““Do yer like it, Miss Sara?” she said. “Do yer?” “Like it?” cried Sara. “You darling Becky, you made it all yourself.” Becky gave a hysteric but joyful sniff, and her eyes looked quite moist with delight. “It ain’t nothin’ but flannin, an’ the flannin ain’t new; but I wanted to give yer somethin’ an’ I made it of nights. I knew yer could pretend it was satin with diamond pins in. I tried to when I was makin’ it. The card, miss,” rather doubtfully, “’t warn’t wrong of me to pick it up out o’ the dust-bin, was it? Miss ‘Meliar had throwed it away. I hadn’t no card o’ my own, an’ I knowed it wouldn’t be a proper presink if I didn’t pin a card on--so I pinned Miss ‘Meliar’s.” Sara flew at her and hugged her. She could not have told herself or anyone else why there was a lump in her throat. “Oh, Becky!” she cried out, with a queer little laugh, “I love you, Becky--I do, I do!” “Oh, miss!” breathed Becky. “Thank yer, miss, kindly; it ain’t good enough for that. The--the flannin wasn’t new.””
