roses all over it, for Lizzie to wear.  It had yards and yards of cheap lace and insertion, and a whole bolt of pink ribbons of various widths.  The hat was a marvel of impossible roses, just calculated for the worst kind of a wreck if a thunder-shower should come up at a Sunday-school picnic.  Lizzie’s mother was even thinking of getting her a pink chiffon parasol to carry; but the family treasury was well-nigh depleted, and it was doubtful whether that would be possible.  After all that, it did not seem pleasant to have Lizzie put in the shade by a fine-lady cousin in silks and jewels.

But Grandmother Brady had waited long for her triumph.  She desired above all things to walk among her friends, and introduce her granddaughter, Elizabeth Bailey, and inadvertently remark:  “You must have seen me granddaughter’s name in the paper often, Mrs. Babcock.  She was giving a party in Rittenhouse Square the other day.”

Elizabeth would likely be married soon, and perhaps go off somewhere away from Philadelphia—­New York or Europe, there was no telling what great fortune might come to her.  Now the time was ripe for triumph if ever, and when things are ripe they must be picked.  Mrs. Brady proceeded to pick.

She gathered together at great pains pen, paper, and ink.  A pencil would be inadequate when the note was going to Rittenhouse Square.  She sat down when Nan and Lizzie had left for their day’s work, and constructed her sentences with great care.

“Dear Bessie—­” Elizabeth had never asked her not to call her that, although she fairly detested the name.  But still it had been her mother’s name, and was likely dear to her grandmother.  It seemed disloyalty to her mother to suggest that she be called “Elizabeth.”  So Grandmother Brady serenely continued to call her “Bessie” to the end of her days.  Elizabeth decided that to care much about such little things, in a world where there were so many great things, would be as bad as to give one’s mind entirely over to the pursuit of fashion.

The letter proceeded laboriously: 

“Our Sunday school is going to have a picnic out to Willow Grove.  It’s on Tuesday.  We’re going in the trolley.  I’d be pleased if you would go ’long with us.  We will spend the day, and take our dinner and supper along, and wouldn’t get home till late; so you could stay overnight here with us, and not go back home till after breakfast.  You needn’t bring no lunch; fer we’ve got a lot of things planned, and it ain’t worth while.  But if you wanted to bring some candy, you might.  I ain’t got time to make any, and what you buy at our grocery might not be fine enough fer you.  I want you to go real bad.  I’ve never took my two granddaughters off to anything yet, and your Grandmother Bailey has you to things all the time.  I hope you can manage to come.  I am going to pay all the expenses.  Your old Christian Deaver you used to ’tend is going to be there; so you’ll have a good