I'm sure that's enough to take care of one little girl."

"She has nothing to wear; she is still in short frocks. And the idea of
buying a ball-dress, that she won't want until next winter!"

"Now see here. Let's look over the old things. There's her blue silk,
outgrown of course. They ruffle everything now, and it will be wide
enough for that. And I can just cover the waist, and ruffle the skirt
with white tarleton. It is nearly two yards wide, and makes lovely
trimming. There's no use saving it up for Stephen's children."

They all laughed at that.

"And, Aunt Marg'ret," to grandmother, "why didn't you keep _your_ little
girl shut up in a band-box, while all the other girls were having good
times and getting lovers? She might have been a queer, particular,
fidgety old maid, instead of having a nice family for us to quarrel
over."

"I will buy her a new dress," said grandmother.

"She doesn't want anything but a few yards of tarleton. She won't be
likely to get into the papers. She and Miss Daisy will sit and look on,
and just whisper to each other, and feel afraid to say their souls are
their own; but they'll enjoy the pretty dressing and the dancing, and
they will see how the thing is done when it comes their turn in good
earnest."

So Mrs. Underhill had to give in. Grandmother slipped five dollars in
Miss Cynthia's hand, as she was going away.

"If that falls short, I'll give you some more. And you just buy that
tarleton."

Hanny wasn't quite sure, and never said a word at school until the very
day. But she and Daisy had a thrill of delight talking it over. Miss
Cynthia came armed with the tarleton. The skirt was let down; but girls'
long dresses were not sweeping length in those days. Then it was covered
with narrow ruffles that suggested drifting clouds over an azure sky.
The bodice was not outgrown, after all. It was covered with the
tarleton, and had a fall of beautiful old lace around the shoulders, a
pretty frill at the neck, and short sleeves. Joe bought her white
gloves, and she had a blue sash.

Miss Cynthia came in to dress her; but the little girl had a quivering
fear that something had happened to her maid, for it was full eight
o'clock. She put her back hair in a French twist, much worn then, with
two big rings right on the top of her head that looked like a crown. Her
front hair she curled over an iron, and then combed it out; and it was a
mass of fluffy waves, gathered in bandeaux just a