"What?" Matilda asked.
"All of it. To see the people. They are all sorts, you know, and so funny. There are two Irish women,—very likely they have come in from the shanties near the Central Park, to buy some calico dresses. Look at them!—ten cent calicoes, and they are asking the shopman, I dare say, if they can't have that one for nine. I suppose the calicoes are made for them. No, there is somebody else wanting one. She's from the country."
"How do you know?"
"Easy enough. See how she has got her hands folded over each other; nobody does that but somebody that has come from the country. See her hat, too; that's a country hat. If you could see her feet, you would see that she has great thick country shoes."
Judy's eye as she spoke glanced down again at the floor where Matilda's feet stood; and it seemed to Matilda that the very leather of her boots could feel the look. They were country boots. Did Judy mean, that?
"There's another country woman," the young lady went on. "See?—this one in a velvet cloak. That's a cotton velvet, though."
"But how can you tell she's from the country?"
"She's all corners!" said Judith. "Her cloak was made by a carpenter, and her head looks as if it was made by a mason. If you could see her open her mouth, I've no doubt you would find that it is square. There!—here!—how would you like a cloak like this one?"
The two were looking at a child who passed them just then, in a velvet cloak stiff with gimp and bugle embroidery.
"I don't think it is pretty," said Matilda.