distance. Next,
after being severely warned against stooping, Penrod got his feet into
the slippers he wore to dancing-school--"patent-leather pumps" now
decorated with large pink rosettes.

"If I can't stoop," he began, smolderingly, "I'd like to know how'm I
goin' to kneel in the pag----"

"You must MANAGE!" This, uttered through pins, was evidently thought to
be sufficient.

They fastened some ruching about his slender neck, pinned ribbons at
random all over him, and then Margaret thickly powdered his