"Oh, here you are! What on earth are you poking up here for at this time of day?" was the matter-of-fact greeting. "You are to hurry up and come into our house and stay to dinner. Mother said you are allowed, so you needn't stop to ask permission; and, just think, the box that grandma sent from England has arrived, and it is full of all kinds of finery. You know we always have a box sent us at Christmas time, but this one was delayed somehow," and she looked curiously at the flushed face that was buried in the brimming hands. "There is always something for everyone of us in the box; but do hurry, Dexie, your face isn't so dirty that it needs soaking, I hope." "Well, hardly," was the reply, thankful enough to be given so much time to recover her composure; "but I may as well tell you before you find it out yourself that I have had a bad attack of the pouts, and the effect is not so easy to get rid of. Now, you needn't ask what's up, for I don't intend to tell you." "Pshaw! who cares about your pouts? Not I, anyway," was the reply, in a high and mighty tone. "Come along, if you're coming, and if you're not, then stay home. I can't wait, for I want to see what is in the box for me." This unceremonious manner of treatment made Dexie come down somewhat from the pedestal of injured greatness, and she forced herself to talk to Elsie to keep her waiting, while she made a fresh toilet. "Now, do I look a fright?" Dexie asked, as she prepared to follow Elsie downstairs. "Well, I can't say that you look much worse than usual, but you certainly don't look any better. Your nose looks swelled. Shouldn't wonder if you had it tweaked; but, then, what odds how it looks? Hurry up, and come along. We have apple dumplings for dinner to-day. Do you like milk or sauce on them best?" Dexie did not answer; something of more consequence than dumplings was troubling her just then, and as she followed Elsie into the front hall, she was tenderly feeling her nose and mentally comparing it with its usual proportions, inwardly calling herself all sorts of hard names for being so silly. "But I won't whistle to-night, so there!" she kept saying to herself, as if she needed to keep her determination constantly before herself in order to back it up. Elsie rushed up the stairs at once, eager to enjoy the delights that an English box always contained; but for once Dexie's interest was centred in herself. Her nose could not be forgotten; in fact, she was trying to reduce its proportions by pressing it between her thumb and finger. She wondered if the rest of the family would notice it and make remarks thereon. Lancy would be sure to know at once that something was wrong; but she would keep out of sight, for she would _not_ whistle; no, indeed.