ping in it.

Let us now introduce you to the sanctuary of Mrs. Scudder's own private
bedroom, where the committee of exigencies, with Miss Prissy at their
head, are seated in solemn session around the camphor-wood trunk.

"Dress, you know, is of _some_ importance, after all," said Mrs.
Scudder, in that apologetic way in which sensible people generally
acknowledge a secret leaning towards anything so very mundane. While
the good lady spoke, she was reverentially unpinning and shaking out
of their fragrant folds creamy crape shawls of rich Chinese
embroidery,--India muslin, scarfs, and aprons; and already her hands
were undoing the pins of a silvery damask linen in which was wrapped
her own wedding-dress. "I have always told Mary," she continued, "that,
though our hearts ought not to be set on these things, yet they had
their importance."

"Certainly, certainly, Ma'am," chimed in Miss Prissy. "I was saying
to Miss General Wilcox, the other day, _I_ didn't see how we could
'consider the lilies of the field,' without seeing the importance of
looking pretty. I've got a flower-de-luce in my garden now, from one of
the new roots that old Major Seaforth brought over from France, which is
just the most beautiful thing you ever did see; and I was thinking, as
I looked at it to-day, that, if women's dresses only grew on 'em as
handsome and well-fitting as that, why, there wouldn't be any need of
me; but as it is, why, we _must think_, if we want to look well. Now
peach-trees, I s'pose, might bear just as good peaches without the pink
blows, but then who would want 'em to? Miss Deacon Twitchel, when I was
up there the other day, kept kind o' sighin' 'cause Cerintha Ann is
getting a new pink silk made up, 'cause she said it was such a dying
world it didn't seem right to call off our attention: but I told her
it wasn't any pinker than the apple-blossoms; and what with robins and
blue-birds and one thing or another, the Lord is always calling off our
attention; and I think we ought to observe the Lord's works and take a
lesson from 'em."

"Yes, you are quite right," said Mrs. Scudder, rising and shaking out a
splendid white brocade, on which bunches of moss-roses were looped to
bunches of violets by graceful fillets of blue ribbons. "This was my
wedding-dress," she said.

Little Miss Prissy sprang up and clapped her hands in an ecstasy.

"Well, now, Miss Scudder, really!--did I ever see anything more
beautiful? It really goes b