If Jane, to quote Doctor John, looked like a lily
swaying on a slender stem, Lucy, when she bounded
into the room to-night, was a full-blown rose tossed
by a summer breeze. She came in with throat and
neck bare; a woman all curves and dimples, her skin
as pink as a shell; plump as a baby, and as fair, and
yet with the form of a wood-nymph; dressed in a
clinging, soft gown, the sleeves caught up at the
shoulders revealing her beautiful arms, a spray of
blossoms on her bosom, her blue eyes dancing with.
health, looking twenty rather than seventeen; glad
of her freedom, glad of her home and Jane and
Martha, and of the lights and blossoms and the glint
on silver and glass, and of all that made life breathable
and livable.

"Oh, but isn't it just too lovely to be at home!"
she cried as she skipped about. "No lights out at
nine, no prayers, no getting up at six o'clock and
turning your mattress and washing in a sloppy little
washroom. Oh, I'm so happy! I can't realize it's
all true." As she spoke she raised herself on her toes
so that she could see her face in the mirror over the
mantel. "Why, do you know, sister," she rattled
on, her eyes studying her own face, "that Miss
Sarah used to make us learn a page of dictionary if
we talked after the silence bell!"

"You must know the whole book by heart, then,
dearie," replied Jane with a smile, as she bent over