scornfully. "Let's pile these, Ma, and get dressed."

They went into the bedroom, where the gas was lighted again, the bureau
pushed out from the wall, that the mirror might catch the best light,
and where, in unspeakable confusion, mother and daughter began to dress.
Julia put on her smart little serge skirt, pushing it down over her hips
with both hands. Then she fixed her hair carefully, adjusted her hat,
tied on a spotted white veil, and finally slipped into a
much-embroidered silk shirtwaist, which mother and daughter decided was
dirty, but would "do." Rings, bangles, and chains followed, a pair of
long limp gloves, a final powdering, and a ruff of pink feathers. Julia
was not fifteen and looked fully seventeen, to her great delight. She
gave herself a sober yet approving glance in the mirror; the corners of
her firm yet babyish mouth twitched with pleasure.

She locked the doors, set an empty milk bottle out on the unspeakably
dreary back stairway, and flung the soggy bedding over the foot of the
bed. Then mother and daughter sauntered out into the noontime sunshine.

It was their happiest time, as free and as irresponsible as children
they went forth to meet the day's adventures. Something was sure to
happen, the "crowd" would have some plan; they rarely came home again
before midnight. But this sunshiny start into the day Was most pleasant
of all, its freshness, its potentialities, appealed to them both. It was
a February day, warm and bright, yet with a delicious tingle in the air.

"Leave us go up to Min's, Julie; some of the girls are sure to be there.
There's no mat. to-day."

"Well--" Julia was smiling aimlessly at the sunlight. Now she patted