She laid back the lid and displayed its contents. In five minutes they were being shaken out of their folds and held up for inspection, big cloaks, fur-trimmed hoods, shirred with rattans, long veils, shawls, for this was the chest given over to materials which might attract moths. "The beautiful things are in the trunks," said Prue. "We shall want the silks and embroidered muslins. Open this trunk, Wythie, please." Oswyth opened it, and the girls drew a deep breath of joy over what even their first glimpse displayed. "Oh, Frances, do you remember these?" whispered Rob, taking out a gown of 1776, and one of the Madison Era. "Do you remember the night we wore these?" "Indeed I do, Rob," whispered Frances. "We must only remember now what a happy night that was, and be thankful that it was so--that special night." "I think I'll wear this gown in the gavotte," said Rob, turning to the others. "That is if no one else wants it." "Ah, yes!" said Bruce involuntarily, and Rob knew that he too remembered her wearing it in their impromptu frolic nearly two years ago. "Would this do, Bartlemy?" asked Prue, holding up a pale blue brocade over a quilted satin petticoat. "It's beautiful, but better for Wythie or Frances. You ought to wear this." And Bartlemy drew out a yellow satin, overshot with white, and sweeping open down the front to display a paler yellow petticoat. "Here is a cloth-of-gold effect for a golden-haired maiden." "We will make our audience play a game after the entertainment called 'The Search for the Golden Girl,'" suggested Lester Baldwin. "And introduce Prue to them afterward as Miss Midas," added Hester. "My mother has a great-grandmother dress for me--crimson and silver." "I'd like to have Oswyth wear this," said Prue looking well-pleased with her own allotment, and displaying a brocade of rosebuds on a blush ground. "No," said Wythie. "That is lovely, Prudy, but I have a sentimental desire to wear something else. Eleanor Dinsmore and that gown have an affinity for each other." "We must try to select gowns that not only suit each wearer, but which contrast and compose well in the general picture," said Bartlemy. "I know what Wythie wants to do! She wants to wear one of Oswyth Grey's gowns!" cried Rob. "Her own?" asked Hester wondering. "No, indeed; Oswyth Grey long dead and gone; our thrice repeated great-aunt. That is her trunk standing there." And Rob pointed to an ancient chest with a heavy, old-time lock. "She died when she was not much past twenty; there was a love-story, of course, about her, and we children have always felt the fascination of our vague knowledge of her history, especially Wythie. When she was a little girl she seemed greatly impressed by this kinswoman whose name she bore--I think, in a childish way, she must have had some cloudy notion of reincarnation." "Might we see her chest?" asked Frances. "It sounds as if opening it would be like opening a volume of poems."