"You look like a queen!" said the child admiringly.
"Why it is just as they are wearing them now, the tip-top style. 'Lecty couldn't have described this hat any better if she had seen it. And if I can have it, Aunt Priscilla, I shall not care a bit about feathers. It's beautiful enough without."
"Yes, yes, take them all and have a good time with them. Now you see if you can pack it up—you'll have to learn."
Aunt Priscilla dropped into her chair. She had cast out her life's temptations, and it had been a great struggle.
"Not that way—make the bow stand up. The bandbox is large enough. And give the strings a loose fold, so. Now put that white paper over. It's like making a gambrel roof. Then bring up the ends of the towel and pin them. Polly shall go along and carry it home for you."
"I'm a thousand times obliged. I wish I knew what to do in return."
"Have a good time, but don't forget that a good time is not all to life. Child—why do you look at me so?" for Doris had come close to Aunt Priscilla and seemed studying her.
"Were you ever a little girl, and what was your good time like?"
Doris' wondering eyes were soft and seemed more pitying than curious.
"No, I never was a little girl. There were no little girls in my time." She jerked the words out in a spasmodic way, and put her hand to her heart as if there was a pain or pressure. "When I was three year old I had to take care of my little brother. I stood up on a bench to wash dishes when I was four, and scoured milk-pans and the pewter plates we used then. And at six I was spinning on the little wheel and knitting stockings. I went to school part of every year, and at thirteen I was doing a woman's work. No, I never was a little girl."