We didn't cut those strings, but Annie carefully and reverently picked loose the knots. When the top was taken off the box, there was a faint smell of dried rose leaves. The contents were carefully wrapped in blue tissue paper. "To keep the things from turning yellow with age," whispered Annie.
I felt somehow as though I were at a funeral. Annie didn't cry, though, as one might have expected, but her countenance shone with a kind of subdued light and she looked like an angel. She shook out a soft, white, crêpe de Chine dress made over silk. It looked as fresh as though it had just come from the dressmaker's. In another wrapper was a lovely real lace scarf and in yet another some white silk stockings.
"Oh, Annie, Annie!" and I jumped up and down for joy. "They are exactly right for you! And see how carefully they have been packed! Not a wrinkle in the dress! Here, take off your clothes and try it on."
"Mother wore it at the Charity Bazaar where she met Father. Her rich cousin had just had it made for her," and the excited child began to take off her shabby blouse and skirt.
"All you will need for the concert is white slippers and you will surely wear mine just to let me know you love me," I begged.
Annie flushed and I was afraid her stubborn pride was going to master her, but she astonished me by saying: "Yes, I will wear them if you will lend them to me. I remember Mother told me she had to borrow slippers from a friend that night, but she knew her friend loved her and so did not mind."
I slipped the dress over her head, but as she pushed her arm into the sleeve she stopped and drew her hand quickly out.
"Wait, the sleeve is pinned." So it was, and pinned through a letter that was sealed and addressed to Annie.
"From Mother!" exclaimed the girl, trembling with excitement. "Every now and then I find a little note from her. She knew she could not live for a long time before she died." Out fluttered two ten-dollar bills and a five wrapped in a tiny penciled note.
My Darling: