Amarilly of Clothes-line Alley

"Bud don't pick up," she said bluntly.

"I feared he wouldn't," replied the doctor.

"Can't you try some other kinds of medicines?"

"I can, but I am afraid that there is no medicine that will help him

very much."

Amarilly turned pale.

"Is there anything else that will help him?" she demanded fiercely.

"If he could go to the seashore he might brace up. Sea air would work

wonders for him."

"He shall go," said Amarilly with determination.

"I can get a week for him through the Fresh Air Fund," suggested the

doctor.

He succeeded in getting two weeks, and, that time was extended another

fortnight through the benevolence of Mr. Vedder.

Bud returned a study in reds and browns.

"The sea beats the theayter and the church all to smitherines,

Amarilly!" he declared jubilantly. "I kin go to work now."

"No!" said Amarilly resolutely. "You air goin' to loaf through this hot

weather until church and school open."

The family fund once more had a modest start. Mrs. Jenkins obtained a

few of her old customers, Bobby got a paper route, Flamingus and Milton

were again at work, but Amarilly, Gus, and Cory were without vocations.

Soon after the quarantine was lifted Amarilly went forth to deliver the

surplice and the waist which had hung familiarly side by side during the

weeks of trouble. The housekeeper at the rectory greeted her kindly and

was most sympathetic on learning of the protracted confinement. She made

Amarilly a present of the surplice.

"Mr. Meredith said you were to keep it. He thought your mother might

find it useful. It is good linen, you know, and you can cut it up into

clothes for the children. He has so many surplices, he won't miss this

one."

"I'll never cut it up!" thought Amarilly as she reverently received the

robe. "I'll keep it in 'membrance of him."

"It's orful good in him to give it to us," she said gratefully to the

housekeeper.

That worthy woman smiled, remembering how the fastidious young rector

had shrunk from the thought of wearing a fumigated garment.

At the King residence Amarilly saw the caretaker, who gave her a similar

message regarding the lace waist.

"I'll keep it," thought Amarilly with a shy little blush, "until I'm

merried. It'll start my trousseau."

She took the garments home, not mentioning to anyone the gift of the

waist, however, for that was to be her secret--her first secret. She hid

this nest-egg of her trousseau in an old trunk which she fastened

securely.