“Is mother willing? What will you wear?” was the essentially feminine inquiry which proved that Eleanor, even though absorbed in her sciences and isms, was a woman at heart.
“What is the use of asking that? You know I’ve got to wear whatever is on hand to be utilized into gay and festive attire. I can’t indulge in new frocks now-a-days when the finances are at such a low ebb. Need all we’ve got for necessities without thinking of spending money for notions. But I’ll blossom out gloriously; see if I don’t. That was one reason I came up to talk to you. Can you tear yourself away from your messes long enough to come up to the attic with me? I’ve been wanting to rummage for days, but haven’t been able to get around to it. So tidy up, and come along. You’ve absorbed enough knowledge to last you for one while.”
Eleanor wavered a moment and then began to put aside her materials, and a few moments later the two girls were up in the attic.
“Do you know what I believe I’ll do?” said Constance, after a half hour’s rummaging among several trunks had brought forth a perplexing array of old finery, winter garments and outgrown apparel. “I believe I’ll just cart down every solitary dud we’ve got here and have them all aired. I heard mother say last week that they ought to be, and she would have it done the first clear, dry day, and this one is simply heavenly. Come on; take an armful and get busy. They smell almost as abominably from tar camphor as your laboratory smells of chemicals.”
“Think I’d rather have the chemicals if my choice were consulted,” laughed Eleanor as obedient to instructions, she gathered up an armful of clothing and prepared to descend the stairs.
“Thanks, I’ll take the tar. Go on; I’ll follow.”
Little was to be seen of either girl as she moved slowly down the stairs. At the foot stood Mammy.
“Fo’ de Lawd sake wha’ yo’ chillen at now?” she demanded as she stood barring their progress.
“Bringing out our winter wardrobes, Mammy. Good deal of it as to quantity; what it will turn out as to quality remains to be seen,” cried Constance cheerily.
“Lak’ ’nough mos’ anyt’ing if yo’ had de handlin’ ob it. Yo’ sartin’ is de banginest chile wid yo’ han’s,” was Mammy’s flattering reply.