away, there was another picture to shine out into the wet night: the
children unpacking the box that Jack had dragged out of its
hiding-place.

Mary paraded jubilantly around the room in her new slippers, the rosebud
sash tied around her gingham apron, the pink parasol held high above her
head, and her face such a picture of delight that one could not look at
her without smiling, too.

[ILLUSTRATION: "SHE SORTED THE RIBBONS AND EXAMINED THE GLOVES."]

Even the baby sat up an hour after his bedtime, to take part in the
unusual excitement. The prospect of Joyce's seeing the old valley seemed
to have unlocked a door into the little mother's memory. Story after
story she brought out to entertain them, of the things that had happened
when she was a care-free little schoolgirl, before sorrow and worry and
work had come to make her tired and sad.

While she entertained them Joyce brought a bureau drawer from her
bedroom, and, propping it on two chairs, began looking over its
contents. She sorted the ribbons and examined the gloves, counted the
handkerchiefs and inspected the stockings, dividing everything into
three piles. One pile was pronounced suitable to take on the visit, one
good enough to wear at home after another renovating, and one altogether
past wearing.

"It's a sort of day of judgment," said Jack, who was watching the
performance with interest. "You're separating the sheep from the goats;
only there's three divisions here, white sheep, black sheep, and goats."