“Only to see her,” Pauline answered, and while she helped Mrs. Boyd get supper, she confided to her the story of Uncle Paul’s letter and the plans already under way.

Mrs. Boyd was much interested.  “Bless me, it’ll do her a heap of good, you’ll see, my dear.  I’m not sure, I don’t agree with your uncle, when all’s said and done, home’s the best place for young folks.”

Just before Pauline and Patience went home that evening, Mrs. Boyd beckoned Pauline mysteriously into the best parlor.  “I always meant her to have them some day—­she being my god-child—­and maybe they’ll do her as much good now, as any time, she’ll want to fix up a bit now and then, most likely.  Shirley had on a string of them last night, but not to compare with these.”  Mrs. Boyd was kneeling before a trunk in the parlor closet, and presently she put a little square shell box into Pauline’s bands.  “Box and all, just like they came to me—­you know, they were my grandmother’s—­but Hilary’s a real careful sort of girl.”

“But, Mrs. Boyd—­I’m not sure that mother would—­” Pauline knew quite well what was in the box.

“That’s all right!  You just slip them in Hilary’s top drawer, where she’ll come across them without expecting it.  Deary me, I never wear them, and as I say, I’ve always meant to give them to her some day.”

“She’ll be perfectly delighted—­and they’ll look so pretty.  Hilary’s got a mighty pretty neck, I think.”  Pauline went out to the gig, the little box hidden carefully in her blouse, feeling that Patience was right and that these were very fairy-story sort of days.

“You’ll be over again soon, won’t you?” Hilary urged.

“We’re going to be tre-men-dous-ly busy,” Patience began, but her sister cut her short.

“As soon as I can, Hilary.  Mind you go on getting better.”

By Monday noon, the spare room had lost its look of prim order.  In the afternoon, Pauline and her mother went down to the store to buy the matting.  There was not much choice to be had, and the only green and white there was, was considerably beyond the limit they had allowed themselves.

“Never mind,” Pauline said cheerfully, “plain white will look ever so cool and pretty—­perhaps, the green would fade.  I’m going to believe so.”

Over a low wicker sewing-chair, she did linger longingly; it would look so nice beside one of the west windows.  She meant to place a low table for books and work between those side windows.  In the end, prudence won the day, and surely, the new paper and matting were enough to be grateful for in themselves.

By the next afternoon the paper was on and the matting down.  Pauline was up garret rummaging, when she heard someone calling her from the foot of the stairs.  “I’m here, Josie,” she called back, and her friend came running up.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

Pauline held up an armful of old-fashioned chintz.