Flora nodded, but Sylvia was sure that she was not pleased at Grace's
refusal to believe in the ghost.

"Mammy! Mam-m-e-e," called Flora, and in a moment the black woman stood
bobbing and smiling in the doorway.

"Bring my lace-work," said Flora.

"Yas, Missy," and Mammy trotted across the room to a little table in the
further corner and brought Flora a covered basket. She opened it and set
it down in front of her little mistress.

"Do's yo' want anyt'ing else, Missy Flora?" she asked.

"If I do I'll call," replied the little girl, and Mammy again
disappeared.

The basket was lined with rose-colored silk, and there were little
pockets all around it. In the centre lay a cushion on which was a lace
pattern defined by delicate threads and tiny circles of pins. A little
strip of finished lace was rolled up in a bit of tissue paper. Flora
took off the paper. "See, it is the jessamine pattern," she explained.
"My mother's governess was a Belgian lady, and she taught my mother how
to make lace and my mother taught me."

"I wish I could make lace," said Sylvia. "It would be lovely to make
some for a present for my mother."

"Of course it would. I'll teach you this winter," promised the good-
natured Flora; "let me see your hands. You know a lace-maker's hands