But Louise took Petrea's gauze-dress secretly in hand, and sate up over it till midnight, and adorned it so with her own ribbons and lace that it was more presentable than it had ever been before.
Petrea kissed her skilful hands for all that they had done. Eva—yet we will, for the present, keep silent on her arrangements.
But dost thou know, oh, reader!—yes, certainly thou dost!—the zephyrs which call forth spring in the land of the soul—which call forth flowers, and make the air pure and delicious? Certainly thou knowest them—the little easy, quiet, unpretending, almost invisible, and yet powerful—in one word, human kindnesses.
Since these have taken up their abode in the Franks' family we see nothing that can prevent a general joyful party of pleasure. But yes!—it is true—
PETREA'S NOSE!
This was, as we have often remarked, large and somewhat clumsy. Petrea had great desire to unform it, particularly for the approaching festivities.
"What have you done to your nose? What is amiss with your nose?" were the questions which assailed Petrea on all sides, as she came down to breakfast on the morning of the journey.
Half laughing and half crying, Petrea related how she had made use of some innocent machinery during the night, by which she had hoped somewhat to alter the form of this offending feature, the consequence of which had unfortunately been the fixing a fiery red saddle across it, and a considerable swelling beside.
"Don't cry, my dear girl," said her mother, bathing it with oatmeal-water, "it will only inflame your nose the more."
"Ah," burst forth poor Petrea, "anybody is really unfortunate who has such a nose as mine! What in the world can they do with it? They must go into a convent."