"Well, if the club adopts the plan it will not be hard to make such
aprons. We must certainly have caps, and those should be thought of at
once."

Grandmamma was always my resort when I was at my wits' end, and so I
went to her with a question: "Had she anything which would do for our
caps?"

"There must be something in my lower left-hand wardrobe drawer," said
grandmamma, considering. "Thee may bring me a green bag, which thee will
see in the far corner, and then we will talk about those caps in
earnest."

That wonderful green bag proved a sort of fairy find. There were
remnants of mull, Swiss, jaconet and other fabrics--white, plain and
barred. Grandmamma cut us a pattern. At four the seven girls were
assembled in her room. Jeanie on a hassock at her feet, the remainder
grouped as they chose.

How our fingers flew! It was just a quarter to six when every cap was
finished, and each girl had decided upon her special color. We hadn't
the ribbon to make our bows, and were obliged to wait till somebody
should go to the city to procure it; but each girl knew her favorite
color, and that was a comfort. Linda Curtis chose blue, and I would wear
rose-tints (my parents did not insist on my wearing Quaker gray, and I
dressed like "the world's people"), Veva chose old gold, and each of the
others had a preference.

"You will look like a field of daisies and clover, dearies," said
grandmamma.