eyes with its yards and yards of valenciennes lace that graduated in
width from very narrow to one broad band around the bottom of the skirt.
Suzanna, Maizie, Peter, and even the baby bowed before the miracle of
beauty.

"How many yards of lace are on it, mother?" asked Suzanna, for the sixth
time, and for the sixth time Mrs. Procter looked up from her sewing
machine at which she was busy with the green petticoat and answered: "A
whole bolt, Suzanna."

The children at this information stared rounder-eyed and then turned to
gaze with uncovered awe at Suzanna, the owner.

"Do you think, mother," asked Maizie, "that when I'm older I can have a
pink dress with no trimming of yours on it?"

"We'll see," said Mrs. Procter, who knew how strictly to the letter she
was held to her promises.

Now Suzanna reluctantly left the dress and went to her mother. "Mother,"
she cried, softly, "when I recite 'The Little Martyr of Smyrna' up on
the big platform, I'm afraid I won't be humble in spirit. It's too much
to be humble, isn't it, when you've got a whole bolt of lace on your
dress?"

Mrs. Procter, quite used to Suzanna's intensities, answered, running the
machine deftly as she spoke: "Oh, you'll be all right, Suzanna. The
minister means something else when he preaches of being humble. What
bothers me now is how to manage a pair of shoes for you. Yours are so
shabby."