I think ye'll maybe wrap the braids of ye around your head tonight, and I think ye'll put on that frock, and I think ye'll show Pater Morrison how your pa's daughter can sit at the head of his table and entertain her friends.

Then I think ye'll hang it in your closet and put on your boots and breeches and go back to your old Multiflores and attind to your business, the same as before." "All right, Katy," said Linda, "if you have that much faith in me I have that much faith in myself; but, old dear, I can't tell you how I LOVE having a pretty dress for tonight.

Katy dear, the 'Day of Jubilee' has come.

Before you go to sleep I'm coming to your room to tell you fine large secrets, that you won't believe for a minute, but I haven't the time to do it now." Then Linda raced to her room and began dressing.

She let down the mop of her hair waving below her waist and looked at it despairingly.
"That dress never was made for braids down your back," she said, glancing toward the bed where it lay shimmering in a mass of lovely color.