"We couldn't quite decide about my hat. Liza thinks I ought to wear my straw one to keep the sun off, because my parasol is not very big, you know; but I like my new linen one best, because Mother made it. Anything she makes is so much nicer than what she buys in the stores. Seven-year-old things are too large, and sixes are too small; but she always makes things just exactly right; and she doesn't say, 'You don't mean to tell me that child is seven years old!' Mother put a big blue bow on my white parasol to match the one on the hat, and I would so like to show both of them to Aunt Mary. Sometimes, I am almost certain that she is laughing to herself when I tell her that Mother made this or that; and I am sure I can't see why."
"You could, pet, if your memory would carry you back to the days of Mother's first attempts at sewing," laughed the Doctor. "She married young—just after she had finished school. Our parents died when she and I were quite small. Aunt Mary was our big sister, and looked after us and things in general. She thought that Mother had enough to do with her studies and music, so did not try to teach her sewing and other very useful things. Mother should have saved the first little frocks she made for you; and you would see that Aunt Mary has good reason to laugh, not at the pretty things Mother makes now, but at those which they remind her of. So by all means, wear the linen hat. It will be cooler and lighter on your head; and as Aunt Mary will send the wagonette to the station, you will not be exposed to the sun. Liza will take a large parasol to shade both of you while you are driving to the ferry."
Mary was glad when the warm, dusty ride on the train came to an end.
"There is the wagonette, Liza, and Aunt Mary has let all the girls who are staying at the convent for vacation come to meet us. Oh, I don't see how they can stay away from their fathers and mothers like that!"
"I reckon dey has to, honey. 'Tain't ebery li'l gal has a home lak yo' has. Dey cud be in a lots wuss place dan May-reevale, whar dey has de Sistahs tekin' keer ob dem an' plenty ob room fo' to play outdoahs an' all sech lak."
The little girl was warmly greeted by her friends.
"Guess the grand s'prise I had this morning," she said as she and Liza took their places in the wagonette.
"Why, your beautiful new doll, of course," cried the children, gazing with longing eyes at Annette, whom Mary had brought with her.
"Oh, no, not Annette. Uncle brought her to me yesterday. Would you like to hold her, Effie? The s'prise I mean is a million times grander."
"A—a pony!" ventured one little girl, thinking wistfully of her own pet in distant Texas.