slippers lay. She took off her sleeping-jacket and her little skirt and
stood waiting in her shift. When the tongs were well warmed, Mam'selle
Julie seized the little paper twists in the hot iron and opened them out.
From each fold a curled tress came rolling down; and at last, combed out
and bound up with blue-silk ribbon, it all stood about her head in a
light mist of pale-gold silk, like a wreath of light around her bright,
fresh face. Her dirty shift was dragged off downwards and mother fetched
the new scapular and laid it over the child's bare shoulders. The
first-communion chemise was of fine white linen and trimmed with crochet
lace. Julie took out the folds and drew it over Horieneke's head. Then
came white petticoats, bodices and skirts. The child stood passively, in
the middle of the floor, with her arms wide apart to give free room to
Julie, who crept round on her knees, sticking in a pin here, smoothing a
crease there. Mother fetched the things as they were wanted. There was a
constant discussing, approving, asking if it wouldn't meet or if it hung
too wide, all in a whisper, so as not to wake the boys.

There came a scrabbling overhead and down the stairs; and, before any one
suspected it, Bertje stood dancing round Horieneke in his shirt.

"Jesu-Maria! Oo, you rascal!"

And the corset which mother held in her hand was sent flying up the
stairs after the boy, who in three jumps was gone and up above. The
others lay laughing in bed when Bertje told them that he had seen
Horieneke all in white, with a bunch of red-gold curls round her head,
and that mother had thrown something at him.

The corset was laced up and Mam'selle Julie told the child to hold her
breath to let them get her body tighter. Now for the white frock: the