“They are a trifle long, husband, and a little large, but I can turn up a seam and it will do to let out again, for he’s growing.”
“Not one mite too large, wife, he’s at least forty pounds heavier than he was when he came here.”
The children now came around him with the charitable desire of relieving his embarrassment, and began to talk to him.
“What nice pockets!” said Bertie, thrusting his hands alternately into those of the waistcoat, and into the breast-pockets of the coat. Maria took hold of his hand and stood looking at the buttons of the coat, and Peter, passing his hands over the shoulders of James, admired the fit of the coat.
Mrs. Whitman now brought out the overcoat and put it on him, the children assisting, and thrusting his arms through the sleeves.
James knew that Mrs. Whitman was making him a suit of clothes, because she had taken his measure. But he did not know that she was making him an overcoat, and that at the same time she measured him for the coat and pants and waistcoat, had also measured him for that garment; neither did she intend he should. The surprise therefore was as great as she could have wished.
During all this time James stood like a statue, staring into vacancy, while the children made their comments and handled his limp form as they pleased. Mrs. Whitman, in the meantime, buttoned up the garment, pulled it down behind and before, manipulated it in various ways, finally pronouncing it as good a fit as could be made, concluding with the declaration that James had a good form to fit clothes to.
“Ain’t they handsome? Don’t you like ‘em?” said Bertie, putting his arms around the passive recipient of all these favors.
Instead of replying, this apparently insensible being burst into tears. Peter and Maria drew back amazed. Bertie’s eyes moistened with sympathetic feeling, and the situation was becoming sufficiently embarrassing to all, when Mr. Whitman said,—
“James, put Frank and Dick into the wagon; it’s getting towards meeting time, but go upstairs first, and take off your clothes.”