"If you frow the covers back nobody'll see anything," he hinted from
the doorway, and was gone.
Joy did not take his hint. Instead, she pulled the counterpane off
bodily and put it in the window to sun, and then went on dressing.
Things were so cheerful and sunny and funny in this house.
"Oh, John was right," she thought buoyantly, as she braided her
ropes of hair. "Things do come right if you hope and wish and
_know_ they will!"
The glitter of the ring caught her eyes, in the mirror, between the
bronze ripples of hair, and it reminded her of one thing that was
_not_ settled: her frock for the evening, this wonderful evening
when a party was going to be given for just her!
She asked Phyllis about it as soon as breakfast--a somewhat riotous
meal--was over. She was a little diffident, because she was sure
that any sane grown-up person who was told that there were five good
frocks you hated would tell you you should wear them. But Phyllis
only suggested bringing them down and looking them over. So they did.
"They all have queer things all over them that nobody else wears
except illustrations in historical novels, and they're all of very
good materials," said Joy sadly, laying them out one by one. "And
there isn't one I don't hate to wear. But I never could explain that
to Grandmother, of course."
She looked at Phyllis with a wistful hope in her eyes. Phyllis
thoughtfully lifted the yellow satin skirts of Joy's pet detestation.
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