school opens, but land--your poor mother was such a hand with the
needle, you used to look a perfect picture. There," warned by the
sudden droop of Lydia's mouth, "I tell you, you'll be in and out of the
water all day, anyhow. Both of you get into the bathing suits your
Aunt Emily sent you. They're wool and it's going to be a dreadful hot
day."

"Jefful hot day," said little Patience, gulping the last of her oatmeal.

"All right," answered Lydia, soberly. "Wouldn't you think Aunt Emily
would have had more sense than to send all those grown up clothes? Who
did she think's going to make 'em over, now?"

"I don't know, child. The poor thing is dead now, anyhow. Folks is
always thoughtless about charity. Why I wasn't taught to sew, I don't
know. Anyhow, the bathing suits she got special for you two."

"You bet your life, I'm going to learn how to sew," said Lydia, rising
to untie the baby's bib. "I'm practising on Florence Dombey. Mother
had taught me straight seams and had just begun me on over and over,
when--"

"Over and over," repeated the baby, softly.

Lizzie put out a plump, toil-scarred hand and drew Lydia to her.
"There, dearie! Think about other things. What shall poor old Liz fix
you for lunch?"

The child rubbed her bright cheek against the old woman's faded one.
"You are a solid comfort to me, Lizzie," she said with a sigh. Then