Betsy, her imagination fired by this suggestion, said, “I guess when he’s grown up he’ll be telling everybody about how, when he was so poor and ragged, Stashie Monahan and Ellen Peters and Elizabeth Ann ...”

“And Eliza!” put in that little girl hastily, very much afraid she would not be given her due share of the glory.

Cousin Ann sewed, and listened, and said nothing.

Toward the end of May two little blouses, two pairs of trousers, two pairs of stockings, two sets of underwear (contributed by the teacher), and the pair of shoes Uncle Henry gave were ready.  The little girls handled the pile of new garments with inexpressible pride, and debated just which way of bestowing them was sufficiently grand to be worthy the occasion.  Betsy was for taking them to school and giving them to ’Lias one by one, so that each child could have her thanks separately.  But Stashie wanted to take them to the house when ’Lias’s stepfather would be there, and shame him by showing that little girls had had to do what he ought to have done.

Cousin Ann broke into the discussion by asking, in her quiet, firm voice, “Why do you want ’Lias to know where the clothes come from?”

They had forgotten again that she was there, and turned around quickly to stare at her.  Nobody could think of any answer to her very queer question.  It had not occurred to any one that there could be such a question.

Cousin Ann shifted her ground and asked another:  “Why did you make these clothes, anyhow?”

They stared again, speechless.  Why did she ask that?  She knew why.

Finally little Molly said, in her honest, baby way, “Why, you know why, Miss Ann!  So ’Lias Brewster will look nice, and Mr. Pond will maybe adopt him.”

“Well,” said Cousin Ann, “what has that got to do with ’Lias knowing who did it?”

“Why, he wouldn’t know who to be grateful to,” cried Betsy.

“Oh,” said Cousin Ann.  “Oh, I see.  You didn’t do it to help ’Lias.  You did it to have him grateful to you.  I see.  Molly is such a little girl, it’s no wonder she didn’t really take in what you girls were up to.”  She nodded her head wisely, as though now she understood.

But if she did, little Molly certainly did not.  She had not the least idea what everybody was talking about.  She looked from one sober, downcast face to another rather anxiously.  What was the matter?

Apparently nothing was really the matter, she decided, for after a minute’s silence Miss Ann got up with entirely her usual face of cheerful gravity, and said:  “Don’t you think you little girls ought to top off this last afternoon with a tea-party?  There’s a new batch of cookies, and you can make yourselves some lemonade if you want to.”

They had these refreshments out on the porch, in the sunshine, with their dolls for guests and a great deal of chatter for sauce.  Nobody said another word about how to give the clothes to ’Lias, till, just as the girls were going away, Betsy said, walking along with the two older ones, “Say, don’t you think it’d be fun to go some evening after dark and leave the clothes on ’Lias’s doorstep, and knock and run away quick before anybody comes to the door?” She spoke in an uncertain voice and smoothed Deborah’s carved wooden curls.