“Even if he should be a prince?” asked Betsy.
“Even if he were a king,” Elizabeth assured her. “What is your hat like, Betsy? Are you going to wear it Sunday?”
“Aunt Emily says I must keep it for Easter. It is quite nice, yes; but nothing very grand. Shall you get a new hat, Elizabeth?”
“I suppose not. We have to be very economical this year on account of Dick’s going to college. Mother and Kathie were looking over things yesterday, and they thought my hat would do. Kathie is going to retrim it with some ribbons she has. I don’t care so very much for I seldom wear it except to church and Sunday-school. I must try not to take an interest in such carnial things if I am to be very, very good.”
Betsy laughed. “You are so funny, Elizabeth. I don’t think it is wicked to like nice things.”
“No, I suppose it isn’t if you don’t follow after them to the seclusion of anything else.” Elizabeth had heard her mother say something like this, although she did not use the word seclusion. “Do you know what I think I shall do so as to prove my sincereness to mother; I think I shall mortify myself for a week or more and wear only the most unbecoming and unappropriate things. Why,”—she sat up suddenly in pleased excitement,—“I might even wear pink or blue.”
“Oh, I wouldn’t,” Betsy tried to dissuade her. “I don’t think it would look a bit nice.”
“That is just my object. I shall be mortifying the flesh dreadfully; and besides,” she added, “it would give me a chance for once in my life to see how I really did look in those colors.”
“But you haven’t anything blue or pink,” Betsy reminded her.
“I have some old blue ribbons that Kathie gave me for my dolls, and I might dye something. If I made a very, very strong blueing with laundry blue I could dip an old white waist in it and it might do.” Elizabeth, once launched upon such an enterprise, was eager to carry it to the fullest lengths.