Mary E. Wilkins

“ You can jest tell folks that you was named for your aunt that jest died, an' you felt as if you ought to wear a little crape on your best dress."
"It 'll be an awful job to put on a different flounce every time we wear it."
"I'll do it; I'm perfectly willin' to do it. Oh, 'Liz'beth, I shall die if you ever go out again an' wear that dress."
"For pity sakes, don't, Em'ly! I'll get out those veils after supper an' look at 'em."
The next Sunday Elizabeth wore the black silk garnished with a crape flounce to church. Matilda Jennings walked home with her, and eyed the new trimming sharply. ”

“ Matilda Jennings arose; she had passed the parlor door, when she faced about. "I s'pose I kinder begretched you that black silk," said she, "or I shouldn't have cared so much about findin' out. I never had a black silk myself, nor any of my folks that I ever heard of. I ain't got nothin' decent to wear anyway."
There was a moment's silence. "We sha'n't lay up anything," said Elizabeth then, and Emily sobbed responsively. Matilda passed on, and opened the outer door. Elizabeth whispered to her sister, and Emily nodded, eagerly. "You tell her," said she. ”

“ The neighbors considered that there was a decided reason for this. "The Babcock girls have so little to eat that they're ashamed to let folks see it," people said. It was certain that the old women regarded intrusion at their meals as an insult, but it was doubtful if they would not have done so had their table been set out with all the luxuries of the season instead of scanty bread and butter and no sauce. No sauce for tea was regarded as very poor living by the village women.
To-night the Babcocks had tea very soon after the lace was sewed on the dress. They always had tea early. ”

“ Well, I hope a Fourth of July picnic ain't quite such a treat to me that I'd ruther go to it than meetin'! I should think you'd be ashamed of yourself speakin' so, Em'ly Babcock."
Emily, a moment before delicately alert and nervous like her sister, shrank limply in her limp black muslin. "I—didn't think how it sounded, 'Liz'beth."
"Well, I should say you'd better think. It don't sound very becomin' for a woman of your age, an' professin' what you do. Now you'd better go an' get out that dress, an' rip the velvet off, an' sew the lace on. There won't be any too much time. ”

“ Elizabeth Babcock uplifted her long, delicate nose with its transparent nostrils, and sniffed. Apparently her sister's perverseness had an unacceptable odor to her. "I wouldn't talk so if I was you, Em'ly. Of course you're goin'. It's your turn to, an' you know it. I went to meetin' last Sabbath. You just put on that dress an' go."
Emily eyed her sister. She tried not to look pleased. "I know you went to meetin' last," said she, hesitatingly; "but—a Fourth of July picnic is—a little more of—a rarity." She fairly jumped, her sister confronted her with such sudden vigor. ”

“ Why didn't you get out?"
"I—couldn't," gasped Emily; she could hardly speak.
"Well, I guess it ain't done much harm; them boys ought to be prosecuted. You don't feel as if you was burned anywhere, do you, Em'ly?"
"No—I guess not."
"Seems to me your dress— Jest let me look at your dress, Em'ly. My! ain't that a wicked shame! Jest look at all them holes, right in the flouncin', where it 'll show!"
It was too true. The flounce that garnished the bottom of the black silk was scorched in a number of places. Emily looked at it and felt faint. "I must go right home," she moaned. "Oh, dear!" ”

“ We had just one decent dress between us, an' Em'ly an' me took turns wearin' it, an' Em'ly used to wear lace on it, an' I used to rip off the lace an' sew on black velvet when I wore it, so folks shouldn't know it was the same dress. Em'ly an' me never had a word in our lives, an' it's a wicked lie for folks to say we have. ”

“ In their youth, when they had gone to school and played together, they had always realized their height above Matilda, and even old age and poverty and a certain friendliness could not do away with it. ”

“ What do you mean, Em'ly Babcock?"
"You can't, you never can again. I stepped into some fire-crackers, an' I've burned some great holes right in the flouncin'. You can't never wear it without folks knowin'. Matilda Jennings will tell. Oh, 'Liz'beth, what will you do?"
"Do?" said Elizabeth. "Well, I hope I ain't so set on goin' out at my time of life as all that comes to. Let's see it. H'm, I can mend that."
"No, you can't. Matilda would see it if you did. Oh, dear! oh, dear!" Emily dropped into a corner and put her slim hands over her face. ”

“ Emily was dressed in it on the Fourth of July morning when Matilda Jennings called for her. Matilda came in her voluminous old alpaca, with her tin lunch-pail on her arm. She looked at Emily in the black silk, and her countenance changed. "My! you ain t goin' to wear that black silk trailin' round in the woods, are you?" said she.
"I guess she won't trail around much," spoke up Elizabeth. "She's got to go lookin' decent." ”