"It's all faded and ugly," grumbled Jennie. "I don't see why I can't be dressed as nice as other folks."
"That means you want to be dressed like little Miss Bradfords," answered Mrs. Granby. "And the reason why you ain't is because your folks can't afford it, my dearie. Don't you think your mother and me would like to see you rigged out like them, if we had the way to do it? To be sure we would. But you see we can't do more than keep you clean and whole; so there's no use wishin'."
Jennie said no more, but submitted to have the old dress put on; but the pleasant look did not come back to her face.
Anything like sulkiness or ill-temper from Jennie was so unusual that the other children listened in surprise; but her mother saw very plainly what was the matter, and hoping it would wear off, thought it best to take no notice of it at present.
The dress fastened, Jennie went slowly and unwillingly about her task of putting away her own and her brother's clothes; not doing so in her usual neat and orderly manner but folding them carelessly and tumbling them into the drawers in a very heedless fashion. Mrs. Granby saw this, but she, too, let it pass, thinking she would put things to rights when Jennie was in bed.
Pretty soon Tommy came to Mrs. Granby with some long story told in the curious jargon of which she could not understand one word.
"What does he say, Jennie?" she asked.
"I don't know," answered Jennie, crossly. "I sha'n't be troubled to talk for him all the time. He is big enough to talk for himself, and he just may do it."
"Jennie, Jennie," said her mother, in a grieved tone.