The hat was the chief difficulty. On week days she wore none, but of course St. Mark's demanded a headgear of some kind, and at last Mrs. Jenkins triumphantly produced one of Tam o' Shanter shape manufactured from a lamp mat and adorned with some roses bestowed by the leading lady. The belligerent locks of the little scrub-girl refused to respond to advances from curling iron or papers, but one of the neighbors whose hair was a second cousin in hue to Amarilly's amber tresses, loaned some frizzes, which were sewed to the brim of the new hat. The problem of hand covering was solved by Mr. Vedder, as a pair of orange-tinted gloves had been turned in at the box-office by an usher, and had remained unclaimed. They proved a perfect fit, and were the supreme triumph of the bizarre costume. Not even Solomon in all his glory was arrayed in splendor greater than that displayed by Amarilly when she set forth on Sunday morning for St. Mark's. Promptness was ever Amarilly's chief characteristic, and she arrived long in advance of the ushers. This gave her an opportunity to sample several pews before finally selecting one whose usual occupants, fortunately, were out of the city. The vastness and stillness of the edifice, disturbed now and then by silken rustle and soft-shod foot were bewildering to Amarilly. She experienced a slight depression until the vibrating tones of the organ fell softly upon the air. The harmony grew more subdued, ceased, and was succeeded by another moment of solemn silence. Then a procession of white-robed choristers came down the aisle, their well-trained voices ringing out in carolling cadence. "Them's the chorus," thought Amarilly. Entranced, she listened to the service, sitting upright and very still. The spiritual significance of the music, the massing of foliage and flowers in the chancel, the white altars with their many lighted candles, were very impressive to the little wide-eyed worshipper. "Their settin's is all right," she said to herself critically, "and it ain't like the theayter. It's--" A sudden revealing light penetrated the shadows of her little being. "This is the real thing!" she acknowledged. There was only one disappointment to mar the perfection. She felt quite aggrieved that Mr. Meredith--or Mr. St. John as she still called him in her thoughts--did not "come on" in the first act. "Mebby he don't hev the leadin' part to-day," she thought disappointedly, as a callow youth, whose hair was pompadoured and whose chin receded, began to read the lessons for the day. Amarilly was kept in action by her effort to follow the lead of the man in front of her. "It's hard to know jest when to set or stand or pray, but it keeps things from draggin'," she thought, "and thar's no chanct to git sleepy. It keeps me jest on the hump without no rayhearsal fer all this scene shiftin'." Her little heart quickened in glad relief when the erect form of John Meredith ascended the pulpit to deliver the sermon.