"The very first thing, Miss Donnelly, will be for me to get dressed."
"Very well, Miss Selwyn," was the prim reply.
"Why——why I am just Mary, Miss Donnelly. I am only seven and a half. No one ever calls me Miss Selwyn."
"And I am just Eugenia, Miss Selwyn. I am only sixteen, and no one ever calls me anything but Gene. So if you wish me to call you Mary, you must call me Gene."
"But——but I think I ought to call you Miss Gene. Mother told me always to say Miss before the names of the big sisters of the little girls I know."
"This is a very different case. I should so like to play that I am your big sister; for, you see, I am the youngest in our family, so I have never had a little sister. Don't you think that we could pretend we are sisters?"
"Yes, yes, of course we can! I have never had a big sister; but if I had one, I should wish her to be exactly like you."
Gene promptly hugged the little girl. "And you would not call her Miss Gene, would you? Oh, I shall be very lonely if you call me that."
"I know what we can do. I shall call you Gene until Uncle comes home to luncheon; and then, if he thinks it will be all right, I can tell Mother about it when I write to her. I wish you knew Father and Mother and my darling little twin sisters and dear old Aunt Mandy, their nurse. But I shall show you their pictures the very first thing. They are in that kodak book on the table. You will have to know everything about them if you are going to be my big sister, you know; and some day when Uncle thinks I am well enough, we shall go out to Maryvale to see Aunt Mary. She is a Sister, and Maryvale is the name of the convent. Her name is Sister Madeline." And while Gene helped Mary to dress, the little girl told her so much about her dear ones that she soon felt she knew them very well indeed.
Later on, when Gene had seen her dolls and games and books, Mary said, "There is something very important that I must ask you about, Gene. It is Christmas presents. Do you know any things that I can make? Of course, they will have to be easy things. Mother and I always went shopping early in December and bought some of the presents—things for Aunt Mandy and Liza and Susie and Tom and for some of the little girls I know; but ever since I was a little bit of a thing, she helped me make something for Father and Uncle Frank and Aunt Mary. And Father helped me with a present for Mother. She says people 'preciate gifts more when they know we have made them specially for them. The trouble is, I can't sew very well, and I don't know how to crochet anything but chain stitch; and there is nothing a person can make out of a long string of chain stitch."