She finished the garment upon which she was working, threaded the narrow white ribbon into it, folded it in tissue paper and put it into the chest.  It was the last of the second set and Eloise had ordered six.  “Four more to do,” thought Barbara.  “I wonder whether she wants them all alike.”

The afternoon shadows had begun to lengthen, and it was Saturday.  It was hardly worth while to begin a new piece of work before Monday morning, especially since she wanted to ask Eloise about a new pattern.  Doctor Conrad was coming down for the weekend, and probably both of them would be there late in the afternoon, or on Sunday.

“How glad he’ll be,” said Barbara, to herself.  “He’ll be surprised when he sees how well I can walk.  And father—­oh, if father could only come too.”  She was eager, in spite of her dread.

[Sidenote:  In the Attic]

Simply for the sake of exercise, Barbara climbed the attic stairs and came down again.  After she had rested, she tried it once more, but was so faint when she reached the top that she went into the attic and sat down in an old broken rocker.  It was the only place in the house where she had not been since she could walk, and she rather enjoyed the novelty of it.

A decrepit sofa, with the springs hanging from under it, was against the wall at one side, far back under the eaves.  It was of solid mahogany and had not been bought by the searchers for antiques because its rehabilitation would be so expensive.  That and the rocker in which Barbara sat were the only pieces of furniture remaining.

There were several trunks, old-fashioned but little worn.  One was Aunt Miriam’s, one was her father’s, and the others must have belonged to her dead mother.  For the first time in her life, Barbara was curious about the trunks.

[Sidenote:  The Old Trunk]

When she was quite rested, she went over to a small one which stood near the window, and opened it.  A faint, musty odour greeted her, but there was no disconcerting flight of moths.  Every woollen garment in the house had long ago been used by Aunt Miriam for rugs and braided mats.  She had taken Constance’s underwear for her own use when misfortune overtook them, and there was little else left.

Barbara lifted from the trunk a gown of heavy white brocade, figured with violets in lavender and palest green.  It was yellow and faded and the silver thread that ran through the pattern was tarnished so that it was almost black.  The skirt had a long train and around the low-cut bodice was a deep fall of heavy Duchess lace, yellowed to the exquisite tint of old ivory.  The short sleeves were trimmed with lace of the same pattern, but only half as wide.

“Oh,” said Barbara, aloud, “how lovely!”

There was a petticoat of rustling silk, and a pair of dainty white slippers, yellowed, too, by the slow passage of the years.  Their silver buckles were tarnished, but their high heels were as coquettish as ever.