“Gingham?” Shug whirled about with a snarl. “What air you talkin’ about, gal?”
Selina Jo’s heart sank. “I ain’t never had nary one,” she offered placatingly. “An’——”
“Ner ain’t never li’ble to, neether. Homespun’s good enough fer yore pore maw an’ it’ll hatter be good enough fer you. I ain’t goin’ to be workin’ myse’f to skin an’ bone to be fittin’ out no young ’un in fancy riggin’s.”
“But, Paw, it don’t cost much.”
“It costes just that much more ’n you’re goin’ to git. Shet up!”
It was then that Selina Jo unfolded her plan. “I’m goin’ to git me that air dress,” she announced dispassionately. “I’m aimin’ to pay fer it myse’f, too.”
“How?”
“Yearnin’ the money at public work.”
“You?” Shug snorted derisively. “Whare’ll you git any public work?”
“In Pruitt’s turkentime orchard. They’s a heap o’ the work I kin do. I could do scrapin’ er dippin’; reckin I could even do hackin’.”