"We will make our audience play a game after the entertainment called 'The Search for the Golden Girl,'" suggested Lester Baldwin.
"And introduce Prue to them afterward as Miss Midas," added Hester. "My mother has a great-grandmother dress for me—crimson and silver."
"I'd like to have Oswyth wear this," said Prue looking well-pleased with her own allotment, and displaying a brocade of rosebuds on a blush ground.
"No," said Wythie. "That is lovely, Prudy, but I have a sentimental desire to wear something else. Eleanor Dinsmore and that gown have an affinity for each other."
"We must try to select gowns that not only suit each wearer, but which contrast and compose well in the general picture," said Bartlemy.
"I know what Wythie wants to do! She wants to wear one of Oswyth Grey's gowns!" cried Rob.
"Her own?" asked Hester wondering.
"No, indeed; Oswyth Grey long dead and gone; our thrice repeated great-aunt. That is her trunk standing there." And Rob pointed to an ancient chest with a heavy, old-time lock. "She died when she was not much past twenty; there was a love-story, of course, about her, and we children have always felt the fascination of our vague knowledge of her history, especially Wythie. When she was a little girl she seemed greatly impressed by this kinswoman whose name she bore—I think, in a childish way, she must have had some cloudy notion of reincarnation."
"Might we see her chest?" asked Frances. "It sounds as if opening it would be like opening a volume of poems."
Hester shivered in spite of her effort to convince herself that she was warm. Prue noticed it, and was rather glad of an excuse for getting down to warmer quarters.