with sprays of goldenrod painted across it, looking as natural as if
they had grown there.

Once she got up and pattered across the room in her nightgown to sit a
moment before the little writing-desk in the corner, and handle all its
dainty furnishings of gold and mother-of-pearl. There were thin white
curtains at the windows, held back by broad bands of yellow ribbon. They
stirred softly with every passing breeze, and fluttered and fluttered,
until by and by, watching them, Betty's eyelids fluttered, too, and she
closed them drowsily.

While she slept she dreamed that she was back in the cuckoo's nest
again, in her bare little room in the gable, and that a great white and
yellow daisy stood over her, shaking her by the shoulder and telling her
that it was time to go down and wash the breakfast dishes. Then the
broad white petals began to fall off one by one, and it was Davy's face
in the centre. No, whose was it? She rubbed her eyes and looked again,
to find her godmother standing in the door.

"It is time to dress for dinner, little girl," she called, gaily. "Do
you need any help?"

"No, thank you," answered Betty, sitting up and catching a glimpse of
Lloyd going past the door in a fresh white muslin and pink ribbons.

"Shall I wear my best dress, godmother?" asked Betty, "or would it be
better to save it for Sunday?"

"Let me see it," said Mrs. Sherman, helping her to take it out of the
little half-filled trunk. "Oh, you'd better wear it, I think. We may