And now at last I was in things. I could still feel the touch of the white slip which had been put into my hand only that afternoon; and I turned over in my bed on my other side and prayed with even more fervor.
'O Lord, please help my mother to get me a new dress.'
He did. A week later my mother went to town. She brought back white Persian lawn, the softest, sheerest stuff I had ever felt. I could see the pink of my skin through it when I laid it over my hand.
'I’m going to have a new dress for the entertainment,' I told Luella on my way to rehearsal. 'Are you?'
'Why, of course. I always do. Mine’s going to have five rows of lace insertion in the skirt and tiny tucks too.'
'Mine’s to have tucks, but it won’t have but one row of lace in the skirt. Mother says little girls' dresses don’t need much lace.'
'I like lots of lace,' said Luella; but her tone of finality did not disturb my happiness. I was disturbed only when, at another rehearsal, Luella told me that her mother was making a blue-silk slip to wear under her white dress. Almost everyone wore slips when they spoke pieces.
I gave my mother this information.
'Isn’t the white dress pretty enough, Martha?'
I fingered the soft material she was sewing. 'It’s beautiful,' I said, hiding my face in her neck. Then I whispered, 'I don’t mind if Luella has a slip, mother.'