“Well, let them,” answered Hazel. “This is a steamer trunk, Charity,” she went on, opening it, “see the cunning tray. When it’s shut you push it under your berth on the steamer. I’m going to have a warm shawl in it to wear on deck.” “Bet you’ll be sick,” said Charity. Nevertheless, she was deeply impressed with the little trunk, and watched Hazel as day after day she packed and repacked it. “I’m putting all my clothes in the bottom, Charity. Mother says for me to take my summer and my winter clothes both. Here is my blue gingham, and Mother has let down my white muslin dress again. Isn’t it pretty with the lace and embroidery?” Charity sniffed. “Bet you won’t wear your white dress. Folks wear calico down there. Who’s going to spend the time washing and ironing for you?” Hazel looked a little troubled. “Why, Granny, I suppose.” “Humph, your Granny ’ll be too busy to wait on you.” Hazel patted the white dress better in place. “I can keep it clean quite a while,” she said. “See, Charity, the pretty present Mrs. Perkins gave me,” she said later, taking a dainty box from the tray and opening it. “Six handkerchiefs and each marked with an ‘H.’ Nobody can take them, can they, because the ‘H’ shows they belong to me.” Charity deliberately took one from the box. “Guess I’ve got one now,” she declared. But while she refused to show enthusiasm regarding Hazel’s preparations she was really greatly interested and appeared one day with something, new to Hazel, in her hand. “It’s a sun-bonnet,” she explained, holding it out. “Everyone wears them down there; the sun is so hot. Mother and I made it for you.” “Oh, it’s such a pretty pink,” cried Hazel, turning it about on her hand. “Thank you and your mother so much, Charity,” and she kissed her companion. Charity’s eyes shone. “Put it on,” she commanded. The brown face with the soft hair looked very attractive set in the pink muslin frill. Hazel viewed herself in the glass and jumped up and down with pleasure. “It’s like a play to be wearing a sun-bonnet.” “Take it off and I’ll show you how to pack it.” And together they put it in the tray. “I’ve another present, Charity,” Hazel confided, taking out a small package, and showing a long, black hair-ribbon. “It’s from Miss Gray, my teacher. Mother says I must count these presents for Christmas, because I’ll be away at Christmas. Perhaps I’ll put them in my stocking Christmas eve.” “Pooh! Folks don’t hang up stockings South.” “Why, Charity, you’d think they didn’t do anything down there.” Charity cogitated. “They don’t do much,” she decided, and added a little wistfully, “it’s lots more fun on Hammond Street.” Hazel slipped her hand in her friend’s. “I wish you were going with me,” she whispered. “I wish you weren’t going away,” Charity whispered back.