Hilda had a touch of china mania, and knew a good thing when she saw it; and this deep, eight-sided bowl, this graceful jug with the quaint gilt dragon for a handle, these smaller jugs, boxes, and dishes, all of the same pattern, all with dark-blue dragons (no cold "Canton" blue, but a rich, splendid ultramarine), large and small, prancing and sprawling on a pale buff ground,--what were these things doing in the paltry bedroom of a common farm-house?
Hilda felt a new touch of indignation at "these people" for presuming to have such things in their possession.
When her keen eyes had taken in everything, down to the neat rag-carpet on the floor, the girl bethought her of her trunk.

She might as well unpack it.

Her head could not ache worse, whatever she did; and now that that little imp Curiosity was once awake, he prompted her to wonder what the trunk contained.

None of the dresses she had been wearing, she was sure of that; for they were all hanging safely in her wardrobe at home.
What surprise had mamma been planning?
Well, she would soon know.
Hastily unlocking the trunk, she lifted out one tray after another and laid them on the bed.

In the first were piles of snowy collars and handkerchiefs, all of plain, fine linen, with no lace or embroidery; a broad-brimmed straw hat with a simple wreath of daisies round it; another hat, a small one, of rough gray felt, with no trimming at all, save a narrow scarlet ribbon; a pair of heavy castor gloves; a couple of white aprons, and one of brown holland, with long sleeves.