"There are holes in my best gloves," mourned Bettie. "They came in a missionary box, and missionary gloves are never very good even to start with. Besides, Dick wore them first—I never had a new pair of kid gloves."
"Never mind," said always generous Mabel. "I must have about six pairs and I've never had any of the things on. I know I've outgrown some of them. Your hands are lots smaller than mine. Come over and I'll fix you out—Mother said we'd have to give them to somebody and I guess you're just exactly the right somebody. I hate the thing myself."
"Goody!" rejoiced Bettie.
"I wish," said Jean, "that my shoes were newer, but I'll get the boys to black 'em."
"I can't help you out," laughed Mabel. "My shoes are short and fat and yours are long and slim."
"A coat of Wallace's blacking will be all that's needed, thank you, Mabel. There's nothing like having brothers when it comes to blacking shoes."
"We'll have to get up a little earlier to-morrow morning," said Marjory.
"Mercy!" exclaimed Jean, "are you leaving all those chocolate cups on the fence for me to carry in?"
"Of course not," said obliging Bettie, seizing two. "Come on, you lazy people."