Stamping her feet as she rose, and angrily brushing the tears from her eyes, Ladybird took her sharp little scissors and carefully cut out a score or more of the large disks from the condemned dress. She grew more cheerful as she did this, and her merry smiles came back, though they alternated with an expression of angry sadness.
Gathering up the red scraps, she went to her Aunt Priscilla’s room. Spread out in stately grandeur on the bed lay the black silk dress that was as much a part of the Dorcas meeting as the lady who wore it.
Taking the paste-pot from her aunt’s writing-table, Ladybird proceeded to paste the bits of red fabric at intervals over the black silk skirt and bodice. She worked diligently and rapidly, and after a few moments surveyed the effect with great satisfaction.
“Now,” she said to herself, as she replaced the paste-pot, “I think it would be wise for me to go out to spend the day.”
Slipping on the despised brown frock, a mild and amiable-looking Ladybird walked through the kitchen, humming a little tune.
“I’m going out, aunties,” she said, “and I won’t be back until late this afternoon.”
The Flint ladies were not surprised at this, for Ladybird often spent a whole day out in the fields and orchards.
“Take something to eat before you go,” said Miss Dorinda; “here are some fresh seed-cakes.”
Ladybird accepted half a dozen, and Miss Priscilla, looking approvingly at the brown frock, said:
“Be back by four. The Dorcas ladies will be here, you know.”