“Oh, my!” gasped Bobbie. “Red and yellow. That’s how the sun looks when it’s goin’ down, ain’t it? And green’s like the grass, eh?”
“Just the same,” replied Jinnie, laughing.
“It’s a beauty,” supplemented Lafe, glowing with tenderness. “There won’t be a dress at that party that’ll beat it.”
Mrs. Grandoken shook out the voluminous folds of lace.
“Anybody’d think to hear you folks talk that you’d made these rag tags with your toe nails,” she observed dryly. “The smacking of some folks’ lips over sugar they don’t earn makes me tired! Laws me!... Now I’ll try it on you, Jinnie,” she ended.
Jinnie turned around and around with slow precision as Mrs. Grandoken ascertained the correct hanging of the skirt. When the last stitches had been put in, and the dress lay in all its gorgeous splendor across the chair, Peg coughed awkwardly and spoke of shoes.
“You can’t wear them cowhides with lace,” said she.
“I might make a pair if I had a day and the stuff,” suggested Lafe, looking around helplessly.
“Ain’t time,” replied Peg. And of course it was she who gave Jinnie some money taken from a small bag around her neck and ordered her to the shop for shoes.
“She ought to have a fiddle box,” Lafe suggested.