"No, dear, it's quite out of the question," came from beyond the door,
in Mrs. Blaisdell's voice. "I can't let you wear your pink. You will
wear the blue or stay at home. Just as you choose."

"But, mother, dear, it's all out of date," wailed a young girl's
voice.

"I can't help that. It's perfectly whole and neat, and you must save
the pink for best."

"But I'm always saving things for best, mother, and I never wear my
best. I never wear a thing when it's in style! By the time you let me
wear the pink I shan't want to wear it. Sleeves'll be small then--you
see if they aren't--I shall be wearing big ones. I want to wear big
ones now, when other girls do. Please, mother!"

"Mellicent, why will you tease me like this, when you know it will do
no good?--when you know I can't let you do it? Don't you think I want
you to be as well-dressed as anybody, if we could afford it? Come, I'm
waiting. You must wear the blue or stay at home. What shall I tell
him?"

There was a pause, then there came an inarticulate word and a choking
half-sob. The next moment the door opened and Mrs. Blaisdell appeared.
The pink spots in her cheeks had deepened. She shut the door firmly,
then hurried through the room to the hall beyond. Another minute and
she was back in her chair.

"There," she smiled pleasantly. "I'm ready now to talk business, Mr.