The family fund once more had a modest start. Mrs. Jenkins obtained a few of her old customers, Bobby got a paper route, Flamingus and Milton were again at work, but Amarilly, Gus, and Cory were without vocations.
Soon after the quarantine was lifted Amarilly went forth to deliver the surplice and the waist which had hung familiarly side by side during the weeks of trouble. The housekeeper at the rectory greeted her kindly and was most sympathetic on learning of the protracted confinement. She made Amarilly a present of the surplice.
"Mr. Meredith said you were to keep it. He thought your mother might find it useful. It is good linen, you know, and you can cut it up into clothes for the children. He has so many surplices, he won't miss this one."
"I'll never cut it up!" thought Amarilly as she reverently received the robe. "I'll keep it in 'membrance of him."
"It's orful good in him to give it to us," she said gratefully to the housekeeper.
That worthy woman smiled, remembering how the fastidious young rector had shrunk from the thought of wearing a fumigated garment.
At the King residence Amarilly saw the caretaker, who gave her a similar message regarding the lace waist.
"I'll keep it," thought Amarilly with a shy little blush, "until I'm merried. It'll start my trousseau."
She took the garments home, not mentioning to anyone the gift of the waist, however, for that was to be her secret—her first secret. She hid this nest-egg of her trousseau in an old trunk which she fastened securely.
On the next day she was summoned to help clean the theatre, which had been rented for one night by the St. Andrew's vested choir, whose members were to give a sacred concert. A rehearsal for this entertainment was being held when Amarilly arrived.