had been small preparation for this visit. Betty had carefully folded
the few gingham dresses she possessed, and the new blue and white lawn
bought for her to wear to church. There were several stitches to be
taken in her plain cotton under-wear, and a button to be sewed on her
only white ruffled apron.

That was all that she could do to make herself ready, except to put her
hair-ribbons and handkerchiefs smoothly into a little diamond-shaped box
that had once held toilet soap. Betty felt rich in ribbons "to tie up
her bonnie brown hair," for there were three bows the colour of her
curls, and two of red, and one of delicate robin's-egg blue. The last
was to wear with the new lawn, and, in order to keep it fresh and fine,
it lay wrapped in tissue-paper all week, between the times of its Sunday
wearings.

And the handkerchiefs--well, six of them were plain and white, and two
had pictures stamped in the corners. One told the story of Red
Ridinghood and the other had scenes from Cinderella outlined in blue.
They had been Davy's present to her the Christmas before, and he had
bought them at Squire Jaynes's store with his own precious pennies.

That was all that Betty had intended to put into her trunk, but when
they were in, there was still so much room that she decided to take her
books and several of her chief treasures. "They will be safer," she said
to herself, and she filled a box with cotton in which to pack some of
her breakable keepsakes. She had hesitated some time about taking her
scrap-book, an old ledger on whose blank pages she had written many
verses. She hardly dared call them poetry, and yet they were dear to
her, because they were the outpourings of her lonely little heart.