“Kristy,” said her mother quietly, “you remind me of a girl I knew when I was young.”
“What about her?” asked Kristy rather sulkily.
“Why, she had a disappointment something like yours, only it wasn’t the weather, but her own carelessness, that caused it. She cried and made a great fuss about it, but before night she was very glad it had happened.”
“She must have been a very queer girl,” said Kristy.
“She was much such a girl as you, Kristy; and the reason she was glad was because her loss was the cause of her having a far greater pleasure.”
“Tell me about it,” said Kristy, interested at once, and leaving the window.
“Well, she was dressed for a party at the house of one of her friends, and as she ran down the walk to join the girls in the hay-wagon that was to take them all there, her dress caught on something and tore a great rent clear across the front breadth.”
“Well; couldn’t she put on another?” asked Kristy.
“Girls didn’t have many dresses in those days, and that was a new one made on purpose for the occasion. She had no other that she would wear.”