“I have had a windfall, children,” the letter read, “through the kindness of Mr. Stuart. He told me that some of my old stock that I thought of no value was paying a dividend again. Curiously, your Uncle Ralph had not mentioned it to me; but, when I wrote and told him of Mr. Stuart’s advice, he sent it to me at once. So here’s a little spending money. And oh, my darlings, I hope you will like your new clothes! Mr. Stuart is so kind to me, I am not lonely,” the letter ended, “so have the best time you possibly can. I shall send your trunk to-morrow with your summer muslins and underwear.”
“Mollie mine, don’t tear the paper in that fashion,” remonstrated Barbara. “Let me open the box. Behold and see!” She held up two dainty organdie frocks, delicate and airy. Mollie’s gown was white, with little butterfly medallions of embroidery and lace sprinkled over it.
“Mollie, Mollie! How could mother have guessed your new name was ‘the butterfly girl’? Isn’t it too lovely!” Bab almost forgot to look at her own frock, so enraptured was she with her sister’s.
But Barbara’s frock was just as charming, and as well suited to her. A circle of pink wild roses outlined the hem and encircled the yoke, which was of delicate pink tulle.
Mollie was rummaging with impatient fingers. “Party capes, I do declare—the very newest style! I never reached the point of expecting capes even in my wildest dreams. See, yours is all white, and mine has a pale blue lining with a dear little ‘blue riding hood cap.’ Oh, won’t I be charming?” murmured Mollie, putting the cape over her shoulders and pirouetting before the mirror. “Surely no sensible wolf would want to eat me up!”
Two light flannel suits, one of cream color for Bab, and a pin-stripe of blue and white for Mollie, completed the glories of the box.
“Now,” said Bab, “what more can we want, for tennis, for rowing, for yachting, for driving? Are there any more entertainments that the rich enjoy, Mollie? Because, if there are, I should like to mention them.”
Oh, the girls will all declare,
When they see me on the square—
Here comes a millionaire,
Mollie darling!
“What do you think of that for poetry made while you wait? You don’t half appreciate my talents, Miss Mollie Thurston,” ended Bab, with a final hug.
“Hurry, children,” called Miss Sallie, appearing at their door. “You know we are to meet Mrs. Cartwright at the Casino to-night. She wants to introduce us to the place where a large part of Newport’s gayety occurs.”