Aunt Jane gave two squares of the cherry-colored glacé silk that she wore when she danced with the Governor of Maine at an inauguration ball at Augusta. Aunt Miranda never knew that the quilt had any sentimental notions worked into it or she would have thrown cold water on the entire proposition; but in her ignorance she looked over her piece-bag one rainy afternoon with Rebecca. Suddenly she chanced upon a bit of dun-colored stuff that resembled hair-cloth in texture. "There!" she exclaimed. "That was the best dress I ever had! It wore me like iron! I put two braids on the bottom of it the fourth year and new under-arm pieces the next spring, and I believe it lasted me nine seasons. I never had so much comfort out of anything as that dress! It's a pleasure to look back upon!" "Did you look nice in it, Aunt Miranda?" Rebecca inquired with interest. "I don' know's I ever noticed," her aunt replied absent-mindedly. "I know it covered me up, an' that's what dresses are for, I guess." "Can I have a piece of it and one of your gray cashmere, too?" asked Rebecca; and as she put it in her sewing basket she thought: "I wonder if Aunt Miranda never came any closer to happiness than that!" V I am afraid that from an artistic standpoint the quilt of happiness was not a very handsome one. The idea having been the most important thing in the working-out of the design, every conceivable kirjd of stuff had been employed--calico, gingham, silk, poplin, percale, alpaca, Henrietta cloth, delaine, velveteen, challie, and cashmere; but the squares had been combined with such loving care that the effect was gay and attractive, if a little bizarre. At any rate, the very angels themselves might have been pleased to look down on the five bright heads--yellow, chestnut, auburn, and brown--that bent every day over their self-imposed task! There were five lame middle fingers aching from the pressure of brass thimbles, and five forefingers pricked wkh needle marks, but there were no complaints. Rebecca's energy flagged now and then, for long and monotonous tasks were not her strong point; and, if it had not been a quilt of happiness, her share in it might never have been accomplished. It was just a little girl's dream--rainbow-tinted, fanciful, baseless; but it danced in and out of the patchwork squares like a vagrant summer breeze, and somehow it danced through the heart, too, ripening and sweetening it. And at last, in late November, there came a day of days when, in an empty chamber at Emma Jane's house (Miranda Sawyer had refused to have the girls bringing in dirt and carrying it up and down the stairs of the brick house), Mrs. Perkins and Aunt Jane stretched the quilt into its frame, suspended on the backs of four wooden chairs. Miss Dearborn, who grew prettier every day and came from the post-office in the afternoons all smiles and beams and dimples, had made the happiness lining herself and featherstitched the seams.