because she was out of breath and partly because they had
reached the buggy. Not another word did she say until they
had left the village and were driving down a steep little
hill, the road part of which had been cut so deeply into the
soft soil, that the banks, fringed with blooming wild
cherry-trees and slim white birches, were several feet
above their heads.

The child put out her hand and broke off a branch of
wild plum that brushed against the side of the buggy.

"Isn't that beautiful? What did that tree, leaning out from
the bank, all white and lacy, make you think of?" she asked.

"Well now, I dunno," said Matthew.

"Why, a bride, of course--a bride all in white with a
lovely misty veil. I've never seen one, but I can imagine
what she would look like. I don't ever expect to be a bride
myself. I'm so homely nobody will ever want to marry me--
unless it might be a foreign missionary. I suppose a
foreign missionary mightn't be very particular. But I do
hope that some day I shall have a white dress. That is my
highest ideal of earthly bliss. I just love pretty clothes.
And I've never had a pretty dress in my life that I can
remember--but of course it's all the more to look forward
to, isn't it? And then I can imagine that I'm dressed
gorgeously. This morning when I left the asylum I felt so
ashamed because I had to wear this horrid old wincey dress.
All the orphans had to wear them, you know. A merchant in