"Hurry up and don't make me stan' here all winter!" he had
shouted. "If you ever kept things in proper order, you wouldn't
have to hunt all over the house for a piece of rag when you need
it!"
Patty was very dainty about her few patched and darned
belongings; also very exact in the adjustment of her bits of
ribbon, her collars of crocheted thread, her adored coral
pendants, and her pile of neat cotton handkerchiefs, hem-stitched
by her own hands. Waitstill, accordingly, with an exclamation at
her own unwonted carelessness, darted into her sister's room to
replace in perfect order the articles she had disarranged in her
haste. She knew them all, these poor little trinkets,--humble,
pathetic evidences of Patty's feminine vanity and desire to make
her bright beauty a trifle brighter.
Suddenly her hand and her eye fell at the same moment on
something hidden in a far corner under a white "fascinator," one
of those head-coverings of filmy wool, dotted with beads, worn by
the girls of the period. She drew the glittering, unfamiliar
object forward, and then lifted it wonderingly in her hand. It
was a string of burnished gold beads, the avowed desire of
Patty's heart; a string of beads with a brilliant little stone in
the fastening.
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