The first week of Judith's visit in Packertown fairly flew by. Miss
Barbara was away much of the time, both morning and afternoon, with her
music pupils, but Judith busied herself with the making of the dainty
white dinner gown, and wove happy day-dreams while she worked. In the
evenings she and Miss Barbara pored over a map of Washington until they
could locate all the prominent places of interest, and then Miss Barbara
brought out a pile of borrowed magazines in which were interesting
descriptions of those very places, and they took turns in reading
aloud.

[Illustration: "SHE AND MISS BARBARA PORED OVER A MAP OF WASHINGTON"]

When the dress was completed they had a little jubilee. Judith wore it
one evening, with its dainty flutter of ribbons, for Miss Barbara to
admire, and they invited the landlady and her daughter in to have music
and toast marshmallows.

"You don't look a day over eighteen," Miss Barbara declared. "You ought
to wear white all the time."

"It is given only to saints and the 'lilies that toil not' to do that,"
answered Judith, gaily. "I am satisfied to be arrayed just on state
occasions." And then because she was so happy she seized the little
music teacher and waltzed her round and round before the mirror. "It's
all your doing, you blessed Cousin Barbara! See how you have
metamorphosed me."

Several days later she stood idly turning the calendar. "This is the day
of the reception," she said; "the Averys will certainly be going home
soon, and I ought to hear from Marguerite."