Mary Rose, we'll go down to my rooms. Is this your
canary?" She looked oddly at the bird-cage.

"Yes, that's Jennie Lind. I couldn't leave her behind and Mrs. Black
said you'd be sure to have room for her, for all she needs is a window
to hang in and everybody has at least one window. Your house is very
large, isn't it?" admiringly. "It makes me think of a palace, although
it is something like the new Masonic Temple in Mifflin. Do you live in
the cellar?" she asked in astonishment as her aunt led the way down the
basement stairs. "I've never lived in a cellar before. In Mifflin our
cellar had only room for jellies and pickles and a closet for
vegetables, turnips and parsnips, you know."

"This isn't a cellar," she was told rather sharply. "It's a basement."

"Oh!" Mary Rose tried to see the difference between a cellar and a
basement and had little difficulty, for nothing could have been more
different from the little Mifflin cellar with its swinging shelf for
preserves and pickles, its dark closet for vegetables, than Aunt Kate's
basement apartment. The sun streamed into the windows, only half of
which were below the level of the street, and the rooms looked very
bright and pleasant to tired Mary Rose.

"It's--it's very pleasant," she said. "But do you always live down
here?" She couldn't understand why her aunt should choose rooms in the
cellar when she had such a large house.

Her aunt did not answer her but asked a question of her own. "Mary
Rose, what makes you dress like that, like a boy?" She couldn't
imagine why.

Mary Rose regarded her small person with a blush and a frown. "I know.
Isn't it horrid? I'd lots rather wear girls' clothes, but you see
these saved washing, and Lena, who took care of daddy and me, made a
fuss about the washing almost every week, so daddy said boys' clothes
were pleasanter than arguments. Aunt Kate," her voice was tragic, "I'm
'most eleven years old and I haven't ever had a white dress with a blue
sash in all my life. I never even had a hair ribbon!"

"My soul an' body!" murmured Aunt Kate, and derived no more
satisfaction from the exclamation than she had the other times she had
used it.

"Don't you think boys should wear boys' clothes and girls girls'
clothes, Aunt Kate? Of course, if you have to think of the washing,
too, I won't say a word and I'll try to be happy in these. But I do
hate them. I think little girls' clothes are beautiful. All my life