“Oh, she was dust and ashes long ago. She don’t mind,” she said, “and as the dress is now mine I want it as I like. So cut the lace here and here.”
Sherry hesitated a moment, and then her scissors slashed through the expensive material, which had cost a fabulous sum and been the wonder and admiration of the neighborhood. It was a hard day for Sherry, working on the old dresses and listening to the talk in which she could take no part. She was for the time being only a seamstress, whose duty was to be silent. The young ladies were well-bred and kind-hearted, and would not willingly injure the feelings of any one, but reared as they had been they felt there was an immeasurable distance between themselves and the girl who sat all day long in their midst, unnoticed except when wanted for advice or for some change in the dresses. She was very pretty, they thought, and very ladylike, and certainly understood her business.
“You must have worked in a dressmaking establishment, you are so deft with your needle and have such good taste,” one of them said to her, and she replied:
“I have made my own dresses, with my sister’s help.”
Amy, who had felt a good deal puzzled by Sherry, now began to question her.
“You have a sister?”
“Yes.”
“And a mother?”
“Yes.”
“Is your father living?”