ly to
Charles through his key-hole, until a low incoherent muttering convinced
her that he also was rejoicing in the good news. She took all the dolls
out of the baskets in which Ruth's careful hands had packed them the
evening before, in the recognized manner in which dolls travel without
detriment to their toilets, namely, head downward, with their
orange-top-boots turned upward to the sky. In short, Molly busied
herself in the usual ways in which an only child finds employment.

It really was a glorious day. Except in Molly's eyes it was almost too
good a day for a school-feast; too good a day, Ruth thought, as she
looked out, to be spent entirely in playing at endless games of "Sally
Water" and "Oranges and Lemons," and in pouring out sweet tea in a tent.
She remembered a certain sketch at Arleigh, an old deserted house in the
neighborhood, which she had long wished to make. What a day for a
sketch! But she shut her eyes to the temptation of the evil one, and
went out into the garden, where Molly's little brown hands were
devastating the beds for the approaching festival, and Molly's shrill
voice was piping through the fresh morning air.

There had been rain in the night, and to-day the earth had all her
diamonds on, just sent down reset from heaven. The trees came out
resplendent, unable to keep their leaves still for very vanity, and
dropping gems out of their settings at every rustle. No one had been
forgotten. Every tiniest shrub and plant had its little tiara to show;
rare jewels, cut by a Master Hand, which at man's rude touch, or, for
that matter, Molly's either, slid away to tears.

"You don't mean to say, Molly," said Charles, later in the day, when all
the dolls had been passed in review before him, and he had criticised
each, "that you are going to leave me all day by myself? What shall I do
between luncheon and tea-time, when I have fed the guinea-pigs and
watered the 'blue-belia,' as you call it--Where has that imp disappeared
to now? I think," with a glance at Ruth, who was replacing the cotton
wool on the doll's faces, "I really think, though I own I fancied I had
a previous engagement, that I shall be obliged to come to the
school-feast too."

"Don't," said Ruth, looking up suddenly from her work with gray serious
eyes. "Be advised. No man who respects himself makes himself common by
attending village school-feasts and attempting to pour out tea, which he
is never allowed to do in private life."