She brought the shirts over to the table where the candle stood. She regarded them with surprise and admiration.
“Bless my life, they're nice,” she said, “not a yaller spot on them.”
A moment she stood in rapt appreciation of the beautiful, snowy linen. Then she caught up one of the shirts and spread the neckband with her fingers.
“Well! Upon my soul!” she said. “Upon my soul!”
She held the shirt up and measured it from shoulder to shoulder, and from the neckband to the wrist.
“Why, they'll fit him! They'll fit him just as good as if they'd been made for him. If that don't beat all! Your pap was over six feet, and long armed. Now, how in the name of common sense did your grandma ever make such a mistake? It ain't like your grandma—she always sewed by pinnin' and measurin'.”
The little girl was not listening. She had gone out onto the mill porch. She now spoke, but not in reply to these exclamations.
“There are lights up at the schoolhouse, Mother.”
The woman, still under her surprise, replied without looking up.
“I reckon the Teacher's cleanin' the schoolhouse.”