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“Well,” said Mrs. Lennox, finally, with a great sigh, “I don’t know but I may as well send her.”

Mrs. Lennox was much smaller than her sister, and she had a rather sickly but pleasant face. She had to push a chair before her as she walked, for she had scalded her foot quite badly the week before, and it was now all swathed in bandages. It had been a very unfortunate accident in more ways than one, for Cynthia, her elder daughter, was going to be married soon, and the family were busily engaged in the wedding preparations. It was very hard for poor Mrs. Lennox to have to limp about with one knee in a chair, while she made wedding-cake and arranged for the bridal festivities, but she made the best of it.

Now she pushed over to the door, and called, “Fidelia! Fidelia!”

Directly the squeak increased to an agonizing degree, the rattle of small wheels accompanied it, and Fidelia came trudging around the corner of the house. She was a chubby little girl, and her blue tier seemed rather tight for her. She had a round, rosy face, and innocent and honest black eyes. She wore a small Shaker bonnet with a green cape, and she stubbed her toes into the grass every step she took.

“Don’t stub your toes so,” said her mother, admonishingly. “You’ll wear your shoes all out.”

Fidelia immediately advanced with soft pats like a kitten. When she got into the kitchen her mother took off her Shaker bonnet and looked at her critically. “You’ll have to have your hair brushed,” said she. “Fidelia, do you remember how you went with mother down to Mis’ Rose’s three or four weeks ago?”

Fidelia nodded and winked.

“There was a big pussy cat there, do you remember? and Mis’ Rose gave you a cooky.”

Fidelia’s affirmative wink seemed to give out sparkles.

“Well, you remember how we went to the side door and knocked–the door with some roses over the top of it–and Mis’ Rose came–the side door?”

Fidelia, intensely attentive, standing before her mother and Aunt Maria, remembered about the side door.

“Well, you remember how there was a piazza across the front of the house, don’t you? Father hitched the horse to a post there. Well, there’s another door there opening on the piazza, don’t you remember–a door with panes of glass in it like a window?”

Fidelia remembered.

“Well, now, Fidelia, do you suppose you can go down to the store and buy some raisins for mother to put in sister Cynthy’s weddin’-cake, all yourself?”

“An’ be a real smart little girl,” put in Aunt Maria.

Fidelia gave one ecstatic roll of her black eyes at them, then she broke into a shout, “Lemme go! lemme go!” She oscillated on her small stubbed toes like a bird preparing to fly, and she tugged energetically at her mother’s apron.

“I’ll give you a penny, an’ you can buy you a nice stick of red-and-white twisted candy,” added her mother.

Fidelia actually made a little dash for the door then, but her mother caught her. “Stop!” she said, in an admonitory voice which was quieting to Fidelia, and made her realize that the red-and-white candy was still in the future. “Now you just wait a minute, an’ not be in such a pucker. You ain’t goin’ this way, with your apron just as dirty as poison, and your hair all in a snarl. You’ve got to have on your clean apron, and have your hair brushed and your face washed.”

So Fidelia climbed obediently into her high chair, and sat with her eyes screwed up and her fists clinched, while her mother polished her face faithfully with a wet, soapy end of a towel, and combed the snarls out of her hair. When it was all done, her cheeks being very red and shiny, and her hair very damp and smooth, when she was arrayed in her clean starched white tier, and had her Shaker tied on with an emphatic square bow, she stood in the door and drank in the parting instructions. Her eyes were wide and intent, and her mouth drooped soberly at the corners. The importance of the occasion had begun to impress her. She held a penny tight in her hand; the raisins were to be charged, it not being judged advisable to trust Fidelia with so much money.