THE WILD ROSE
As the panting little figure approached and hesitated in her doorway, Linda turned from some white stuff she had been piling on the bed and met the round, expectant eyes, "Come here, Blanche Aurora," she said. "I want to show you something."
With long steps the beneficiary was beside her.
"Here are some things I found for you in Portland yesterday."
Blanche Aurora dragged her gaze from the pink and blue dresses that were lying there, finished, and beheld white underclothing, and large enveloping aprons—a pink-and-white checked one, a blue-and-white checked one, and one all white in a satiny-looking plaid. There was also a pile of stockings and some black low shoes and white sneakers. A bride, inspecting a complete trousseau just arrived from Paris, might experience in faint degree the elation that choked Blanche Aurora now.
"For me?" she uttered mechanically.
"For you, you good little thing," said Linda. "Now take these, and go into the bathroom and put them on."
Like one in a dream, Blanche Aurora accepted the underclothing, stockings, and sneakers put into her arms, and marched toward the bathroom, her head held high and the fishhook braids quivering down her gingham back. She went in and closed the door.
Linda smiled, and seating herself in her wicker rocker clasped her hands behind her head.
Mrs. Porter came to the door.