CHAPTER VII
HILARY'S TURN
Pauline and Hilary were up in their own room, the "new room," as it had come to be called, deep in the discussion of certain samples that had come in that morning's mail.
Uncle Paul's second check was due before long now, and then there were to be new summer dresses, or rather the goods for them, one apiece all around.
"Because, of course," Pauline said, turning the pretty scraps over, "Mother Shaw's got to have one, too. We'll have to get it—on the side—or she'll declare she doesn't need it, and she does."
"Just the goods won't come to so very much," Hilary said.
"No, indeed, and mother and I can make them."
"We certainly got a lot out of that other check, or rather, you and mother did," Hilary went on. "And it isn't all gone?"
"Pretty nearly, except the little we decided to lay by each month. But we did stretch it out in a good many directions. I don't suppose any of the other twenty-fives will seem quite so big."
"But there won't be such big things to get with them," Hilary said, "except these muslins."