fresh and pretty."

"I'd like to have one trimmed with forget-me-nots this year," Mona went on
hurriedly, paying no heed to her mother's last remarks.

"They are very pretty," agreed Lucy, absently. In her mind she was
wondering how she could find the money for all these different things.

"I've got eighteenpence," broke in Mona, and the plunge was taken.
She was keeping the eighteen-pence, though she knew it belonged either to
her granny or to Lucy. As soon as the words were spoken she almost wished
them back again, but it was too late, and she went on her downhill way.

"Mother, if you'll get me the hat, I'll buy the wreath myself. They've
got some lovely ones down at Tamlin's for one and five three. There are
some at one and 'leven three, but that's sixpence more, and I haven't got
enough."

"Very well, dear, we'll think about it. It's early yet for summer hats."
She was trying to think of things she could do without, that Mona might
have her hat. If she had been her own child, she would have told her
plainly that she did not need, and could not have a new one, but it was
not easy--as things were--to do that.

Mona's heart leaped with joy. Though she had known Lucy such a little
while, she somehow felt that she could trust her not to forget.
That when she said she would think about a thing, she would think about
it, and already she saw with her mind's eye, the longed-for hat, the blue
wreath, and the bow of ribbon, and her face beamed with happiness.

"I can do without the aprons and the print frocks," she said, in the
generosity of her heart, though it gave her a wrench. But Lucy would not
hear of that. She had her own opinion about the grubby-looking blue
serge, and the fancy apron, which were considered 'good enough' for
mornings.

"No, dear, you need them more than you need the hat. If ever anyone
should be clean it's when one is making beds, and cooking, and doing all
that sort of thing, I think, don't you?"

Mona had never given the subject a thought before. In fact, she had done
so little work while with her grandmother, and when she 'kept house'
herself had cared so little about appearance or cleanliness, or anything,
that it had never occurred to her that such things mattered. But now that
her stepmother appealed to her in this way she felt suddenly a sense of
importance and a glow of interest.

"Oh, yes! and I'll put my hair up, and always have on a nice white apron
and a collar; the