Phillis received quite an ovation as soon as she crossed the threshold. Dulce, who was listening for her footsteps, rushed out into the little hall, and dragged her in, as though she were too weary to have any movement or volition of her own. And then Nan came up, in her calm elder-sisterly way, and put her arm round her, and hoped she was not so very tired, and there was so much to say, and so much to do, and she wanted her advice, and so on. And on Nan's forehead lay a thoughtful pucker; and on the centre-table were sundry breadths of green silk, crisp-looking and faintly bronzed, like withered leaves with the sun on them. "Oh, dear! has Miss Drummond been here in my absence?" asked Phillis, with the overwhelmed feeling of a beginner, who has not yet learned to separate and classify, or the rich value of odd moments. "Three dresses to be done at once!" "One at a time. But never mind Miss Drummond's this moment. Mother is safe in the store-cupboard for the next half-hour, and we want to know what you mean by your ridiculous message, 'Trimmings, not Squails.' Dulce is dying of curiosity, and so am I." "Yes; but she looks so hot and tired that she must refresh herself first." And Dulce placed on her sister's lap a plate of yellow plums, perfectly bedded in moss, which had come from the vicarage garden. And as Phillis enjoyed the dainty repast and poured out her morning's experiences in the ears of her astonished auditors, lo, the humiliation and the sting were forgotten, and only an intense sense of the humor of the situation remained. It was Dulce whose pink cheeks were burning now. "Oh, Phillis! how could you? It is too dreadful even to think about! That fat old thing, too! Why, she is twice as big as Mrs. Squails!" "Beggars cannot be choosers, my dear," replied Phillis, airily; for rest was pleasant, and the fruit was good, and it was so delicious to feel all that was over and she was safe in her nest again; and then the pleasure of talking it all over! "Do you know--?" she began, in a disconnected manner, and then sat and stared at her sisters with luminous gray eyes, until they begged to know what the new idea was. "Oh, nothing," she replied, and colored a little. And then she blurted out, in an oddly-ashamed way, "it was talking to you two dears that put it in my head. But I could not help thinking that moment that if one is ever good enough to get to heaven, one of the greatest pleasures will be to talk about all our past miseries and difficulties, and how the angels helped us! and, though you may laugh at me,"--they were doing nothing of the kind, only admiring her with all their might,--"I have a kind of fancy that even my 'Trimmings, not Squails' episode may have a different look up there!"