that dress, and--" Her voice ended in a sigh of impatience.

With rapid, angry fingers the seamstress was disrobing the slender
form roughly, jerking hooks, ribbons, and bits of lace. "Huh, huh!"
she kept sniffing, as she filled her mouth with pins. "I might as well
not have stopped, but it don't matter; it don't make a bit o'
difference. You couldn't have it now if you offered me double the
cost."

Dolly seemed oblivious of what was passing. Getting out of the
garment, she quickly put on her skirt and waist, noting as she did so
that her father was seated behind her on the window-sill, nursing his
knee and chewing and spitting vigorously on the porch floor.

"What a bunch o' rowin' she-cats!" she heard him chuckling. "An' about
nothin' more important than a flimsy rag that looks like a hollyhock
bush with arms an' legs."

Without noticing him Dolly hurriedly finished buttoning her waist,
and, throwing on her sun-bonnet, she dashed out of the room.

"I don't blame you for losin' patience, Miss Stella," Mrs. Drake
sighed, "but I've thought it out. It is as plain as the nose on your
face. You know an' I know she was tickled to death with it till she
met Mr. Mostyn in the yard just now. Mark my words, he said something
to her about the style of it. Maybe it's not exactly the latest
wrinkle accordin' to town notions."

"Yes, that's it." Miss Munson paused in her flurried efforts to
restore the dress to its wrapper. The twine hung from her teeth as she