"Yes, of course," and Katie's eyes sparkled. "Besides, it isn't everybody Connie would invite to her house. Lots of the girls at school will envy me when I tell them where I've been. What kind of dress shall I have?"
"My dear child, you can only wear your best merino," replied her mother.
"But it's a dress party. Connie says in her postscript that she's going to wear a light blue silk, trimmed with cream-coloured lace. I don't think I can go in a dark green merino."
"I cannot give you a new frock for the occasion, Katie; that is quite impossible. If Connie really wants you at her party, she will not care about your dress. And your green will look very nice with some pretty lace at the neck and wrists."
"I'm afraid I couldn't go in a woollen dress," and tears of disappointment suddenly filled Katie's eyes.
"I am sorry to appear unsympathetic," said her mother, "but in that case, I see nothing else for you to do but to write and decline the invitation."
Dora, who had been reading aloud to Lancie when Connie's letter was brought in, had only left off to hear what it was about, and then resumed her occupation. But her attention was only half given to the book; she had heard the whole of the conversation between her mother and sister, and now looking up, said eagerly—
"But I have a dress I think you could wear, Katie—the white serge I had for cousin Mary's wedding. It's a little bit dirty, and it may be a little old-fashioned now, but we could turn it, and perhaps alter the make."
"That will do beautifully," said Katie, whose face was again all smiles. "And if it's too short, I daresay we could let it down. I'll go and fetch it at once. Where shall I find it, Dora?"
Hardly waiting for the answer, she ran upstairs to her sister's room, and Dora again turned to her book. But a little, thin hand was put gently over the page, and a low, sweet voice said,—