“Look at me! look at me! I'm splendid I don't know myself. I haven't put these things on right, I dare say, but I do like them so much!” “You look as gay as a parrot in your fez and cabaja, and it does my heart good to see the little black shadow turned into a rainbow,” said Uncle Alec, surveying the bright figure before him with great approbation. He did not say it, but he thought she made a much prettier picture than Phebe at the wash-tub, for she had stuck a purple fez on her blonde head, tied several brilliant scarfs about her waist, and put on a truly gorgeous scarlet jacket with a golden sun embroidered on the back, a silver moon on the front, and stars of all sizes on the sleeves. A pair of Turkish slippers adorned her feet, and necklaces of amber, coral, and filigree hung about her neck, while one hand held a smelling-bottle, and the other the spicy box of oriental sweetmeats. “I feel like a girl in the 'Arabian Nights,' and expect to find a magic carpet or a wonderful talisman somewhere. Only I don't see how I ever can thank you for all these lovely things,” she said, stopping her dance, as if suddenly oppressed with gratitude. “I'll tell you how by leaving off the black clothes, that never should have been kept so long on such a child, and wearing the gay ones I've brought. It will do your spirits good, and cheer up this sober old house. Won't it, auntie?” “I think you are right, Alec, and it is fortunate that we have not begun on her spring clothes yet, for Myra thought she ought not to wear anything brighter than violet, and she is too pale for that.” “You just let me direct Miss Hemming how to make some of these things. You will be surprised to see how much I know about piping hems and gathering arm-holes and shirring biases,” began Dr. Alec, patting a pile of muslin, cloth and silk with a knowing air. Aunt Peace and Rose laughed so that he could not display his knowledge any farther, till they stopped, when he said good-naturedly, “That will go a great way toward filling out the belt, so laugh away, Morgiana, and I'll go back to my work, or I never shall be done.” “I couldn't help it, 'shirred biases' were so very funny!” Rose said, as she turned to her box after the splendid laugh. “But really, auntie,” she added soberly, “I feel as if I ought not to have so many nice things. I suppose it wouldn't do to give Phebe some of them? Uncle might not like it.” “He would not mind; but they are not suitable for Phebe. Some of the dresses you are done with would be more useful, if they can be made over to fit her,” answered Aunt Peace in the prudent, moderate tone which is so trying to our feelings when we indulge in little fits of charitable enthusiasm.