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pretty dresses. But you’ve got to promise me one thing. Promise me you’ll wear the dress for my next visit so I can see how lovely it looks on you.”
    An awed nod against Daphne’s shoulder.
    “Very well. Then take it home.”
    “That’s all I ’ave to give ye? Just a promise?” Prudence drew back, eyeing Daphne with the blind hope of a child and the ingrained doubt of deprivation.
    “That’s all you have to give me,” Daphne assured her tenderly. She watched Prudence snatch the dress, clutching it as if it were a priceless treasure.
    Daphne had seen that poignant possessiveness before.
    A never-forgotten memory sprang to her mind of the dark-eyed girl in the House of Perpetual Hope gripping her tattered doll with the same hollow desperation as Prudence now gripped the dress.
    Tears clogged Daphne’s throat.
    “Prudence,” she blurted out. “Do you have a doll?”
    The child winced, but she raised her chin bravely. “I ’ad Martha, but she’s not mine anymore. Mama gave ’er to Jane, so she’d stop cryin’.”
    “Jane?”
    “My little sister. She’s only two. And Mama can’t get the baby to sleep if Jane cries all the time. So she gave Martha to ’er. Now Jane don’t cry so much.”
    “That was very kind of you, giving so precious a friend away.”
    Prudence shrugged. “I didn’t want to. Mama made me.”
    “Prudence, I know Martha means a lot to you, but would you be willing to love a new doll?”
    “Mama says we can’t pay for a new doll.”
    “Let me tell you a secret.” Daphne leaned conspiratorially forward. “I saw the most beautiful doll in the window of the village shop. She has hair the color of spun gold and a pink satin gown with a velvet bow. She also has a terrible problem.”
    “What?” Prudence stared, transfixed.
    “No one wants her. She’s been in that window for months now, and no one has taken her home. I suspect she’s very frightened. After all, Christmas is a mere two months off, and I can’t think of anything more dreadful for a doll than spending Christmas alone in a store window. Can you?”
    “But why don’t anyone want ’er?”
    “Most little girls are not as unselfish as you. Most of them refuse to give up their old dolls to love a new one. Thankfully, your heart is bigger than theirs. So, if I brought that new doll with me next time, would you be willing to take her home and love her as you did Martha? You’d be making her incredibly happy.”
    “I sure would! I’ll take real good care of ’er and love, ’er a whole lot, I promise.”
    Daphne smiled, stroking the smooth soiled cheek that was tilted earnestly toward her. “That’s two promises, then—to wear your new dress and to love your new doll. You’ve more than repaid the cost of the garment. I have but one more favor to ask, and that is for your help. You see, Prudence, I think I’ve brought enough dresses for all your classmates. But I need someone to help me sort out the various sizes and match the right dress with the right girl. Do you think you could manage that?”
    Prudence glowed. “I know I can. I’ll match ’em all, Miss—Lady…”
    “Daphne. My name is Daphne. Sort of like daffodil, only shorter.”
    “But th’ vicar didn’t call ye daffodil, ’e called ye some other flower.”
    Daphne grinned. “Snowdrop. The vicar has called me by that name since I was even younger than you.”
    “Why?”
    “Have you ever seen a snowdrop, Prudence?” Chambers asked, coming to stand beside them.
    “They’re white. And pretty.”
    “Yes they are,” he agreed. “They’re also delicate—so fragile you fear they’ll never survive, particularly in the dark part of winter when they first emerge. And yet, not only do they survive, but they flourish, fighting their way from the bleakness of the cold earth, opening their buds to the heavens, standing steadfast and proud, and offering the world an extraordinary beauty that none can equal and few can appreciate.”
    “Are ye