She had been working nights for two weeks on an elaborate organdie, with pink roses all over it, for Lizzie to wear.

It had yards and yards of cheap lace and insertion, and a whole bolt of pink ribbons of various widths.

The hat was a marvel of impossible roses, just calculated for the worst kind of a wreck if a thunder-shower should come up at a Sunday-school picnic.

Lizzie's mother was even thinking of getting her a pink chiffon parasol to carry; but the family treasury was well-nigh depleted, and it was doubtful whether that would be possible.

After all that, it did not seem pleasant to have Lizzie put in the shade by a fine-lady cousin in silks and jewels.
But Grandmother Brady had waited long for her triumph.