At a signal from the chair that her time was up, Mrs. Wistar sat down, and in compliance with a previous understanding between Mrs. Jones, Mrs, Cumming and Mrs. Gwinne Tuttle, Mrs. Tuttle arose, resplendent, as becomes a leader, in purple silk and train, nature having provided the bustle, and purple and green grapes combined with a modest crop of seckel pears upon her bonnet. She arose and moved that the body of women present organize themselves into a club for purposes to be set forth following organization.
Seconded by Mrs. Sally Jones Sampson, and also by Mrs. Gwinne Tuttle herself, in a loud voice, she being on ground new to her, it was put to the vote without remark, Mrs. Jones failing to recall she ought to ask for any; and unanimously adopted.
"And the name of this club, ladies?" from Mrs. Jones in the chair.
"Perhaps the name will better follow after we determine the club's purposes?" from Mrs. Harrison on her feet for the moment, lovely and smiling in grenadine, bustle, and bonnet garniture of small oranges.
"Music," called pretty Mrs. Caldwell in a checked silk, bustle and huckleberries.
"Literature," from Mrs. Carter, she of the pink raspberries.
"Art," from Mrs. Williams, recovered, with a reviving nod of her gooseberries.
"Or," from little Mrs. Wistar impressively arising—surely this lady had belonged to the ranks of the retiring and deprecating only because the way had never opened to her to be elsewhere! "Or may we not include all of these suggestions, and say music, art and literature?"
A newcomer, late in arriving, stood up, in a wool street dress, plain but perfectly decent and genteel, though lacking a bustle. It was Miss Emma McRanney, in a plain straw hat, poor, working creature, large of feature, thick-set and good-humored.