"I wonder if you would mind—Aunt Azraella, might I have them?" said Wythie, with desperate courage—it was nearly impossible for her to ask for anything.
"You, Oswyth! What on earth could you do with them? You can't mean to get your mother to dye them for curtains for your house? You don't need curtains," said Mrs. Winslow.
"I don't want them for curtains, Aunt Azraella; I want them for winter coats," said Wythie, more boldly, now that the first plunge was made. "Rob and I are too shabby to go out when there's a moon—not to mention sun. And Mardy could dye this material, and it would be warm and pretty. If you don't need them, aunt, they would really do us a lot of good—we would make the coats, you know."
Mrs. Winslow stared wonderingly, then she gleamed approval at Wythie, though she felt called upon to conceal it. "There are thirty-six yards here, fifty-four inches wide; do you think you need so much? And it seems a pity to divide it," she said.
"Oh, no; I've no idea what it would take, but not that—still, they would have to be lined, and Mardy could dye half another color, and line with the same," stammered Wythie. "I didn't think you'd care, but if you do I'm sorry I spoke—I did not mean to ask for anything you wanted."
Having reduced Wythie to the properly humble frame of mind, Mrs. Winslow relented. "I did not say I wanted them, Oswyth," she said. "Thank goodness, your uncle, my husband, left me enough, besides all I had from my father; he was a thrifty man, and a good business-man, your Uncle Horace. I don't need old curtains, I hope. You may take a pair home—if you can carry them—and ask your mother if they can be used as you think, and how many she needs—you may have all you want of them. I'm glad to see you practical and managing; you've got the Winslow faculty, and aren't a Grey, as I'm afraid Roberta is. I'll get you paper and twine. Go across the orchard, Oswyth; don't let folks see you taking my curtains home. Can you carry them?"
"I'll carry them, aunt; never fear, and I'll not let a soul but ourselves know where we got our splendid winter coats," cried Wythie, gleefully. And in the exuberance of her pleasure she actually kissed her aunt with an affection that really belonged to the new coats, but which surprised and pleased Aunt Azraella as if it had been her own—as indeed she thought it was.
She let Wythie out of the door in a high state of satisfaction in her own generosity which had made the girl so happy, and watched her run down the hill with a speed her heavy bundle could not at first retard. But she had to go slower at the foot of the hill; only by repeatedly sitting down on her treasure to rest, and by dragging and tugging it with both hands between halts, did she succeed in reaching the door of the little grey house.
Roberta saw her coming, and had the door open as Wythie laid her heavy burden on the steps. "What in all the wide world have you there, Wythie?" cried Rob.