"Oh, how lovely!" exclaimed Grace, spell-bound with rapturous admiration as the beautiful little cloak was held up before her.
"It's for me," said Paul, gravely. "How does it fit?" and he threw it over his shoulders and walked about, the little cloak barely descending to his waist.
"It doesn't fit you at all, Paul. Isn't it for me?"
"For you? Who would buy such a nice cloak for you, do you think?"
"I am afraid you have been very extravagant, Paul," said his mother. "The cloak is very pretty, but we cannot afford such things."
"It didn't cost me a cent, mother."
"Then who gave it to you? Not Miss Framley?"
"I should say not," answered Paul, contemptuously. "Catch her giving five cents' worth to anybody! No; it was Miss Grace Dearborn, the same young lady that sent Grace the gold piece."
"Where did you see her? Did you call at the house?"
So Paul had to tell the story, which does not require repeating, and Grace tried on the cloak, which proved to be an excellent fit, though it hardly harmonized with the child's plain print dress.