CHAPTER XXV.
MATTIE’S NEW DRESS.
The remainder of the week passed harmlessly and without any special event to mark it, and, thanks to Nan’s skilful management and Phillis’s pride, there were no further contretemps to shock Mrs. Challoner’s sense of propriety. The work progressed with astonishing rapidity: in the mornings the young dressmakers were sufficiently brisk and full of zeal, and in the afternoons, when their energies flagged and their fingers grew weary, Dulce would sing over her task, or Mrs. Challoner would read to them for the hour together; but, notwithstanding the interest of the tale, there was always great alacrity manifested when the tea-bell gave them the excuse for putting away their work.
On one or two evenings they gardened, and Mrs. Challoner sat under the mulberry-tree and watched them; on another occasion they took a long country walk, and lost themselves, and came back merry and tired, and laden with primrose-roots and ferns: they had met no one, except a stray laborer,—had seen glow-worms, picked wild flowers, and declared themselves 182 mightily refreshed. One evening Phillis, who was not to be repressed, contrived a new amusement.
“Life is either a mill-pond or a whirlpool,” she said, rather sententiously: “we have been stagnant for three days, and I begin to feel flat. Races are tabooed: besides, we cannot always leave mother alone. I propose we go out in the garden and have a game of battledore and shuttlecock;” for this had been a winter pastime with them at the cottage.
Nan, who was always rather sober-minded now, demurred to this. She would have preferred gardening a little, or sitting quietly with her mother under the mulberry-tree; but Phillis, who was in a wild mood, overruled all her objections, and by and by the battle began, and the shuttlecocks flew through the air.
The week’s work was finished, and the three dresses lay in their wrappers, waiting for Dorothy to convey them to their several owners. Nan who was really an artiste at heart, had called her mother proudly into the room to admire the result of their labors. Mrs. Challoner was far too accustomed to her daughter’s skilfulness to testify any surprise, but she at once pronounced Miss Drummond’s dress the chef-d’œuvre. Nan’s taste was faultless; and the trimmings she had selected harmonized so well with the soft tints of the silk.
“They are all very nice; and Mrs. Trimmings will be charmed with her blue silk,” observed Mrs. Challoner, trying to throw a little interest into her voice, and to suppress a sigh; and then she helped Nan to adjust the wrappers, and to pin the neatly-written bills inside each.