Her lessons were getting so queer, in fact, that she couldn't help wondering what would come next. What came was the queerest thing of all.
The rose in the green glass bottle on her father's table filled the little room with fragrance. Again the door was fastened and the lid of the trunk cautiously lifted.
"Fix your hair as you did last night," directed Mr. Duval, in an odd, rather choked voice. "Put on your clothes, just as you did last night. Be very quiet about it. You were in the Pond today?"
"Yes, Daddy."
"Good! Then you are clean. I will wait outside until you are dressed."
"Are we going some place, Daddy?"
"Yes," replied her father, who had taken a parcel from the box on which he usually sat. "Dress quickly, but neatly, and put on your hat. Put the gloves in your pocket. Then sit quietly here until I come for you."
Eyes shining, pulses leaping, Jeannette got into her new garments. But where were the extra ones that had been in the trunk? The two frilly night-dresses, the other chemise, the other petticoat, the extra stockings? Never mind. Her father, she was sure, had taken good care of them.
"There! my hair's going better this time. And my feet feel more at home in these shoes. And oh! My white, white petticoat—how nice you are! I never had truly white things. I suppose a real princess has heaps and heaps of them."
Mr. Duval had neglected to supply stocking-straps. It is quite possible that he didn't know that little girls' stockings were fastened that way. Motherless Jeanne certainly didn't. Mollie's were never fastened at all. Old Mrs. Shannon tied hers with a string. Jeannette found two bits of raveled rope, hanging from a nail. They, she thought, would answer the purpose.