"It might be just as well, dearie, for you to wear a plainer dress when you apply for the place, and I believe—in fact I am quite sure—Cousin Lucretia would rather you left off the ear-rings."
"Ain't ear-rings stylish?" asked Nance, feeling that she had been misinformed.
"Not on a little companion," said Mrs. Purdy gently.
Nance's elation over the prospect of a job was slightly dashed by the idea of returning to the wornout childish garb in which she had left the home.
"Say, Dan," she said, as they made their way out of Butternut Lane, "do you think I've changed so much—like Mrs. Purdy said?"
"You always look just the same to me," Dan said, as he helped her on with her coat and adjusted the collar with gentle, painstaking deference.
She sighed. The remark to a person who ardently desired to look different was crushing.
"I think Mrs. Purdy's an awful old fogey!" she said petulantly by way of venting her pique.
Dan looked at her in surprise, and the scowl that rarely came now darkened his face.
"Mrs. Purdy is the best Christian that ever lived," he said shortly.