Annette appeared at morning service on Sunday in one of her most striking frocks. The attention of good Mr. Middler’s parishioners was sadly distraught by the newcomer. It was quite impossible for feminine eyes to keep from turning in the direction of Miss Bowman’s seat during the sermon.
She did not come unattended, but it was not her brother who walked up the aisle with her just as the bell stopped tolling. The school teacher was her companion and, noticeably red about the ears, he handed her into the Beasely pew where he usually sat himself.
Nelson Haley’s presence as the city girl’s cavalier produced a distinct shock throughout the congregation. The comment of uplifted eyebrow, questioning smile, and—in some cases—the pronounced sniff, swept over the pews like wind over a wheat-field, as the people settled themselves in preparation for the sermon.
Elder Concannon, from the amen corner, glared in horrified amazement at the city girl and her escort. He had not felt very friendly toward Nelson Haley since the building of the new schoolhouse, and his comment after service was particularly bitter in judgment upon the teacher.
“What more could ye expect of a young man that runs after all sorts of folderols? Woe unto the foolish women! But how about the foolish men that follow after them?”
That last was applicable to a goodly number of the younger male portion of the congregation that day; for they literally followed in the wake of the city girl and Haley as the couple strolled down High Street to the Inn.
Boys of Marty Day’s age nudged each other and giggled to see the funny, beruffled skirt flopping about Annette’s shoe-tops; the older boys secretly envied the school teacher his opportunity of knowing this strange girl well enough to walk home from church with her.
The girls and their mothers gathered in groups after service to discuss Annette’s costume. A few pretended to scorn the innovation of ultra-fashionable apparel in Polktown; but most of the younger ladies were already planning new frocks and furbelows.
Old Mrs. Scattergood, who was always outspoken on every subject, declared flatly that she considered Polktown needed to be awakened in the matter of dress.
“I declare for’t!” she said, “there ain’t a town of its size in these Green Mountains that holds a bigger crowd of frumps than we be. I own up I’ve had Miz’ Link make my bonnet in one style, spring and fall, since I came from Skunk’s Holler, endurin’ two year now. It’s a livin’ truth that the women of the Holler and of Popham Landin’ are far ahead of us when it comes to style. We wait ev’ry spring for Miz’ Marvin Petrie to come from Boston with her idees of style—an’ then we copy her like the lot of copy-cats we be! I’m a-goin’ to have me a gown that’s up-to-date for oncet, if it’s the last act of my life!”