vens."

And below stairs the loyal Harkness, putting off his own doubt, had met
Mrs. Budge's scorn of the whole "goings-on" with a grand defense of his
little mistress: "Some lydies in 'igh places distribute their bounty in
baskets but if Miss Gordon sees fit to carry 'ers in her pretty little
'eart, I don't say it's for us to be a thinking it isn't the 'appier
way," and Budge knew he was very much in earnest because he forgot his
h's, a little trick of speech he had long ago overcome.

For a finishing touch to her despised "best" dress, Beryl brought forth
her green beads. Robin exclaimed over them, taking them out of Beryl's
hand to hold them to the light.

"Oh, they are lovely, Beryl, see the deep glow! They're like the sea.
You ought to be proud of them."

"They're just some beads an old priest gave mother when she was a girl,"
Beryl explained, making her voice indifferent. She loved Robin's
enthusiasm but half-suspected it might be "put on" in order to make up
to her for the things she did not have. "They do look nice on this
dress, though, don't they?" She laid them against her neck and stared
with satisfaction at the reflection in the long mirror.

The Lynch cottage, in honor of the occasion, sparkled with orderliness.
Mrs. Moira looked very gay in a pretty foulard she had made over from
two of Miss Lewis' old dresses; her fluttering hands alone betrayed her
nervousness and her fears that though the most tempting smells came from
the stove her dinner might not be "just right" for little Miss Forsyth
and for Dale's new friend, too.

However, when Robin came into the room with Beryl she looked so
appealingly small that Mrs. Lynch promptly forgot she was a Forsyth and
that the dinner might not be good enough and put her arms around her and
kissed her. And Robin with an impulsive movement snuggled closer to the
warm embrace.

"Why, it's a mite of a thing you are," cried Mrs. Moira with the singing
note in her voice that always came when she was deeply moved. "And
hungry, I hope. Well, Dale will be here in a moment and then we'll dish
up."

Then everything was just like Robin had hoped it would be. Beryl's
mother called them "children" and let them help her with the finishing
touches of the dinner. Beryl's father smiled at her and patted her hand.
She did not see the little room with Beryl's eyes, its limited space
into which so much had to be crowded, the cracked shade on the lamp, the
dingy carpeting that