all the love and affection which Miss Cordelia and Miss Patty had ever
woven into their fancies were now showered down upon Mary--falling softly
and sweetly like petals from two full-blown roses when stirred by a
breeze from the south.

When she was a baby, Mary's nose had an upward tilt.

One morning after Miss Cordelia had bathed her (which would have reminded
you of a function at the court of the Grand Monarque, with its Towel
Holder, Soap Holder, Temperature Taker and all and sundry) she suddenly
sent the two maids and the nurse away and, casting dignity to the winds,
she lifted Mary in a transport of love which wouldn't be denied any
longer, and pretended to bite the end of the poor babe's nose off.

"Oh, I know it's candy," she said, mumbling away and hugging the blessed
child. "It's even got powdered sugar on it--"

"That's talcum powder," said Miss Patty, watching with a jealous eye.

"Powdered sugar, yes," persisted Miss Cordelia, mumbling on. "I know. And
I know why her nose turns up at the end, too. That naughty Miss Patty
washed it with yellow soap one night when I wasn't looking--"

"I never, never did!" protested Miss Patty, all indignation in a moment.

"Washed it with yellow soap, yes," still persisted Miss Cordelia, "and
made it shine like a star. And that night, when Mary lay in her bed, the
moon looked through the window and saw that little star twinkling there,
and the moon said 'Little star! Little star! What are you doing there in
Mary's bed? You come up here in the sky and twinkle where you belong!'