Many a bedraggled passer-by that evening looked out from under his dripping umbrella as he neared the little brown house, cheered by a babel of happy voices.  The lamplight streaming across the wet pavement drew his gaze to a window whose blinds had not been closed, and the picture lingered pleasantly in his memory for many a day.  It was the Ware family at supper.  And afterward, when the dishes had been cleared away, there was another picture to shine out into the wet night:  the children unpacking the box that Jack had dragged out of its hiding-place.

Mary paraded jubilantly around the room in her new slippers, the rosebud sash tied around her gingham apron, the pink parasol held high above her head, and her face such a picture of delight that one could not look at her without smiling, too.

[ILLUSTRATION:  “SHE SORTED THE RIBBONS AND EXAMINED THE GLOVES.”]

Even the baby sat up an hour after his bedtime, to take part in the unusual excitement.  The prospect of Joyce’s seeing the old valley seemed to have unlocked a door into the little mother’s memory.  Story after story she brought out to entertain them, of the things that had happened when she was a care-free little schoolgirl, before sorrow and worry and work had come to make her tired and sad.

While she entertained them Joyce brought a bureau drawer from her bedroom, and, propping it on two chairs, began looking over its contents.  She sorted the ribbons and examined the gloves, counted the handkerchiefs and inspected the stockings, dividing everything into three piles.  One pile was pronounced suitable to take on the visit, one good enough to wear at home after another renovating, and one altogether past wearing.

“It’s a sort of day of judgment,” said Jack, who was watching the performance with interest.  “You’re separating the sheep from the goats; only there’s three divisions here, white sheep, black sheep, and goats.”

“I love for such days to come,” said Mary, falling upon the third pile and bearing it away as her lawful spoils, “for I always get all the goats.  Now my dolls can set up a milliner’s shop and dry-goods store with all this stuff that Joyce has thrown away.”

“You may take my new umbrella with you, if you want it, Joyce,” said Jack.  “I haven’t used it half a dozen times since I got it Christmas, and you will want to put on style in Kentucky.  Your old one is good enough for me to use out here in Plainsville.”

“Do you want my blue spotted necktie, sister?” asked Holland, leaning against her and looking up into her face with an anxious little pucker on his forehead.  “It’s the best one I’ve got, but you may take it if you want to.”

“And maybe—­” began Mary, hesitatingly.  She stopped an instant, a little struggle evidently going on in her mind.  Then she began again, bravely:  “Yes, I’ll lend it to you if you want it.  You may take my new rosebud sash.  There!”