copper-coloured hair. Barbara took her crutches and went out, very
quietly, to help Aunt Miriam prepare for the guest.

When the kitchen door was safely closed, Barbara's joy bubbled into
speech. "Oh, Aunt Miriam," she cried; "she's bought nearly every thing
I had and paid almost double price for it. She's already arranged for
me to sell at the Woman's Exchange in the city, and she is going to
write to some of her friends about the things I have left. She's going
to arrange for me to get all my material at the lowest wholesale price,
and she's ordered six complete sets of lingerie for herself. She wants
some more shirtwaists, too. Oh, Aunt Miriam, do you think the world is
coming to an end?"

"Has she paid you?" queried Miriam, gravely.

"Indeed she has."

"Then it probably is."

Miriam was not a woman easily to be affected by joy, but the hard lines
of her face softened perceptibly. "Show her the quilts," she suggested.

"Oh, Aunt Miriam, I'd be ashamed to, to-day, when she's bought so much.
She'll be coming up again before long--she said so. And father's asked
her to luncheon."

"Just like him," commented Miriam, with a sigh. "He always suffered from
hospitality. I'll have to go to the store."

[Sidenote: The Best We Have]