"You won't forget my shoes, will you?" reminded anxious Jean.
"I'd like to know how I could," demanded Wallace, feelingly.
Although Mabel had taken a most complete bath the night before, she spent the noon-hour taking another. She put on her best stockings and shoes, but looked doubtfully at her Sunday suit.
"If I have to do my language in ink," reflected she, "it'll be all up with my clothes. I'll just have to change after school."
The girls were out by half-past three. Fortunately, Miss Rossitor needed no more cows that afternoon, so Bettie was home in good season. All four dressed speedily. Three of them got into their gloves unassisted; but Jean, Marjory and Bettie found plump, impatient Mabel seated on the piano stool with her mother working over one hand, her perspiring father over the other. Several other gloves that had proved too small were scattered on the floor.
"You needn't think," said Mabel, greeting her friends with an expressive grimace, "that I ever picked out these lemon-colored frights. Somebody sent 'em for Christmas. None of the pretty ones were big enough—I've tried four pairs."
"Neither are these," returned Mrs. Bennett, "and the color certainly is outrageous, but it's Hobson's choice. And just remember, Mabel, if you touch a single door-knob they'll be black before you get there. And don't put your hands in your pockets. And please don't rub them along the fences. There! Mine's on as far as it will go."
THE DECIDEDLY DEPRESSED FOUR STARTED DOWN THE STREET.