“Well, here, put on this one of mine,” said Miss Rindy, taking one down from a peg behind the door. “Aprons are most useful members of society, they cover a multitude of sins; they ought by rights to be called charities instead of aprons.”
The apron hung far below the hem of Ellen’s dress, but that didn’t matter, as Miss Rindy remarked. “It’s the fashion now to have floppy do-dabs switching about below the edge of a skirt,” she said. “Not that I hold to such silly styles. I thought Lauretta’s dress too silly and fussy for words. Come along, Ellen, I’ll show you where the dishes are. I don’t use tablecloths; mats are much less trouble and more economical. They are in that table drawer.”
Ellen found them and laid them as directed; then the rest of the table was set and she viewed it approvingly. She liked the antique mahogany with the old blue-and-white china upon it, but still there was something missing. “Don’t you have flowers on the table?” she inquired. “We always did.”
“You did? Well, I don’t; I can’t be bothered with them.”
Ellen was silent for a moment before she asked, “Would you mind if I bothered with them?”
“Dear me, I don’t know where you’d find any. I don’t raise them; they’re like Lauretta, pretty but useless. But, pshaw! I don’t see what’s got into me, picking on Lauretta, though she always did rub me the wrong way.”
“Maybe I could find something,” persisted Ellen.
“You’re welcome to,” returned Miss Rindy from the pantry where she had gone.
Ellen opened the kitchen door and looked out. It wasn’t very promising. A few green tomatoes still hung on the vines, a scraggy apple tree bore several apples at the top, and there was a row of cabbages left in a patch at the back. None of these offered anything like a bouquet.
Ellen went down the brick walk to investigate farther, and presently discovered that a honeysuckle vine, which had strayed from the neighboring yard and hung over the fence, ventured to display a few late blossoming sprays of which Ellen took immediate possession. While doing this she observed that there was an open lot bordering on the property. It was easy to reach by climbing the low fence. An open lot always presented all sorts of possibilities, and this one, while somewhat disappointing, offered a sparse supply of blooms which Ellen was quick to gather,—two or three crimson clover-heads, a cluster of purple asters, yarrow more plentiful, and two belated buttercups. With the honeysuckle these would do very well, and when at the last several frost-touched leaves of woodbine added more color, Ellen returned well pleased.