Miss Theodosia's interested gaze left the retreating little figure and came back to Stefana and Elly Precious. She was pleasantly aware of her own immaculate daintiness in her crisp white dress. Only Theodosia Baxter would have dreamed of arraying herself in white to unpack and settle. Her friends declared she made a fetich of her white raiment; it was a well-known fact among them that she was extremely "fussy" about its laundering. "One, two, three," counted the slender girl, over the baby's bald little head, "only three tucks, an' the lace not terribly full on the edges. I'm thankful there aren't any ruffles, but, there, I suppose there are on some o' the others, aren't there? I'll have to manage the ruffles. I mean, if--oh, I mean, won't you please let me do you up? Just till Aunt Sarah's bone knits--so to save you for Mother? I'll try so hard! If I don't, Charlotte Lovell will--she's the only other one. She's a beautiful washer and ironer, but none of her children are deaf, and she hasn't any, anyway. I didn't dare to come over and ask you, but I kept thinking of poor Mother and how she's been 'lotting on earning all that money. There, I've asked you--please don't answer till I've counted ten. When we were little, Mother always said for us to; it was safer. One, two, three--" she counted rapidly, then swung about facing Miss Theodosia. "You can say 'no,' now," she said, with a difficult little smile. Miss Theodosia had been, in a way, counting ten herself. She had had time to remember her very strict injunctions to those to whom she entrusted her beloved white gowns--to pull out the lace with careful fingers, not to iron it; to iron embroidered portions over many thicknesses of flannel, and never, never, never on the right side; to starch the dresses just enough and not too much. All these thoughts flashed through her mind while Stefana counted ten. But it was without accompaniment of injunctions that Miss Theodosia answered on that wistful little stroke of ten. In her soul she felt the futility of injunctions. "Yes," answered Miss Theodosia. Stefana whirled, at the risk of Elihu Launcelot. "Oh--oh, what? You mean I can do you up, honest? Starch you, and iron you, too--of course, I could wash you. Oh, if I could drop Elly Precious I'd get right up and dance!" "Give Elly Precious to me, and go ahead, my dear," said the White Lady with a smile. But Stefana shook her head. She was covertly studying the white dress once more. It was very white--she could detect no promising spots or creases, and she drew a sigh even in the midst of her rejoicing. If a person only sat on porches, in chairs, how often did white dresses need doing up? Miss Theodosia interpreted the sigh and look. "Oh, I've three of them rolled up in my trunk; aren't three enough to begin on? And shirtwaists--I'm sure I don't know how many of those. I'll go and get them now."