summer. Then in August, when the long vacation was nearly over, came the
village dressmaker. Ma had promised me two new dresses, and I would sit
hemming towels or poring over Greek and Roman history while they turned
the leaves of fashion magazines and discussed materials and trimmings.

I secretly hoped for a silk, but Mother, to whom I suppose I am even now--
now!--a little girl, vetoed that as too showy, and the dressmaker added
her plea for good, durable things. The choice fell upon a golf suiting for
school and a black cashmere for church.

I begged hard to have the cashmere touch the ground, but both women smiled
at the folly of the child who forgot the many re-bindings a long skirt
would call for. There was a comic side to my disappointment, for I guessed
that the widow Trask could not make the designs I coveted, nor anything of
which she could not buy a paper pattern.

But when I went up to the University and became entitled to join in the
cry:--

S!----U!
We're----a----few!
S!----T!----A--T--E!
U!----ni----ver--si--tee!
Wow!----Wow!----Wow!

--I found that I compared favourably enough with my mates. Dress played
little part in every day college life, and for such occasions as socials
or Friday night debating society I soon learned from upper class girls to
mitigate ugly gowns with pretty ribbons. And I congratulated myself upon
the fact that I was not by any means the plainest girl in my class. My