“Oh-h-h! so that’s what you were always slipping off up to the attic for!” Erica burst out, enlightenment coming to her. “You were doing the cutting out and sewing up there, where no one would see but Barbee, or ask questions.” Now that she knew the nature of the secret that had made her so miserable, she felt a sudden quick shame of her own grudging attitude during the last few weeks. Her cheeks were as red as Milly’s, now, though from a quite different emotion. “Yes, and I’m so glad to be able to tell you all, at last, and explain,” Milly said, happily. “I made six dresses and little slips for the Macy baby—all wee tucks, and some fagoting and drawn-work. My! they _were_ pretty, honestly! And I did two dresses, besides, for little Nettie Hedley. I got the money they paid me changed into this gold piece, because it seemed to me only gold was good enough to hand over to you, Cousin Callie, after all your goodness to Barbee and me!” Milly ended in a voice that broke on a strangled sob, and with a quick motion she turned, hiding her face on Mrs. Folger’s shoulder, much as Barbee herself might have done. “Please say you don’t mind, Cousin Callie,” she whispered in a muffled voice. “I do love to sew, and it’s such fun knowing I’m making real money of my own! And I promise not to let it interfere with my lessons—you’ll find my marks are just as good as they used to be. I’ve only done the sewing in the times I read books in, before I took up making the dresses. And Mrs. Macy wants some sewing for herself, later, and there are two more baby outfits I’ve been asked to make this spring. Just think what _riches_!” she wound up blissfully. “I’ll have maybe as much as _twenty_ dollars before summer comes if I get all the work that’s been offered me. You see, because the styles are new, and they like my ideas, and the way I sew, they’re willing to pay me well. I—I’m awfully happy, Cousin Callie.” Erica spoke up, in a determined rush of shamed words. “If you are, I haven’t done much to help make you so, poor Milly. I’m feeling pretty _sick_ at myself, and I want to say so right out.” CHAPTER XII Erica had never been one for half measures. With the surprising revelation of Milly’s plucky and pathetic attempt to be at least partially self-supporting, her former opinion of the girl had been suddenly and dramatically revised, and she was honest enough to want to make a frank apology. Being Erica, none but a vehement, self-accusatory one seemed adequate, and when she burst out impulsively with that “I’m just about _sick_ at myself,” she meant every word of it. Milly’s black eyes glowed at the friendly warmth of the speech, but she shook her head shyly at its extravagance.