Frieda, leaving speculation to Hannah, was taking the pretty garments out, one by one.
“Here is another dress!” she exclaimed. “A pink one. O, Hannah, you would look so pretty in this!” She held it up, quaint in style as the other, with a little train, flowered silk over a straight front panel of plain pink, tight sleeves with a little puff at the shoulder.
143“I wonder–Do you suppose we dare try them on? They look almost big enough.”
“Of course, we dare. Miss Lyndesay told us to do what we liked and she had peeped into this trunk, so she knew what was in it. We will be as careful as careful can be.”
They piled their arms with the delicate old fabrics and carried them down to their own room where they proceeded to dress up. It was not an easy process, for they dared not tug too hard, and Millicent had been slenderer than they, though quite as tall. The little slippers defied them, and the necklace of pearls they did not touch. “I think her husband gave her that, and no one else should ever wear it,” said Hannah, and Frieda agreed.
By the time they had finished dressing, they were flushed and rosy. They stole out into the hall and peered over the banisters to see if the caller showed signs of departure. Miss Lyndesay was just closing the door upon her. As she turned back, she heard steps on the stairs and, looking up, saw a sight she loved always afterward to remember. Two little Old World ladies, one in white and brocade, the other in flowered pink satin, came down the winding stairs, their eyes bright with excitement, their hair rough, and the big blue hair-ribbons, which they had quite forgotten to remove, showing incongruously above their minuet gowns.
144“O you pretty children!” cried Miss Lyndesay. “Millicent herself wasn’t sweeter, I’m sure, when the Bishop married her off to John. Why didn’t you bring the doll?”
“We were afraid we’d drop her,” said Hannah, stepping to the floor. “There! I’m glad I’m safely down. You can’t think what awkward skirts these are to walk in. O!”
For as she turned, Frieda stepped on her train, and with shrieks both fell to the floor, splitting their hundred-year-old seams.
Miss Lyndesay helped them up, laughing at their rueful faces, and kissing away the tears that would come at the sight of the havoc they had wrought.