"They are very nice dancing parties. Only the best people go and no sort of freedom or misbehavior is tolerated. I think I'll take out a membership."
"Oh, do, please do," she entreated.
The elegant wedding was talked of for days. Girls called on Miss Leverett—it seemed funny to be called that. She was asked to join a sewing society that made articles of clothing for the widows and children of drowned sailors, and there were many of them on the New England coast. Her tender heart was moved by the pathetic tales she heard.
"Dear Cousin Eunice," she said one day, "I went with one of the committee to see a poor sick woman who is in awful destitution. There are three small children, and when she is well she goes out washing. They send her driftwood and old stuff from the ship-yards, and one of the companies pays her rent. But you should see the things! Such ragged quilts that hardly hold together, and one little boy was without stockings. There are so many things up in the garret that you will never use——"
"Likely, dear, but they are Chilian's."
"He said I might ask you, that he was willing. Can't we go up and find some? What is the use of their being piled up year after year, and people in need? Ah, if you could see the poor place!"
Miss Eunice went unwillingly. The thrift of New England did often shrivel into penuriousness. She and Elizabeth were in the habit of putting away so many partly worn articles for the time of need.
"Those old blankets and quilts——"
"Elizabeth thought they would do to cover over."
"But there are so many better ones. And some on the closet shelves that have never been used. Why, there is enough to last a hundred years."