"I think I will iron this afternoon," announced Betty. "I see some of the clothes are dry. Didn't you mean to go and see about the carpet, mother?"
"I had thought of it. I want to have my warp dyed blue and orange, and some of the rags colored. Mrs. Jett does it so well, and she's so needy I thought I would give her all the work. Your father said I had better. And she might dip over that brown frock of yours. The piece of new can go with it so it will all be alike."
Betty wanted to lift up her heart in thanksgiving. The dyeing tub was her utter abomination—it took so long for the stain to wear out of your hands.
"Well—if you like." This referred to the ironing. "I don't know how you'll get your gown done."
"I might run over and get some patterns from Jane, if I get through in time," suggested Betty. For a horrible fear had entered her mind that her mother's acceptance of the fact foreboded some delay in the making.
"Don't go until I get back."
"Oh, no."
Betty took down the clothes and folded them. They were just right to iron. She arranged her table, and Doris brought her books and sat at one end.
"It would be so much nicer to talk about the party," she said gravely, "but the lessons are so hard. Oh, Betty, do you think I shall ever be smart like other girls? I feel ashamed sometimes. My figures are just dreadful. Robert Lane said this morning they looked like hen tracks. His are beautiful. And he is only seven years old. Oh, dear!"
"Robbie has been at school three years. Wait until you have been a year!"