What a day for a sketch! But she shut her eyes to the temptation of the evil one, and went out into the garden, where Molly's little brown hands were devastating the beds for the approaching festival, and Molly's shrill voice was piping through the fresh morning air.
There had been rain in the night, and to-day the earth had all her diamonds on, just sent down reset from heaven.

The trees came out resplendent, unable to keep their leaves still for very vanity, and dropping gems out of their settings at every rustle.

No one had been forgotten.

Every tiniest shrub and plant had its little tiara to show; rare jewels, cut by a Master Hand, which at man's rude touch, or, for that matter, Molly's either, slid away to tears.
"You don't mean to say, Molly," said Charles, later in the day, when all the dolls had been passed in review before him, and he had criticised each, "that you are going to leave me all day by myself?
What shall I do between luncheon and tea-time, when I have fed the guinea-pigs and watered the 'blue-belia,' as you call it--Where has that imp disappeared to now?
I think," with a glance at Ruth, who was replacing the cotton wool on the doll's faces, "I really think, though I own I fancied I had a previous engagement, that I shall be obliged to come to the school-feast too." "Don't," said Ruth, looking up suddenly from her work with gray serious eyes.

"Be advised.