“What do you think her mother 'll say when she sees that dress?” she asked.
It was Emily's best gown, the finest of the new “rig out” prepared by Miss Taylor. The girl and Captain Cy gazed ruefully at the rents and pitch stains made by the vines and pine trees.
“Well, you see,” replied the abashed captain, “the fact is, she ain't got any mother.”
“Oh! I beg your pardon. And hers, too, poor dear. Well, if I were you I shouldn't go to sleep next time I took her walking. Good afternoon.”
She turned and calmly walked down the path. At the bend she spoke again.
“I should be gentle with her, if I were you,” she said. “Her nerves are pretty well upset. Besides, if you'll excuse my saying so, I don't think she is the one that needs scolding.”
They thought she had gone, but she turned once more to add a final suggestion.
“I think that dress could be fixed,” she said, “if you took it to some one who knew about such things.”
She disappeared amidst the graveyard shrubbery. Captain Cy and Bos'n slowly followed her. From the pasture the red and white cow sent after them a broken-spirited “Moo!”
Bos'n was highly indignant. During the homeward walk she sputtered like a damp firecracker.