"Let us hope Aunt Sarah will 'knit fast,'" she was thinking, with
whimsical eyes. "But if she doesn't--Theodosia Baxter, dear, if Aunt
Sarah is a slow knitter, you are in for it! I've no idea of letting you
off. Baxters that begin, end."

It was dim starshine out-of-doors. Miss Theodosia was too late to see
the nurse-angel riding on her star, her little cap and halo awry with
the downhill glide through space. She was too late to see her go into
the dark little House of Children--but she saw her come out. Distinctly,
a misty little blur of white against the velvet background. Miss
Theodosia started a very little--did she need pinching to wake her?

For the space of a clock-tick the little celestial appeared to hesitate,
as though waiting for her star-steed to come within her hail. Then,
floatingly, not walking, it seemed to Miss Theodosia, the mist of blurry
white drew nearer. It came near to Miss Theodosia, and it was not the
nurse-angel in cap and shining halo. It was Stefana!

The child was in her nightgown. One look into her wide, unseeing eyes
was enough; Stefana was asleep. In a chattering little voice she was
talking to herself. It was like a soft wail of sound.

"I must get them back! Quick, before she sees; I must iron them over.
Perhaps if I starched them again--another coat of starch might hide the
smooches. She mustn't see the smooches! If Mother should lose the
chance--oh, I must get 'em back and starch 'em another coat! Mother
mustn't lose her! My thumbs ache so!"

Was she coming straight toward the door? No, a fortunate whiff of breeze