"It's queer," thought Barbara, as she put out the light. "I wonder if I ever shall."
That night she dreamed of the Tower of Cologne, in the old, enchanted land, where a blue sky bent down to meet a bluer sea. She and the Boy were in the cupola, making music with the golden bells. Their laughter chimed in with the sweet sound of the ringing, but still, she could not see his face.
Barbara sat by the old chest which held her completed work, frowning prettily over a note-book in her lap. She was very methodical, and, in some inscrutable way, things had become mixed. She kept track of every yard of lace and linen and every spool of thread, for, it was evident, she must know the exact cost of the material and the amount of time spent on a garment before it could be accurately priced.
Aunt Miriam had carefully pressed the lingerie after it was made and laid it away in the chest with lavender to keep it from turning yellow. There remained only the last finishing touches. Aunt Miriam could have put in the ribbons as well as she could, but Barbara chose to do it herself.
Three prices were put on each tag in Barbara's private cipher, understood only by Aunt Miriam. The highest was the one hoped for, the next the probable one, and the lowest one was to be taken only at the end of the season.
Already four or five early arrivals were reported at the hotel. By the end of next week, it would be proper for Aunt Miriam to go down with a few of the garments packed in a box with tissue paper, and see what she could do. Barbara had used nearly all of her material and had sent for more, but, in the meantime, she was using the scraps for handkerchiefs, pin-cushion covers, and heart-shaped corsage pads, delicately scented and trimmed with lace and ribbon.
Once, Aunt Miriam had gone to the city for material and patterns, and had priced hand-made lingerie in the shops. When she came back with an itemised report, Barbara had clapped her hands in glee, for she saw the wealth of Croesus looming up ahead. She had soon learned, however, that she must keep far below the city prices if she would tempt the horde of Summer visitors who came, yearly, to the hotel. At times, she thought that Aunt Miriam must have been dreadfully mistaken.