There never was a more active person than Ellen showed herself to be that day. She made the house into a bower, she was “up-stairs, down-stairs, and in my lady’s chamber,” so that every room was rose-sweet. The cakes kept arriving up to the last minute,—even Miss Sophia Garrett sent one,—and the bowl of fruit punch was delivered safely, while the freezer of ice-cream stood in readiness to be brought over by Lucilena at the last moment. Mrs. Hale offered to lend Lucilena for the occasion, that dusky person eagerly seconding the offer. Wipers was dressed up in a flaunting blue bow made from a discarded hair ribbon of Caro’s; to be truthful one must relate that it was torn to bits before midnight in an affray with Bunty, but this did not prevent Wipers’ initial appearance from being quite magnificent. The hardest duty of the day was that of dressing up Miss Rindy, who balked every step of the way. “You must let me do your hair,” Ellen insisted at the outset. “What for?” asked Miss Rindy. “Because I want it to be becoming.” “It does well enough. I’ve always worn it this way, and I don’t mean to change.” “Just for this once; if you don’t like it you can go back to the old way. Do you know I read somewhere that a woman doesn’t begin to grow old till she ceases to change the arrangement of her hair. I am crazy to see how you will look when I am through with you.” “Very well, go ahead, but I warn you that if I don’t like it, down it comes.” Ellen went ahead. She waved, fluffed out, brought down becoming locks over the high expanse of her cousin’s forehead, and then giggled as she stood off to see the effect. “I suppose I do look like a perfect guy,” said Miss Rindy, “so it’s no wonder you’re laughing at me. Give me that hand mirror.” “No, no, you are not to see yourself till you are all dressed. I was laughing because I’m so pleased at the result of my efforts.” “You don’t expect me to get dressed twice. How can I do my hair with that fancy frock on?” “That is just what I don’t expect. I guarantee that you won’t want to take off the frock once you see how well you look.” She slipped the dress over her cousin’s head, fastened it, after many objections to the extremely modest display of throat, finished it off with an old-fashioned pin, swung the chain into place, then turned her cousin around to face the large mirror. “There,” she exclaimed, “how do you think you look?” “Like a fool,” responded Miss Rindy with her twist of a smile. “Orinda Crump, I am ashamed of you! You know perfectly well that you never looked so well in all your life. You’d pass for no more than thirty-five at the most. Will you have a dab of powder on your nose? You won’t? Well, with your nice complexion you really don’t need it. ’Fess up that you are pleased as Punch.”