She rolled up her sleeves and knelt down by her side, rubbed the little creature down, admiring a form as beautiful as one of Raphael’s cherubs, took her out of the tub, wiped her dry, and laid her between the fresh sheets of her—Annie’s—white bed. “Now that you are so sweet, and clean, and comfortable, I hope you will not mind staying here by yourself while I go out to buy some clothes to put on you. It is only a little way I shall have to go, and I will not be gone long,” said Annie, as she smoothed the counterpane over the bed. “Oh, no, thank you, ma’am, I shall not mind staying alone, for, you must know, I really am possessed of common sense,” said the elf, with impressive gravity. “I decidedly think that you are. But, I forgot, I shall have to get the measure for your shoes. Put out your foot.” The child obeyed. Annie got a bit of tape from her workbasket and took the length of the little foot. Then she put her room in order and went out to purchase, from the cheap store at the corner, a very plain and limited outfit for the child—namely, two changes of cheap, cotton underclothing, a small, flannel petticoat, a pink calico frock, a white apron, a straw hat, with one band of blue ribbon around it, a pair of leather shoes, and two pairs of white cotton stockings. This purchase took the whole of Harcourt’s two-dollar note, and a dollar and sixty-five cents out of Annie’s half-eagle. When she got back to her room she found her charge sleeping deliciously in the white bed. The little face was flushed with healthful life, and partly shaded by the luxuriant tangles of the golden brown hair. “What a lovely possession a child is,” smiled and sighed the childless widow. “How I wish she was mine!” She gazed at the pretty picture, but forbore to disturb the sweet sleeper. Then, remembering that she could not lose time in this way, she went to her sewing machine, pushed it silently to the furthest part of the room from the bed, so that its sound should not wake the child, sat down and went to work, and worked hard at it for three or four hours before the sleeper moved. CHAPTER XXIII A TRANSFORMATION “I wonder now what place this is, and what that thumper-bumpering is, too,” were the words that greeted the seamstress at last, and informed her that her charge was awake. She instantly arose and crossed the room. “Don’t you know, darling—don’t you remember?” she inquired, bending over the child, who, flushed and smiling, pushed her tangled curls away from her dark eyes, and looked at her friend and said: “Oh, yes! I do remember now. Oh, how good you are to me! And the gentleman, too. Has he come back?” “Not yet, dear. It is not time for him to come yet. But you must not be afraid. Mr. William will be sure to keep his word and hunt up your friends,” said Annie. “Oh, I know he will! If I didn’t believe in you and him, I should not be possessed of common sense,” said the child.