She hurried around anxiously, folding her newspaper bed into an innocent-looking pile, putting away her things carefully for any possible scrutiny, and eating a hasty breakfast of crackers, cheese and what was left of her bottle of milk. When everything was neat and trim she took out her dress and sat down to sew, wondering if perhaps she ought not to run out and find what time it was before she started to work. But fortunately the town clock settled the matter by chiming out nine o’clock. Three hours before she must be at Mrs. Powers! Well, there was only the collar and cuffs to sew on, the skirt to hem and the pockets to make. She could get along without pockets if necessary, but she really needed them. If only the collar would fit and not have to be made over again or cut down or anything. She put in the hem swiftly. That was plain sailing, as it was carefully pinned. Then she put on the cuffs and tacked them in place, and donned the gown. Yes, the collar fitted nicely. With a relieved mind she took it off again and faced on the collar. While she was doing so the clock struck ten. If she hurried there would be time to make the pockets. It was half past before she finished the collar and tacked on the girdle. Somehow her fingers seemed terribly slow. She cut two strips from the organdie, bound them with blue and sewed them at the top of two patch pockets. It was striking eleven as she pinned the pockets in place and began to sew them on with strong, firm little stitches, but ten minutes would see it finished. She drew a long breath and began to think of what was before her. Mrs. Powers had sounded pleasant but condescending. Well, one could keep still and obey orders, and after all, condescension didn’t hurt anything but one’s pride. What was pride? She could stand almost anything for just once. She must stop at the store on her way and get a clean gingham apron. She ought to have a white one for table waiting also. If there was anything cheap enough she would get it. If there was only another two hours she could easily make one. But there wasn’t. She broke off her thread for the finish, and laid aside her thimble and scissors happily. Well, the dress was done anyway. She wasted little time in putting on the new garment and smoothing her hair, feeling quite neat and trim as she locked her door and hurried down the street. Mrs. Bryant eyed her approvingly from her kitchen window. “She certainly is a pretty little thing,” she said to herself. “I wish I had a daughter like that. It’s going to be a real comfort having her right near this winter when Jim is away. I’m glad we let her have the lot.” Joyce bought her other gingham apron, and found a tiny white one, coarse, but neat, for fifty cents, and with her two aprons presented herself at Mrs. Powers’ door at exactly twelve o’clock. Mrs. Powers herself opened the door, her hair in crimpers, herself attired in a somewhat soiled pink silk kimona: