“I wish I were dead and buried under a landslide,” sobbed Nannie.
In the depth of her sorrow she wanted to delve deep into mother earth.
“Oh, no. Don't wish that! What should we do without you?” said Steve earnestly.
“Oh, you needn't to worry,” replied Nannie pettishly, the violence of her grief having spent itself. “Nothing so good as that is going to happen. I shall live to get home and have my head taken off, and stalk around as a torso ever afterward.”
“Now do let me see if I can't set things to rights,” said Steve. “You've no idea how handy I am in such matters.”
He proved the truth of his words by going to work upon the injured gown, and after patient effort bringing it out of its dilapidated condition in such shape that only a keen eye would detect any sign of mishap.
Nannie was delighted and, stimulated by the excitement attendant upon her rapid change of fortunes, became quite talkative.
“I wouldn't have minded it so much, but I have on one of my best gowns, and Aunt Frances makes such a fuss every time she has to buy me anything. She says it's of no use to spend on me. It don't amount to a row of pins.”
Steve looked at her inquiringly. In actual time he was many years her senior, but Nannie had been in society for a season now, and even young girls age fast there—too fast, by far.
“She means I don't bid fair to get married off well. I'm not very popular, you know.”