care. She clasped her hands happily over the invisible wishing ring.

As Joy helped Grandmother pack, the next week, she wondered a little
about clothes. She did not worry now, because she had a conviction
that if she only knew what she wanted, and hoped as Jack had told
her, she could hope things straight to her. There was a gray taffeta
in a window uptown, together with a big gray chiffon hat, a little
pair of glossy gray strapped slippers, and filmy gray silk
stockings. And the hat, instead of having pink roses on it, as you'd
think a normal hat would, by the mercy of Providence had deep yellow
roses, exactly the color Joy knew she could wear if she got the
chance. The chance, to be sure, was remote. She did not have an
allowance, just money when she asked for it; and her fall wardrobe
had been bought only a few weeks before. Besides the amber satin
that the poetry was about, there were three other frocks, lovely,
artistic, but, Joy was certain, no mortal use for tennis. She didn't
know how to play tennis, but she intended to, just the same.

Now, how, with just seven dollars left from your last birthday's
ten, could you buy a silk frock, with a hat and shoes and stockings
to match? The answer seemed to be that you couldn't, but Joy did not
want to look at it that way yet. And as she gazed around her bedroom
in search of inspiration, her eyes fell on an illuminated sentiment
over her bureau. It had been sent Grandfather by a Western admirer
who had done it by hand herself in three colors, not counting the
gilt. Grandfather had one already, so Joy had helped herself to
this, because it matched the color of her room. She had never read
it before, but, reading it today, it impressed her as excellent
advice to the seeker after fine raiment.