A queer little lump came into Joyce’s throat as she thanked the children for their generous offers.  She accepted the umbrella, but refused the spotted tie and rosebud sash, to the evident relief of their owners, who wanted to be generous, but were glad to be able to Keep the part of their wardrobes they most admired.

“It more than doubles the pleasure, doesn’t it, mamma,” said Joyce, “to have everybody take so much interest in your having a good time?  I wonder if the other girls are having as much fun out of planning for their visit as I am.”

“I doubt it,” answered Mrs. Ware.  “Elizabeth is an orphan, you know, and Eugenia Forbes, with all her wealth, is practically homeless, for there is little home-life in either a boarding-school or a big hotel.”

Joyce looked around on the cheerful little group gathered near the lamp, and a sudden mist blurred her sight at thought of leaving them.  She would not have exchanged the little brown house and what it held, just then, for a king’s palace.  Outside in the pitch-darkness of the night the rain beat against the window-panes like some poor beggar imploring to come in; and inside it was so cosy and bright with the warmth and cheer of home-loves and home-lights that Joyce was not sure, after all, that she could leave such a shelter even to be a guest at the Little Colonel’s house party.

CHAPTER V.

BETTY REACHES THE “HOUSE BEAUTIFUL.”

It was very early in the morning, while the dew was still on the meadows, that Betty fared forth on her pilgrimage.  The old farm wagon that was to take her to the railroad station, two miles away, was drawn up to the door before five o’clock.  Davy proudly held the reins while his father carried Betty’s trunk down-stairs.

Poor, shabby, little, old leather trunk!  It was not half full, for there had been small preparation for this visit.  Betty had carefully folded the few gingham dresses she possessed, and the new blue and white lawn bought for her to wear to church.  There were several stitches to be taken in her plain cotton under-wear, and a button to be sewed on her only white ruffled apron.

That was all that she could do to make herself ready, except to put her hair-ribbons and handkerchiefs smoothly into a little diamond-shaped box that had once held toilet soap.  Betty felt rich in ribbons “to tie up her bonnie brown hair,” for there were three bows the colour of her curls, and two of red, and one of delicate robin’s-egg blue.  The last was to wear with the new lawn, and, in order to keep it fresh and fine, it lay wrapped in tissue-paper all week, between the times of its Sunday wearings.

And the handkerchiefs—­well, six of them were plain and white, and two had pictures stamped in the corners.  One told the story of Red Ridinghood and the other had scenes from Cinderella outlined in blue.  They had been Davy’s present to her the Christmas before, and he had bought them at Squire Jaynes’s store with his own precious pennies.