and there were two little girls in red riding hoods, plaid cloaks, and gay stockings, skipping along with their hands joined. It was a hard world for little girls to grow up in. She had run along the planks from school once, not so very long ago, swinging her lunch-basket and teasing Felix Harrison just as at this minute Nellie Bird was teasing Freddie Stone.
Her needle was taking exquisite stitches; Dinah liked white aprons for school wear, and this was the last of the dainty half-dozen. Her mother’s voice and step broke in upon her reverie.
“Tessa, I wouldn’t have believed it, but six of my cans of tomatoes have all sizzled up! Not one was last year, though. Mrs. Bird never has such good luck with hers as we have with ours.”
“That’s too bad. But we have so many that we sha’n’t miss them.”
“That isn’t the question. I remember how my side ached that day. Bridget was so stupid and you and Dine had gone up to West Point with Gus; he always is coming and taking you and Dine off somewhere! You are not attending to a word I say.”
“Yes, I am; I am thinking how you took us all three to look at your cans of tomatoes.”
“But you don’t care about the tomatoes. You never do take an interest in house-work. I would rather have Sue Greyson’s skin stuffed with straw than to have you around the house. And _she_ is going to marry Ralph Towne: she passed with him this morning; they were in the phaeton with that pair of little grays! And Sue was driving! I believe that you have taken cold in some way, you must see the doctor the next time he comes; your face is the color of chalk, and your eyes are as big as saucers with dark rims under them! You sat here writing altogether too late last night.”
“It was only eleven when I went up-stairs.”
“That was just an hour too late. What good does your writing do you or any body, I’d like to know.”
“It is rather too early in my life to judge.”
“Your father spoils you about writing; I suppose that he thinks you are a feather in _his_ cap; I tell him that you are none of my bringing up.”
“You may as well drop that work and take a run into Dunellen; the air will do you good. You had color enough in the summer. I want a spool of red silk, two pieces of crimson dress braid, and a spool of fifty cotton. Don’t get scarlet braid, I want crimson; and run into the library and get me something exciting; you might have known better than to bring me that volume of essays!”