'You know very well which,' answered her exasperated aunt; 'the last one.' Prudence Jane lifted her blue eyes from the carpet and looked straight at the unfortunate Mr. Sanders. 'She didn't give any of it to the Piskerpalyan,' she said. Then she turned and walked discreetly through the portieres. She felt that it was no moment to stay and learn what became of little girls who told whoppers. 'Didn't give who what?' she could hear Aunt Annie saying vaguely on the other side of the curtains. But Prudence Jane decided to let her minister explain. THE GLORY-BOX BY ELIZABETH ASHE I In Southern Ohio a girl's wedding chest is her Glory-Box. If, like Mabel Bennet, you are the daughter of a successful druggist, the box is of cedarwood, delivered free of charge by the Dayton department stores; but if, like Eunice Day, you are the daughter of an unsuccessful bookkeeper who has left a life insurance inadequate even when supplemented by the salary you earn teaching primary children, then the box is just a box, covered with gay cretonne, and serving the purpose very nicely. When Eunice Day's engagement became known, Mabel, remembering the scalloped guest-towels which Eunice had given her some months before, brought over one afternoon an offering wrapped in tissue paper. 'I hope you'll like this, Eunice,' she said. 'It's just a sack,--what they call a matinee. I've found them very useful.' Mabel spoke with the slightly complacent air of the three months' bride. 'Why, it's ever so dear of you to go to so much trouble,' said Eunice, taking the package into her hands. She was a tall, slender girl, with dark eyes and a pretty dignity of bearing. 'I'll have to open it right now, I guess. You aren't in a hurry, are you?' 'Oh, no, not especially. Harry doesn't get home until quarter past six, and I've fixed the vegetables. Just you go ahead.' Eunice untied the white ribbon. 'Why, Mabel, it's beautiful, and such a delicate shade of pink!' She held the sack at arm's length. 'I'm glad you like it. It's nothing wonderful, of course.' 'It couldn't be more pretty, and Stephen loves pink. I wrote him the other day that I had made a pink kimono and I hoped he would like it. He wrote back that pink was--was the color of dawn and apple-blossoms.' Mabel laughed. 'Stephen has a funny way of saying things, hasn't he?' 'Why, I don't know,' said Eunice, flushing. 'Oh, well,' went on Mabel good-naturedly, 'I do think you look nice in pink with your dark hair. Harry always tells me to stick to blue. It's the color for blondes. Don't you want to show me your things? I won't mind if the ribbons aren't all run in yet.' 'I'd like to show them to you, of course. Come upstairs. They'll look nicer though when they are all pressed out,' said Eunice, laying the sack carefully back in its paper wrappings. She carried it on outstretched palms. 'Do you know when you're going to be married?' asked Mabel as she reached the top of the narrow stairs.