“It fits exactly!” she cried, making a little moue at her image reflected in an antique gilt mirror. Antique mirrors were among the wares the Higgledy Piggledies dealt in.
Mary Louise was off in a jiffy, eager to make the purchase and get to work. It made her happier to have something definite to occupy her until she could get the doctor’s verdict concerning her grandfather and, also, until she could have the heart to heart talk she was planning to have with her Danny.
Irene shook her head sadly when her dear friend’s eager footsteps died away as she flew down the stairs to the street.
“Dear, dear child,” she said solemnly. “I do wish she had not tried on that queer old mourning bonnet.”
“It gave me a turn too,” confessed Josie.
“I wondered if you felt funny about it,” said Elizabeth. “My old nurse used to tell us that it was the worst luck in the world to try on mourning unless you were already wearing it. Of course, she was an ignorant old woman but she used to say it was a sure sign of trouble coming. Were you thinking of that, Irene?”
“I am ashamed to say I was. Under those wretched widow’s weeds there was something about her sweet face, that certainly has been pale and pensive lately, that made me feel strangely superstitious--but I hate myself for giving it room in my mind.”
With deft fingers Mary Louise fashioned the little bonnet. She had purchased a piece of fresh white crêpe ruching which she tacked in the front.
“Now, a lining to keep my huge stitches from showing and there we are!” she cried.
“Lovely!” gasped Elizabeth. “I don’t see how you did it. I can’t trim a hat to save me. My mother can’t even trim a hat to look like anything, although she thinks she can. There is nothing Mother confesses not to be able to do.”
The girls laughed. Mrs. Wright’s idiosyncrasies were well known to the group. She was a managing lady who had unbounded faith in her own prowess and judgment.
“I guess I’ll take the bonnet to the little old lady on my way home,” suggested Mary Louise. “I’d like to see her try it on.”
“That would be fine,” said Josie, who had been busily engaged all afternoon with her laundering. “I’d go with you, but this last dozen napkins must be polished off. Don’t they look lovely and glossy? I just love to iron. It is such wonderful work to let you think while you are doing it.”