The clerk, after a hasty glance at the rather shabby garments of her customers, laid some cheap, coarse stockings on the counter.
"Better ones," said Mr. Duval.
"Not good enough," said he, rejecting a second lot. "Something thinner and finer. Yes, these are better. Four pairs, please.
"Now I shall want some underwear for her. Lisle-thread or balbriggan, I think. Also two chemises, night-dresses, whatever petticoats are worn now and a good, serviceable dress—a sailor suit, I think. And after that shoes."
"Why, Daddy!" gasped Jeanne. "I thought you were going to buy nails. You said nails."
"Nails, too, perhaps; but first these."
Jeanne regarded her father thoughtfully. He had always been very gentle with her, but of late—yes, certainly—he had been very much kinder to her. And now, all these clothes. Was he, perhaps, going to send her to a real school—the big public school that stood so high that one could see its distant roof from the wharf? A lack of proper clothing had heretofore prevented her going—that, the distance, and her usefulness at home. She was older now, she could manage the walk. Michael disliked the task, but he could look after the younger children. But with clothes, she could go to school. That would be splendid. Perhaps, in another year, Michael could have clothes, too.
But how particular her father was about hers. The chemises must have a little fine lace on them, he said. And the petticoats—the embroidery must be finer. Yes, the blue serge dress with the fine black braid on the sailor collar would do nicely. And next, a small, neat hat.
Jeannette gasped again. A hat! She had never worn a hat except when she had gone "up town" and then it hadn't been any special hat—just anybody's old cap. But, of course, if she went to school she'd need a hat.
"Now, if you please," said Mr. Duval, "we'd like to see some gloves."