Grandmother Wheeler sat for a few minutes, her blue eyes opaque, her little pink lips a straight line; then suddenly her eyes lit, and she smiled. “Poor Diantha,” said she, “I remember how Henry used to like Lily Jennings's mother before he married Diantha. Sour grapes hang high.” But Grandmother Wheeler's beautiful old face was quite soft and gentle. From her heart she pitied the reacher after those high-hanging sour grapes, for Mrs. Diantha had been very good to her. Then Grandmother Wheeler, who had a mild persistency not evident to a casual observer, began to make plans and lay plots. She was resolved, Diantha or not, that her granddaughter, her son's child, should have some fine feathers. The little conference had taken place in her own room, a large, sunny one, with a little storeroom opening from it. Presently Grandmother Wheeler rose, entered the storeroom, and began rummaging in some old trunks. Then followed days of secret work. Grandmother Wheeler had been noted as a fine needlewoman, and her hand had not yet lost its cunning. She had one of Amelia's ugly little ginghams, purloined from a closet, for size, and she worked two or three dainty wonders. She took Grandmother Stark into her confidence. Sometimes the two ladies, by reason of their age, found it possible to combine with good results. “Your daughter Diantha is one woman in a thousand,” said Grandmother Wheeler, diplomatically, one day, “but she never did care much for clothes.” “Diantha,” returned Grandmother Stark, with a suspicious glance, “always realized that clothes were not the things that mattered.” “And, of course, she is right,” said Grandmother Wheeler, piously. “Your Diantha is one woman in a thousand. If she cared as much for fine clothes as some women, I don't know where we should all be. It would spoil poor little Amelia.” “Yes, it would,” assented Grandmother Stark. “Nothing spoils a little girl more than always to be thinking about her clothes.” “Yes, I was looking at Amelia the other day, and thinking how much more sensible she appeared in her plain gingham than Lily Jennings in all her ruffles and ribbons. Even if people were all noticing Lily, and praising her, thinks I to myself, 'How little difference such things really make. Even if our dear Amelia does stand to one side, and nobody notices her, what real matter is it?'” Grandmother Wheeler was inwardly chuckling as she spoke. Grandmother Stark was at once alert. “Do you mean to say that Amelia is really not taken so much notice of because she dresses plainly?” said she. “You don't mean that you don't know it, as observant as you are?” replied Grandmother Wheeler. “Diantha ought not to let it go as far as that,” said Grandmother Stark. Grandmother Wheeler looked at her queerly. “Why do you look at me like that?” “Well, I did something I feared I ought not to have done. And I didn't know what to do, but your speaking so makes me wonder--” “Wonder what?”