"I have no doubt it will be most becoming," said Mr. Carleton, smiling, "but have you done it all yourself?" "Of course I have. I've trimmed all my hats since I was twelve. I make my shirt-waists, too, all but the cutting out; Mother does that. Doesn't Elsie make her own things?" "No, I'm afraid she doesn't; sewing isn't exactly in Elsie's line." "Perhaps she likes other kinds of work better," said Marjorie, cheerfully. "I suppose Aunt Julia is disappointed, though. Mother says she would be very sorry if I didn't like to sew; she thinks every girl should learn to make her own clothes." "I'm afraid your aunt isn't any more fond of sewing than Elsie is," said Mr. Carleton, with a rather peculiar smile. Marjorie secretly wondered who made Elsie's dresses, and who attended to the household mending, but fearing it might be impolite to ask, changed the subject by saying: "Undine could scarcely sew at all when she came, but Aunt Jessie has been teaching her, and she has improved very much. Don't you think it's tremendously interesting about Undine, Uncle Henry?" "It is certainly a most unusual case," admitted Mr. Carleton. "I was at first inclined to believe that Miss Undine was gifted with a vivid imagination, and was imposing on you all, but your father and mother believe her story." "Oh, yes, indeed, we all believe it," cried Marjorie, eagerly. "We know it's true, because Father wrote to the dressmaker where Undine worked for two years, and she said everything was just as Undine had told us." "Well, it is certainly a case for a brain specialist," said Mr. Carleton, "but unfortunately there are no specialists of any kind in this part of the world. I wish there were, for your aunt Jessie's sake." Marjorie's bright face was suddenly clouded. "You don't think Aunt Jessie ill, do you?" she asked, anxiously. "She seems so much better than she was two weeks ago." "I don't know that she is worse than usual, but she is a very different creature from the strong, active girl I remember. Poor child, she has had a terrible experience; I wish some good surgeon could see her." "You mean--oh, Uncle Henry, you mean you think a surgeon might possibly be able to help her!" Marjorie's hat had fallen into her lap, and she was regarding her uncle with eager, troubled eyes. "I don't know whether a surgeon could help her or not, but he could at least make an examination. I don't suppose there is even an ordinary physician in this neighborhood." "There is one at Lorton, but that's twenty miles away, and I've heard people say he wasn't very good. Father sent for a surgeon from Albuquerque when Aunt Jessie was hurt, and he said it was her spine that had been injured, and that she could never be cured. Do you think a doctor from the East might say something different?"