Rose unfolded the letter and read it in silence. Then she handed it to Mrs. Blossom. “It’s from my Great-Aunt Sarah; you can read it out loud.” Her cheeks were red, but she spoke quietly, so quietly that Mrs. Blossom glanced at her keenly as she took the letter and read: “MY DEAR NIECE: “I have had a letter from Samuel Jarvis in which he writes that there is no question but you are the daughter of Kate Jarvis, and as he is a careful man I dare say it is so. The minister who was written to, and who married Kate came to me first and I referred him to Samuel, for being a man he could better look after the matter. “He also wrote me the arrangement he had made for you. I am glad to know that you are with a worthy family, and I trust they will look after your manners—manners are so important for a young girl. Your mother’s manners were considered attractive, but she was headstrong. I hope you are not headstrong. I must say that under the circumstances, with no one to look after and his brother’s grandchild, I should have thought Samuel Jarvis would have taken charge of you himself. But Samuel never did consider anything but his own selfish ease and pleasure and I suppose he is too old to look for any change now. I myself am a nervous wreck, so I could not possibly have you with me. “As I know that you have but little money and will need to be very careful, with this letter I am sending you some things that if you are at all capable you can make over and use for yourself; the stockings you can cut over, and the slippers were always too small for me. “Samuel Jarvis wrote me about the Bible I gave your mother. I remember it well, and am pleased to know that you have kept it. “Your affectionate aunt, “SARAH HARTLY.” No one made a remark as Mrs. Blossom finished the letter, till Miss Silence spoke, “Well, let us see what’s in the box.” The contents were quickly taken out, for even Grandmother Sweet would have confessed to a curiosity in the matter. These were an old black velvet dress worn threadbare at the seams and trimmed with beaded fringe; a soiled black and white check wool wrapper; a black satin skirt shiny with wear; a purple silk with coffee stains down the front breadth; some brown brocaded material which had evidently served as lining to a cloak; a bundle of half-worn stockings; several yards of black feather trimming, moth-eaten in spots; a pair of fancy bedroom slippers; and at the bottom of the box a plush cape heavily braided with a bugle trimming. Hardly a word had been uttered as one by one the garments had been unfolded. Rose had knelt among them in silence; now she drew the cape about her and rose to her feet. For a moment she looked down at herself, then tearing the cape off she gave it a throw and sank back in a little heap on the floor. “I know it would be comfortable,” she wailed, “and I need it, and it would save spending money, but I can’t wear that cape with those bugles, I can’t.”