A great many asked us out to Sunday dinners, and did their best to give good fare. We hadn't been used to going out on a Sunday to dine, for grannie had always set her face against the custom, and father had only once in a way done it. But now he said it would seem stuck-up and unneighbourly to refuse, just when this "windfall," as he called it, had come to us. He said it would look as if we counted ourselves too grand for the neighbours.
Grannie told him the real question lay deeper; for it wasn't a question of giving offence to one or two people, who ought to know us better than to be so easily offended, but of breaking God's holy day. But father was not to be persuaded, and he and mother went out Sunday after Sunday, and took Asaph with them. And, somehow, after father had been out pleasuring all the afternoon, he did not seem inclined to go to Church in the evening, as he had been always used to do; and one day and another he found some excuse for staying away. I could see that it was a great grief to grannie.
I did not go to these dinners with father and mother, but kept grannie company at home. It was grannie's wish, and mother did not care, for Asaph was her favourite. I don't think I always quite liked being the one left behind, and yet I should not have been happy doing anything else. But if I did not like it, I took care that grannie should not see what I felt. She was sorry enough already about the break-up of our old quiet Sundays.
One day father came in, chuckling and laughing, and carrying a big bundle under his arm.
"What d'you think I've got now?" says he. "O Miles! has the money come at last?" shrieked mother.
"No, it hasn't," said he. "Why, you don't think surely that I'd be carrying five thousand pounds rolled up into a bundle like this! No, it isn't the money, but it's something. And it don't so much matter now, if the money should be longer coming. They'll trust me down at Trowgood's for anything I want. Trowgood himself came up to me in the street, and told me so, as civil as could be. So I went straight off with him, and did some shopping."
"I don't like Mr. Trowgood, and I never did," said grannie. "He's a deep one, Miles."
"Maybe so, maybe no," says father. "Deep or shallow, that won't keep me from using his goods, if so be they suit my wants. And nobody could speak more civil than he did, anyway. Look here, Sue."
Father untied the bundle, while we all stood round. I saw grannie shake her head softly to herself, once or twice, as if she didn't like it at all. But we children could not help thinking the big brown-paper parcel very delightful, for we had not seen many such in our lives. And when it was rolled open, mother quite screamed with delight at the first thing her eyes fell on. For there on the top lay a quantity of smooth bright shining green silk. I almost thought mother would say it was too bright and shining for her. But she did not. She only laughed and clapped her hands, and seemed half beside herself.
"That's the thing now, isn't it?" says father. "Green was the colour you wanted, Sue, and I've chosen the smartest I could see in all the shop, so as you should look your best. You'll have to get it made up quick, and we'll have some folks in to dinner, to look at you. Why, I shall hardly know you, I declare, nor anybody else either. See here! I've bought a real coral necklace for Phœbe. Isn't that pretty, my girl? And here's a cap for Asaph. And I haven't forgotten you, mother. I knew you wouldn't like a green dress, and I had my doubts if you'd wear a silk; so I've chose some good black stuff,—merino, Trowgood says, and the very best they have. You'll wear that to please me."