"Miranda says you're beginning to put on considerable airs, since you've been turning your hair up, Paul Shaw. When I put my hair up, I'm going on being just as nice and friendly with folks, as before, you'll see."
Pauline laughed, which was not at all to Patience's liking. "All the same, mind what I say," she warned.
"Can I help choose?" Patience asked, as they reached the store.
"If you like." Pauline went through to the little annex devoted to wall papers and carpetings. It was rather musty and dull in there, Patience thought; she would have liked to make a slow round of the whole store, exchanging greetings and various confidences with the other occupants. The store was a busy place on Saturday morning, and Patience knew every man, woman and child in Winton.
They had got their samples and Pauline was lingering before a new line of summer dressgoods just received, when the young fellow in charge of the post-office and telegraph station called to her: "I say, Miss Shaw, here's a message just come for you."
"For me—" Pauline took it wonderingly. Her hands were trembling, she had never received a telegram before—Was Hilary? Then she laughed at herself. To have sent a message, Mr. Boyd would have first been obliged to come in to Winton.
Out on the sidewalk, she tore open the envelope, not heeding Patience's curious demands. It was from her uncle, and read—
"Have some one meet the afternoon train Saturday, am sending you an aid towards your summer's outings."
"Oh," Pauline said, "do hurry, Patience. I want to get home as fast as
I can."