"Nor the dress," said Mrs. Dering, quickly. "You have quite enough dresses, Ernestine, and besides, Olive's is from her Uncle Ridley, and she cannot give it away."
Ernestine couldn't see any sense of having it lay upstairs in the drawer, though she did not say so; and privately thought that perhaps she could coax her mother around, since Olive was so willing. It proved quite a vain idea, however, though she made it her last request in the morning, before her mother left.
"No, Ernestine, I spoke quite as decidedly the first time you asked me. Be all ready to go by this day week, you have not much sewing to do. Good-bye, once more, my girls; be careful of the lights, take good care of yourselves and do not get sick. Write to Jean to-morrow, a nice long letter and tell her everything. Good-bye."
So she went away again, and nothing discouraged at her inability to secure Olive's dress, Ernestine danced gayly into the house and off to her room, to overlook, for the dozenth time, her little collection of trinkets, and to sing blithely over her dresses; for she did possess the spirit of coming down cheerfully to any thing inevitable excepting work, and then, perhaps, mama would relent at the final moment, when she saw how much a black dress was really needed.
"It's as lonesome as a desert, and Ernestine is selfish as a pig," declared Kittie, subsiding gloomily on to the stairs as the hack rattled out of sight.
"Two solemn facts, but they won't wash the dishes," rejoined Kat, balancing over the bannisters, in a way that threatened immediate perpendicularity, with a change of base from what was customary.
"I hate dishes and dish-pans and everything," exclaimed Kittie with much vehemence. "Any how, this is your week to wash, and mine to wipe; go along and get the old things ready, and I'll be out in a minute."
"I'll change with you next week," said Beatrice turning from the door, where she had stood contemplatively. "You and Kat may tend to all the sweeping, and dusting, and keeping the house in order, and I'll do the kitchen work."
"Hurrah, will you?" cried Kittie, flying up from her despondent attitude. "You're a jewel, Bea, shake hands."
Bea surrendered her hand with some misgiving, rightfully conjecturing that it would receive a shake and twist of over-powering heartiness in the high tide of Kittie's spirits; and that young lady, having done her best to dislocate that useful member, rushed off to impart the news to Kat, and swing her dish rag jubilantly.