Elliott tried one last argument. “I think Mother Jess would like to have us do it for Father Bob and the boys’ sake—to help keep up their courage.”
Priscilla bounced out of the rocker. “Will it help keep up their courage for us to wear our pretty clothes?”
“I had a notion it might.”
“Let’s do it, Trudy. I—I think I feel better already.”
Gertrude sat up on the horsehair sofa. “Maybe Mother would like us to.”
“I’m sure she’d like us to keep on hoping,” said Elliott earnestly. “And it doesn’t matter what we do, so long as we do something to show that’s the way we’ve made up our minds to feel. If you can think of any better way to show it than by dressing up, Trudy—”
“No,” said Gertrude. “But I think I’ll 241 wear my own clothes to-day, Elliott. Thank you, just the same. Some day, if Sid—I mean some day I’ll love to try on your blue dress, if you will let me.”
Three girls, as pretty and chic and trim as nature and the contents of their closets could make them, sat down to supper that night. It was not a jolly meal, but the girls set the pace, and every one did his best to be cheerful and brave.
Half-way through supper Stannard laid down his fork to ask a question. “What’s happened to your hair, Trudy?”
“Elliott did it for me. Do you like it?”