“I think there is a black lace dress of Mother’s which will do. Dear Mother kept it to wear evenings when she went out to sing. She disposed of all her colored dresses when she went into mourning for my father.” “And what shall you wear?” “Cousin Rindy has made over for me the only white dress that Mother had. Dear Mother had worn out most of the other things, so there wasn’t much left that could be used, but I’m pretty sure of the black lace, and I think Cousin Rindy can wear it just as it is.” “I am just crazy to see how she will look. When are you going to tell her, Ellen?” “Not till the very day. You mustn’t fail me, Caro. You know you are to help serve the refreshments.” “Fail you? I never was more excited in my life. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Every one is talking about it.” “I hope to goodness they won’t let the cat out of the bag. I do want to keep it a secret up to the very day. Cousin Rindy is capable of balking if you give her time to think.” The lace dress was discovered to be in quite as good order as Ellen had hoped. It was shaken out and hung up in her clothespress, to be ready for the great day. It was mid-June. There was no school to think of, for the summer holidays had begun. Mr. Todd had returned long since from his outing, uplifted because of the good time he had had, meeting old friends, talking with kindred spirits, and, above all, listening to such music as he had not heard since his student days. “Some day you must go,” he told Ellen as he ended his account of his experiences. “It will be a long time before I arrive at a proper appreciation of Bach,” Ellen told him, “and still longer before I can afford such a jaunt.” “One never knows,” returned her friend. “I was a long time saving enough for the journey, and could never have indulged myself in such extravagance if a friend had not made it possible by inviting me to stay with him. However, my child, as I said, one never knows. There may be a perfect rush of weddings when your services will be required at the organ.” “No, indeed, I shall not take your place again. I feel guilty, as it is, to have accepted your fee.” “You earned it, and did mighty well, I hear. It won’t do to say you will never do it again; I might have lumbago.” And he went off chuckling. Long before this Ellen had lost all awe of her cousin. At first, depressed, lonely, grief-stricken, she had shown only a meek spirit. She did not know what kindness, justice, and good sense lay behind Miss Rindy’s abrupt manner, but in time she found out, her spirits revived, and she teased, cajoled, made enthusiastic appeals, just as she had done in her own home. On the morning of Miss Rindy’s birthday she began her manœuvres at the breakfast table. “I hope you don’t forget that this is your birthday,” she said. “Now, would you rather I kissed you once a minute for three-quarters of an hour, or will you take a kiss once a day for forty-six days?”