The frock chosen was of a beautiful soft material, which fell in shimmering folds, and was trimmed with dainty lace. It had been worn, but only once, by Dorothy at a children's party, and Margery's was exactly like it. When Barbara Molesworth was told to lay out the little frock with all its accompaniments for the stranger child, she shrank from the task, and with streaming eyes appealed to Mrs. Austin against its being put to such a use. "Mistress, dear, let this new child have clothes as grand as you like, but do not put her in Miss Dorothy's shoes. It would be just sacrilege; and that little frock, too! The best and last you bought for your darling; her 'snow frock' she called it, because the soft silk shone as the snow does on a frosty moonlight night." "Clare must have that frock on, Barbara," replied Mrs. Austin. "You will understand afterwards my reason for insisting on this." Barbara did understand when she saw the beautiful child on Christmas morning. She gazed with an awe-stricken face as Clare stepped towards Margery's door in the dim grey light of that December morning. "She might be an angel," whispered the nurse. "I believe she will prove an angel of health and new life and joy to my Margery, for you know, Barbara, angel means messenger." On went the little one, her eyes dancing with delight, her sunny hair rippling in waves over her snowy frock, until she paused before Margery's door and knocked gently. "Is it you, Barbara? You left me asleep. Why do you knock?" said Margery, in a weary tone; and in reply— "I am not Barbara," returned Clare. "Who are you, then? I do not know your voice." "Come and see. Come, quick," was Clare's answer, followed by a ringing laugh, whilst she clapped her little hands with glee. There was no further delay. Margery was out of bed and at the door in a moment, her little bare feet falling noiselessly on the carpet. As she opened the door the lights outside were turned full on Clare, and Margery became aware of the presence of the stranger child. Startled at first, she shrank back, and Mrs. Austin's heart sank within her, lest the experiment had done harm instead of good, for Margery's face had become deadly pale. "Oh dear, dear!" said Clare. "Don't you know me? I am Dorothy's Christmas gift. You will have me. You will not send me away again, but let me be your little sister, will you not?" She stretched out her arms. Margery rushed towards her, and the children held each other in a close embrace which seemed as if it would never come to an end. Tears of thankfulness streamed down Mrs. Austin's cheeks, and Barbara and Miss Paterson fairly sobbed with gladness as they witnessed the complete success of the mother's plan. When Margery's face was uplifted, there was a new light in her eyes, and a tinge of colour had stolen into her pale cheeks. Life would henceforth have a new interest for her also, it was plain.