For the first time the thought of the price presented a possible drawback to the inexperienced child. She turned from the mirror, touchingly in earnest in her inquiry. "How much does it cost?" she asked. When the saleswoman named the amount the disappointed girl began heroically to remove the jacket. As she laid it aside she turned instinctively to me for sympathy. "I cannot pay the price," she whispered. "It would take all that I have, and there would be nothing left to buy the shawl for my mother, or the slippers for my grandmother, or the doll for Marjorie." A moment longer she hesitated, the mist of disappointment gleaming in her eyes. Then, with a quiet resolution that was wonderful, she commanded the saleswoman to remove the coveted temptation, announcing her determination to take the blue dress which she had previously fancied. I was delighted at the character she evinced. I knew how bitterly disappointed she was, and I was proud not only of her quiet self-control, but of the loving thoughtfulness she had displayed in remembering that her little store of gold must be divided with the toiling mother, the old grandmother, and my own little child. "Do up both costumes," I said in undertone to the saleswoman, less attentive now that she had discovered the extent of Mariposilla's capital. Impertinently folding the discarded dress, she allowed Mariposilla to struggle as best she could with her buttons. At my announcement she flew to assist, but I commanded tartly the packing of our purchases. After we left the store I noticed several times during the day that the child still remembered covetously the denied frock; but she behaved sensibly, and after we had bought the shawl, and the slippers, and a Chinese doll for Marjorie, and there was still money for a sailor hat and a few trifles, she appeared satisfied. She enjoyed, with childish appetite, our elaborate luncheon; while she evinced the warmest interest in my selection of toys and books for Marjorie. When she discovered that I had bought presents for her mother and the grandmother, she seemed to have dismissed entirely the disappointment of the morning. We left the city by a late afternoon train, and already twilight had ceased to linger. As we stepped blindly into the early winter darkness at the end of our short journey, the voice of Sidney Sanderson sounded pleasant and assuring. "You see," he explained, as he unburdened our far-reaching arms, "I fancied you would need assistance. Antonio gratefully resigned his responsibilities, and I took the liberty of coming myself with a more substantial vehicle."