gown. Not extravagantly so, but as Dorothy said "exquisitely so."

The material was of dimity, over muslin, and tiny rows of "val." lace
formed a yoke and edgings. A broad sash of flowered ribbon--all in
shades of red, with bows of the same in narrow width finished the
shoulders.

"Yes, it is for you," said Dorothy, "Auntie said red would suit you."

"I have always loved it, but folks said my hair was red."

"Indeed it never was. And don't you know how great dressmakers insist
upon sandy haired girls wearing red? The real red in material contrasts
with hair red, so as to make the brown red browner. There now, is a new
puzzle. When is brown red?"

"When a sassy boy calls it red," promptly answered Tavia, remembering
how she always feared the "red-head" epithet.

"Isn't it sweet?" exclaimed Dorothy, holding the new gown up for
inspection.

"Oh, a perfect love!" declared Tavia. "I thought my Rochester creation--
doesn't that sound well--simply 'gloriotious,' but this is beatific!"

"Like a sunset," suggested Dorothy. "But I must get acquainted with
mine."

Another layer of paper and a pale blue robe was extracted.