“Not there, Marston,” and Mrs. Harlan called me to her own room. “Here are a few things that I intended for you before examination. It will be a good time to wear them this evening, however, and you may try them on at once; I am impatient to see if they fit.”
My hand trembled as I took them, and my voice still more.
“Do not be afraid to wear them, you have fairly earned them. Mr. Harlan told me that he owed them to you.”
They were a nice spring suit of light grey cloth. I could not stop to half thank her, but hastened into my own room, and slipping into them, gave one look into the little mirror, and then down stairs, under Mrs. Harlan’s kindly review, and then out to Harry.
“Why, Marston, what’s the matter? You are actually crying.”
“It was all so unexpected,” I murmured, dropping into my seat.
“They are not a bit too good for you; I was with her when she ordered them. The tailor measured me instead of you; that’s the reason they fit so nicely. I told Mrs. Harlan you could wear my clothes. But come, cheer up; don’t let a nice suit of clothes spoil your eyes. We shall have lots to see.”
Impatient as I was to see Jennie, the ride seemed short; and when we drove up to Miss Grimshaw’s little white gate, I thought I had never seen a picture half so beautiful. It was a soft spring day, the parlor windows open, and the white muslin curtains fluttering in the breeze. The breath of the lilacs perfumed the air, and the tulips were budding into beauty. Miss Grimshaw had moved her shop to a larger building, and we walked up the yard and were looking through the half-open door, when grandma spied us, and came forward, leaning on her staff.
“Why, Marston, is that you? I am so glad to see you. How you have grown, child.”
“And this is Harry Gilmore,” I answered, till then forgetting to introduce my companion.