She sang as she dressed with the shrill sweetness of a robin. She had
never seen such garments; she hardly knew how to put some of them on.
She brushed her hair till it shone like a tiger-lily, and piled it on
her small head in great plaits. When her white muslin frock was on, she
drew a long breath, seeing herself in bits in the small glass.

'I be like a picture!' she gasped. Round her slim sun-burnt neck was a
small gold chain holding a topaz pendant, which matched her eyes.

When she came forth like a lily from the mould, Abel staggered
backwards, partly in clownish mirth, partly in astonishment. He was so
impressed that he got breakfast himself, and afterwards went and
sandpapered his hands until they were sore. Hazel, enthroned in one of
the broken chairs, fastened on Foxy's wedding-collar, made of blue
forget-me-not.

Foxy, immensely dignified, sat on her haunches, her chin tucked into
the forget-me-nots, immovably bland. She was evidently competent for
her new role; she might have been ecclesiastically connected all her
life. The one-eyed cat was beside her, blue-ribboned, purring her best,
which was like a broken bagpipe on account of her stormy youth.

'Ah! you'd best purr!' said Hazel. 'Sitting on cushions by the fireside
all your life long you'll be, and Foxy with a brand new tub!'

Not many brides think so little of themselves, so much of small
pensioners, as Hazel did this morning. Breakfast was a sociable meal,
for Abel made several remarks. Now and then he looked at Hazel and
said, 'Laws!' Hazel laughed gleefully. When she stood by the gate