the trunk that seemed to be overrunning with poppies, marigolds, and
morning-glories, and, giving something a jerk, brought up a puffy, short
gown of white muslin, blazed all over with great straggling flowers--the
morning-glories, poppies, marigolds that I had seen bursting up from the
trunk.

"There is a Dolly," says she, a-shaking out the puffy, short dress, as
if it had been a banner.

"Not by a long shot," says I, laughing. "It may be a whopping big doll's
dress; in fact, it looks like it, for what woman on earth would ever
think of wearing that? Why, the flowers would set her on fire."

"This is for Cecilia," says she, "but I have one just like it, and mean
to wear it if you've no objection?"

"Not the least in the world," says I. "It isn't my mission to stop
peacocks from strutting and showing their half-moons if they want to."

E. E. laughed. She is a good-hearted creature, and I set store by her
after all.

"I will try this on," says she. "They are all the rage, I tell you. Try
one, Phoemie; your tall figure would set one off splendidly."

"Do you really think so?" says I, beginning to take a notion to the
great bunches of flowers which did stand out from the white ground with
scrumptious richness.

"I am sure of it. No one carries off a dress so well," says she, "and it
will be expected of you. Distinguished persons are so criticised, you
know."

I looked at the dress again; the flowers were natural as life; the
muslin was wavy, and white as drifted snow.

"But the cost?" says I. "A burnt child dreads a blisterous
contamination. That pink dress of mine is a scrumptious
garment--palatial, as one might say, but costly. The value of
twenty-five yards of silk is a load for any tender conscience."

"Oh, a Dolly doesn't take half as much," says E. E.; "besides short
skirts are the style on the sea-shore. The expense really isn't very
enormous. In fact, almost any one can afford a Dolly."

I yielded. Human nature is weak, and I had a letter yesterday from uncle
Ben, saying that the hay and corn crops are promising. Besides, there is
a sort of reason just now why I should be a little self-liberal in the
way of dress. As Cousin E. E. says, people do expect something better
than alpaca and calico of high genius--especially when the form is tall,
and the figure commensurate to the genius.

"But have I time? That French dressmaker will want three weeks, at
least."

Cousin E. E. saw by this that the auste