"Yes, go on," said Maizie, her eyes shining. "And then on Sunday morning, just before breakfast, you'll come to me and put your arms around my neck and say: 'Dear, sweet, _lovely_ Suzanna, I'm so sorry I've been so hateful. I'll go down on my knees for your forgiveness. _And I'll sew on all the buttons this week!_'" Maizie drew away a little then. Suzanna went on, however. "And I'll say: 'Yes, dear sinner, I forgive you freely. You may wear my green petticoat today.'" There fell an hour of a never-to-be-forgotten day when the pink dress lay on the dining-room table, full length, finished, marvelous to little eyes with its yards and yards of valenciennes lace that graduated in width from very narrow to one broad band around the bottom of the skirt. Suzanna, Maizie, Peter, and even the baby bowed before the miracle of beauty. "How many yards of lace are on it, mother?" asked Suzanna, for the sixth time, and for the sixth time Mrs. Procter looked up from her sewing machine at which she was busy with the green petticoat and answered: "A whole bolt, Suzanna." The children at this information stared rounder-eyed and then turned to gaze with uncovered awe at Suzanna, the owner. "Do you think, mother," asked Maizie, "that when I'm older I can have a pink dress with no trimming of yours on it?" "We'll see," said Mrs. Procter, who knew how strictly to the letter she was held to her promises. Now Suzanna reluctantly left the dress and went to her mother. "Mother," she cried, softly, "when I recite 'The Little Martyr of Smyrna' up on the big platform, I'm afraid I won't be humble in spirit. It's too much to be humble, isn't it, when you've got a whole bolt of lace on your dress?" Mrs. Procter, quite used to Suzanna's intensities, answered, running the machine deftly as she spoke: "Oh, you'll be all right, Suzanna. The minister means something else when he preaches of being humble. What bothers me now is how to manage a pair of shoes for you. Yours are so shabby." "Can't I wear my patent leather slippers?" "You've outgrown them, Suzanna. They're too short even for Maizie, you remember." "I could stand them for that one time, mother." "No," said Mrs. Procter decidedly; "I should be distressed seeing you in shoes too small for you." "Mother, you could open the end of my patent leather slipper so my toes can push through and then put a puff of black, ribbon over the hole!" The idea was an inspiration, and Suzanna's eyes shone.