“They are hard to keep clean. But the nice families always make their children wear white, I notice. I don’t see why black wouldn’t look just as well with black shoes—especially for school.”
“Grace Dart has two clean pairs every day. Did you wear white stockings when you were a little girl, Alice?”
“In summer—in winter we had heavy knitted ones, red and white or blue and white striped. Mother used to knit them.”
“Did your mother die when you were a weenty girl?”
“No, I was fifteen when she went. Father died five years before. It was grieving about him, and the hard work and going hungry that killed Mother before her time. She’d be living now if we’d had our rights.”
Chicken Little puckered her brow for a moment trying to think this out.
“What was the matter with the rights? Did somebody take them?”
Alice laughed till she showed her dimples.
“You funny dear! Yes, took them away from us. I am afraid I can’t make you understand, Jane. It was our property—money and this house and some bank stock that we lost. My father went to the war and left all his business in the hands of his partner, a man named Gassett. Father fought in the war two years till he was badly wounded and had to come home. Some day I’ll show you a piece of a Confederate flag he helped capture. He was never himself again and Mr. Gassett ran everything. Father said just before he died that he was thankful he at least had the home and some bank stock to leave us—but he didn’t have even that it seems. We couldn’t find any bank stock certificates and Mr. Gassett had a big mortgage on the house—so he got it, too. Mother said she was sure Father had paid off that mortgage two years after he went into partnership with Gassett—but, pshaw, you can’t understand all this!”
“I can, too, I’m very quick. I heard Mother tell Mrs. Halford so and she said I had the strongest will she ever saw in a child!” Chicken Little was indignant.