Only for one moment had Mona thoughts of referring her to the nearest clergyman. Then she realised the situation.
"Oh!" she said. This was still a heavy responsibility. "Do you know exactly what you want, or would you like to see what we can suggest?"
"I'd like tae see what ye've got."
"Is the hat for week-days or for Sundays?"
"For the Sabbath. Miss Simpson had some big red roses in the window a while back. I thocht ane or twa o' them wad gang vera weel wi' this feather."
Mona took the small paper parcel in her hand, and gave her attention as completely to its contents as she had ever done to a microscopic section. It had been an ostrich-feather at some period of its existence, but it bore more resemblance to a herring-bone now.
"Yes," she said tentatively. "The feather would have to be done up. But don't you think it is rather a pity to have both flowers and feathers in one hat?"
The girl looked aghast. This was heresy indeed.
"The feather's gey thin by itsel'," she said, "but if it was half covered up wi' the flowers, it'd look more dressed like."
Mona looked at the feather, then at the girl, and then she relapsed into profound meditation.