Tuesday had been a wonderful day. Never had the lake or the sky seemed so softly blue, the air so pleasant or the green bushes so nearly like real trees. The two boys had been good all day and Annie and Patsy had been _sweet_. There had been a late wild rose on the bush near Old Captain's freight car--a deep rose streaked with crimson. The Captain, heavy and clumsy, had scrambled up the bank to pluck it for Jeannette, who had placed it carefully in a green glass bottle on her father's little table. Her lesson the night before had been a queer one. Her father had taught her how to dress herself in the new garments. Also, he had given her an obviously new brush and comb, and had compelled her to use them to reduce her almost-curly hair to a state of unaccustomed order. That had taken a _very_ long time, because, when you have been using a very old brush and an almost toothless comb your hair does get snarled in spite of you. Her lessons were getting so queer, in fact, that she couldn't help wondering what would come next. What came was the queerest thing of all. The rose in the green glass bottle on her father's table filled the little room with fragrance. Again the door was fastened and the lid of the trunk cautiously lifted. "Fix your hair as you did last night," directed Mr. Duval, in an odd, rather choked voice. "Put on your clothes, just as you did last night. Be very quiet about it. You were in the Pond today?" "Yes, Daddy." "Good! Then you are clean. I will wait outside until you are dressed." "Are we going some place, Daddy?" "Yes," replied her father, who had taken a parcel from the box on which he usually sat. "Dress quickly, but neatly, and put on your hat. Put the gloves in your pocket. Then sit quietly here until I come for you." Eyes shining, pulses leaping, Jeannette got into her new garments. But where were the extra ones that had been in the trunk? The two frilly night-dresses, the other chemise, the other petticoat, the extra stockings? Never mind. Her father, she was sure, had taken good care of them. "There! my hair's going better _this_ time. And my feet feel more at home in these shoes. And oh! My white, white petticoat--how _nice_ you are! I _never_ had truly _white_ things. I suppose a real princess has heaps and heaps of them." Mr. Duval had neglected to supply stocking-straps. It is quite possible that he didn't know that little girls' stockings were fastened that way. Motherless Jeanne certainly didn't. Mollie's were never fastened at all. Old Mrs. Shannon tied _hers_ with a string. Jeannette found two bits of raveled rope, hanging from a nail. They, she thought, would answer the purpose. "It's only for this evening," said Jeanne, eying with dissatisfaction the bits of frayed rope. "I'll find something better tomorrow--some nice pieces of pink calico like my dress, maybe."