She was in what she called her uniform, a short dress made of dark print,
cut lower in the neck than a street dress. It had elbow sleeves, and a bit
of white braid stitched on their bands and around the square neck set off
the little costume charmingly.

Her apron was of strong dark-green denim, wide enough to cover her dress
completely; it had a bib waist held in place by shoulder straps; and the
garment fastened behind with a single button, making it adjustable in a
second. But its distinctive feature was a row of pockets--or rather several
rows of them--extending across the front breadth; they were of varying
sizes, and all bulged out as if well filled.

"What in the world?" I began, and stared at the pockets. Muriel's merry
laugh rang out.

"Haven't you seen my pockets before?" she asked. "They astonish you, of
course; everybody laughs at them; but I am proud of them; they are my own
invention. You see, we are such a busy family all day long, and so tired
when we get home at night, that we have a bad habit of dropping things just
where they happen to land, and leaving them. By the last of the week this
big living-room is a sight to behold. It used to take half my morning to
pick up the thousand and one things that did not belong here, and carry
them to their places. You do not know how many journeys I had to make,
because I was always overlooking something. So I invented this apron with a
pocket in it for every member of the family, and it works like a charm.

"Look at this big one with a B on it; that is for Ben, of course, and it is
always full. Ben is a great boy to leave his pencils, and his
handkerchiefs, and everything else about. Last night he even discarded his
necktie because it felt choky.