"Yes, I thought perhaps I could fix some of my things for you." "What things?" returned Blanche Aurora mechanically. "These," indicating the bed. Blanche Aurora gasped. "For me!" she cried, the loudness of her usual tones restored, with a crack of excitement added. "They ain't serviceable nor durable." Linda bit her lip. "This one is," she said, picking up the black-and-white checked skirt. Blanche Aurora handled it reverently. "Why, Miss Linda," she said in the same high key, "how can you give away--" "You'd better ask how can I fix them for you. I'm such an ignoramus, and yet I'm just conceited enough to try. Aunt Belinda has a machine." "Oh, yes,"--eagerly,--"she's got a real good one. I can run it, too, if you want me to, and she can spare me." "All right, child." Linda patted the bony shoulder. "Run along now." Her eyes had a humorous light as she observed the string woven tightly in the tortured red braids. "I'll have to do some ripping to these dresses first, and then I'm sure Mrs. Porter will help me, though probably she doesn't know much more than I do." The child's reluctant feet drew slowly away from the bed, but not before she had laid her hand lovingly on the pink and blue gowns. "Miss Linda," she said, looking beatifically at her benefactress, "I used to think that more than anything in this whole world I'd rather have that teeny clock o' yourn that you punch and it tells you jest what time it is; but now I don't even want that!" Without another word she walked on clouds out of the room, and Linda went up to her father's picture, and lifting it, pressed her cheek against the cool glass. "'Instead of the thorn,'" she murmured. Blanche Aurora tripped downstairs, the red still obliterating the freckles on her cheeks. She was too absorbed in her daydream to observe her usual caution in opening the swing door, and simultaneously with her energetic shove a cry sounded from Miss Barry accompanied by a clattering of glass on tin. "Blanche Aurora, will you ever remember to come through that door carefully? You knocked my arm and I nearly spilled all this jelly." Miss Barry glared at the help as she spoke. She had just sealed a trayful of glasses and was about to deposit them on a shelf near the swing door. "I'm glad--I mean I'm sorry!" said the culprit, her eyes still looking far away. "Well," snapped Miss Barry, her elbow still smarting, "it would be well for you to be certain _which_. I _was_ going to give you a glass of this jelly to take home to your mother, but now I think I ought to punish you." "Yes'm," replied Blanche Aurora, gliding through the pantry into the kitchen. Her employer caught her expression as she passed. "Come here," she said sharply, and the little maid obeyed. "Help me set these glasses on the shelf. Don't they look good?" "Yes'm.--Real pink, some of 'em." "Aren't you sorry I can't give you one?" "No'm. Yes'm. I'm tryin' to be."