Anne's lace--that, wonderful to say, it was the readiest subject
Elizabeth could find to meditate upon. As she looked at her cousin's
white muslin frock, with its border of handsome Moravian work, and
its delicate blue satin ribbons, at her well arranged hair, and
pretty mosaic brooch, she entered upon a calculation respecting the
portion of a woman's mind which ought to be occupied with her dress--
a mental process, the result of which might perhaps have proved of
great benefit to herself, and ultimately to Dora and Winifred, had it
not been suddenly cut short in the midst by a piercing scream from
the latter young lady, who had been playing on the floor with Edward
and Fido.

Mrs. Woodbourne instantly caught up the little girl in her arms, and
sat down on the sofa with her on her lap, while Winifred buried her
hand in her pocket-handkerchief, screaming and sobbing violently.
Fido slunk away under the sofa; and Elizabeth hastily made her way
through the circle of ladies who surrounded Mrs. Woodbourne.

'That is what comes of teazing him,' said Mrs. Hazleby reproachfully
to Edward; who answered in a loud voice, 'I am sure I did not make
him do it.'

Elizabeth knelt down by Mrs. Woodbourne, and began to unroll the
handkerchief in which Winifred had wound up her hand; but she was
prevented by a fresh scream from the patient.

'Oh! my dear, never mind, do not cry; come, be a brave woman,' said
poor Mrs. Woodbourne, her voice quivering with alarm.

'Poor little dear!' exclaimed Mrs. Dale, 'she bears it like a little