could for them. Why don’t you?” asked Maud, beginning on her
third bonnet.
“We will,” said Polly, and mounting a chair, she put up, bid in, and
knocked down Fan’s entire wardrobe to an imaginary group of
friends, with such droll imitations of each one that the room rang
with laughter.
“That ‘s enough nonsense; now we ‘ll return to business,” said
Polly, descending breathless but satisfied with the effect of her
fun.
“These white muslins and pretty silks will keep for years, so I
should lay them by till they are needed. It will save buying, and
you can go to your stock any time and make over what you want.
That ‘s the way Mother does; we ‘ve always had things sent us from
richer friends, and whatever was n’t proper for us to wear at the
time, Mother put away to be used when we needed it. Such funny
bundles as we used to have sometimes, odd shoes, bonnets without
crowns, stockings without heels or toes, and old finery of all sorts.
We used to rush when a bundle came, and sit round while Mother
opened it. The boys always made fun of the things, though they
were as grateful, really, as any of us. Will made a verse one day
which we thought pretty well for a little chap: ‘To poor country
folks Who have n’t any clothes, Rich folks, to relieve them, Send
old lace gowns and satin bows.'”
“I think that Will is going to be as nice a poet as Mr. Shakespeare,”
remarked Maud in a tone of serious conviction.
“He is already a Milton; but I don’t believe he will ever be anything
but a poet in name,” said Polly, working away while she talked.
“Did n’t your mother ever let you wear the nice things that came?”
asked Maud.
“No, she thought it was n’t the thing for a poor minister’s girls to go
flourishing about in second-hand finery, so she did what I ‘m doing
now, put away what would be useful and proper for us by and by,
and let us play with the shabby, silk bonnets and dirty, flounced
gowns. Such fun as we used to have up in our big garret! I
remember one day we ‘d been playing have a ball, and were all
rigged up, even the boys. Some new neighbors came to call, and
expressed a wish to see us, having been told that we were pattern
children. Mother called us, but we had paraded out into the garden,
after our ball, and were having a concert, as we sat about on the
cabbages for green satin seats, so we did n’t hear the call, and just
as the company was going, a great noise arrested them on the
doorstep, and round the corner of the house rattled Ned in full
costume, wheeling Kitty in a barrow, while Jimmy, Will, and I ran
screaming after, looking like Bedlamites; for we were playing that
Lady Fitz Perkins had fainted, and was being borne home senseless
in a cab. I thought mother would kill herself with laughing; and
you can imagine what a fine impression the strangers received of
the model children.”
Maud was so tickled with this youthful prank that she unguardedly
sat down to laugh on the edge of an open trunk, immediately
doubled up, fell in, and was with difficulty extricated.
“People in the country have great deal nicer times than we do. I
never rode in a wheelbarrow, I never sat on cabbages, and I don’t
think it ‘s fair,” she said with an injured expression. “You need n’t
save any old silk gowns for me; I don’t mean to be a fine lady
when I grow up, I ‘m going to be a farmer’s wife, and make butter
and cheese, and have ten children, and raise pigs,” she added in
one enthusiastic burst.
“I do believe she will if she can find a farmer anywhere,” said
Fanny.
“Oh, I ‘m going to have Will; I asked him and he said, ‘All right.’
He ‘s going to preach Sundays, and work on the farm the rest of the
time. Well, he is, so you need n’t laugh, for we ‘ve made all our