tonishment, burst into tears.

Aunt Jemima's strong, soft hand patted my tous- led head. "Aren't you going to see what's underneath?"

So grateful, so overcome with the wonder of it,

I could only gulp. In the corner of the room was a wash- basin, in which I carefully washed my hands and arms. When they were quite dry I approached the case as a lover approaches his beloved: it seemed to be full of lace, and silk, and nylon, and embroidery, of flounc- es and frills and sweet, feminine daintiness. Carefully, reverently, I lifted out onto an armchair: A girl's party frock in white nylon, with petty and panties to match; a pink silk dress, also with matching slip and panties; two warm woolen dresses for winter (one trim- med with fur) slips with bodices, slips without bodices; several pretty hats in hat-boxes; four pairs of pretty shoes or slippers; sundry pairs of socks; a jewel-case containing a bracelet, several necklaces and some brooches - and there were many other dainty, feminine things to delight the heart of a girl of my age. every garment had my name embroidered on it. I heard myself gasping, over and over again: "Oh, Aunt Jem- ima! Oh, aren't they lovely!

And

Aunt Jemima commanded: "Now, go and have a bath, and when you are cool and clean and dry come back here, and Pat will help you to dress."

A new thought struck me. I gulped: "Pat will laugh at me!" For answer she handed me a photo-al- bum in which were photographs and newspaper cuttings of a pretty little girl dancing, strumming the guitar, or just playing in a charming, girlish way. For a mom- ent I could not understand. Then I looked on the cover. "Pat Jones" it cried in letters of gold. "The World's Greatest Juvenile Female Impersonator!"

I glanced at Pat: he was gazing at me steadily. Was he wondering if I would laugh at him? But my face showed my admiration. Aunt Jemima kissed us both. "You need one another," she told us seriously, and went out softly. We could hear her smiling voice teasing my youngest brother as she sped down the

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