[Primrose Bolger]

Ginger yawned as she climbed the stairs to her little room at the Inn. It had been a glorious day, in her opinion. Mistress Zimzi had been so pretty in her gown with the wreath of flowers on her head that Ginger and the children had made. And Mister Derufin had looked so handsome; and how sweet was he, the way he looked at his new missus and held her hand so fondly. Ginger blushed, remembering how the couple had sought her out especially to tell her how lovely the sugared violets were that she had made for their cake.

And then, of course, there was her own Ferdy . . . she shivered and hugged herself as she danced about her room. She supposed she could call him that now . . . her Ferdy. For he had declared his feelings for her, and hadn’t he made sure there was no one else should dance with her! She grinned, thinking how she might see him tomorrow. She’d overheard Mr. Banks tell Cook they lads and he would help with the hauling and cleanup of the Inn yard the next day.

In the chill of her room, Ginger flung off her party clothes hastily, letting them fall where they would, and shrugged into her warm flannel nightgown as quick as a wink. She dove under her quilts, burrowing down beneath them to get warm. Her little head had barely hit her pillow when she yawned again and closed her eyes. She was soon asleep, a smile creasing her little face as she fell into dreams of dancing in a beautiful dress with a wreath of flowers gracing her curls.