“Isn’t it funny!” said Fan. “I feel like the heroine of some hundred year old novel, going up to town to buy wedding clothes, instead of a girl of the period of puffs, paniers, chignons, Grecian bends, and all that! Why Rose, think of it! We have never had a silk dress in all our lives, except that once we had one ruffled with an old one of mamma’s; and we have been very tolerably happy.”
“Yes, just as happy as one need be. All that could be crowded into our small lives.”
“I dare say we should be absolute curiosities to some people. Everybody now-a-days has a silk walking-suit, and some handsome thread lace, and I don’t believe there are any poor people but just us. But then we have had the love and comfort and enjoyment and no time to worry about our rich neighbors. It has been a life full of pleasantness and peace.”
That was true enough. There were many, many things beside raiment, if one could only get at the real completeness and harmony, the secret of soul life.
Jennie Fairlie would help us sew. With their good servant she declared she had nothing to do. Miss Churchill sent us both an elegant poplin suit, or at least the materials. It was a simple wardrobe to be sure. One pretty light silk dress, one dark silk with a walking-jacket. We made morning robes and some inexpensive house garments. Then it would be summer so soon, and there was nothing equal to fresh, cool white. We were not used to crying for the moon, we had found early in life that it was quite a useless proceeding.
Altogether we kept our secrets pretty well, and when the truth leaked out at last, everybody was so surprised that they could only exclaim. Aunt Letty Perkins was brave enough to come and see if it was really so.
“Well, I am beat!” she declared. “And doing well, too! I always said there never was anyone like Mis’ Endicott for luck. Girls often do hang on so where there is a lot, and you’ve enough left. Fanny is the flower of the family to be sure, but she is making a big step to get in with the Churchills. Ain’t afraid she’ll be puffed up with pride and vanity, are you?”
“I think I can trust her,” replied mamma with a funny smile in the corners of her mouth.
I remember the morning as one recalls a half dream, the misty impression between sleeping and waking. The peculiar confusion pervading the house, the strange mislaying of handkerchiefs and gloves, the voices that were so full of tears and gay little laughs, the half sentences, the clasp of hands as one went in or out of a room, the long, loving glances as if each would fain garner all the past into one sweet remembrance. Winthrop and Stephen, one rather grave but very tender to mamma and the little ones, the other full of life and vivacity, the happiest of the happy.
Fan had one little say though her eyes were bright with tears.