e I studied the faces on the
men's side, and then the women. It was a mighty good-looking crowd.
Some had finer clothes than others--that is always the way--but as a
rule every one was clean, neat, and good to see. From some you
scarcely could turn away. There was Widow Fall. She was French, from
Virginia, and she talked like little tinkly notes of music. I just
loved to hear her, and she walked like high-up royalty. Her dress was
always black, with white bands at the neck and sleeves, black rustly
silk, and her eyes and hair were like the dress. There was a little
red on her cheeks and lips, and her face was always grave until she saw
you directly before her, and then she smiled the sweetest smile.

Maybe Sarah Hood was not pretty, but there was something about her lean
face and shining eyes that made you look twice before you were sure of
it, and by that time you had got so used to her, you liked her better
as she was, and wouldn't have changed her for anything. Mrs. Fritz had
a pretty face and dresses and manners, and so did Hannah Dover, only
she talked too much. So I studied them and remembered what the
Princess had said, and I wondered if she heard some one say that Peter
Justice beat his wife, or if she showed it in her face and manner. She
reminded me of a scared cowslip that had been cut and laid in the sun
an hour. I don't know as that expresses it. Perhaps a flower couldn't
look scared, but it could be wilted and faded. I wondered if she ever
had bright hair, laughing eyes, and red in her lips and cheeks. She
must have been pretty if she had.

At last I reached my mother. There was nothing scared or faded about
her, and she was dreadfully sick too, once in a while since she had the
fever. She was a little bit of a woman, coloured like a wild rose
petal, face and body--a piece of pink porcelain Dutch, father said.
She had brown eyes, hair like silk, and she always had three best
dresses. There was one of alpaca or woollen, of black, gray or brown,
and two silks. Always there was a fine rustly black one with a bonnet
and mantle to match, and then a softer, finer one of either gold brown,
like her hair, or dainty gray, like a dove's wing. When these grew too
old for fine use, she wore them to Sunday-school and had a fresh one
for best. There was a new gray in her closet at home, so she put on
the old brown to-day, and she was lovely in it.

Usually the minister didn't come for church servic