cordially. "I've already heard about that dress. Winnie Mayfield
helped Mary pick out the cloth and trimmings, and she said you would
make it the sweetest thing in the valley. Pink is my color. Where is--
oh!" She had descried it as it lay on the bed, and with hands clasped
in delight, she sprang toward it. "Oh, it is a dream--a dream, Miss
Stella! You are an artist."

She picked the flimsy garment up and held it at arm's length. Then she
hung it on one of the tall bed-posts and stood back to admire it,
uttering little ejaculations of delight. "I know it will fit. I wore
one of Mary's dresses to a party one night, and it was exactly right
in every way. Oh, oh, what a beauty! You are a wonder. You could get
rich in a city." "I think Miss Stella is trying to advertise her
work," Mrs. Drake jested. "She knows Mr. Mostyn will see it, and he'd
have to talk about it. Town men are close observers of what girls put
on--more so, by a long shot, than country men. I wouldn't be surprised
if some rich person wrote to you to come down to Atlanta, Miss
Stella."

Dolly was dancing about the room like a happy child, now placing
herself in one position, then another, in order to view the dress from
every possible point of vantage. She even went out into the hall and
sauntered back as if to surprise herself by a sudden sight of the
treasure.

"Stop your silliness!" her mother laughingly chided her. "You are a
regular circus clown or monkey in a cage when you try yourself."

"I just want you to put it on, Dolly," the seamstress said, with
elation. "All the time I was at work on it I kept thinking how nice it