It was late In tho evening when I reachwi home. Two merry carriage-fulls were just de parting from the door as I drove up. A few minutes afterwards I was in the nursery with the milliner's' parcel in my hands. There sat dear little Cinderella, resting one flushed cheek on her hand, and contemplating the litter of scraps of ribbon, fragments Of lace, scissors, flowers, and reels of cotton, which lay scattered