They were all in the sitting-room. Matilda Ann was trimming a bonnet to wear to the concert which was to take place that very evening in the Town-hall, and the roses did look so pretty that Hetty wished she was grown up enough to have some one come for her in a brand-new buggy, and take her to a concert; but where was the use of wishing? Every one told her she must not be too childish, and then every one said she mustn't think herself a young woman, and want long gowns and trains, and big braids and puffs—that there was "time enough yet." She wondered what "time enough" meant. It seemed to her as if it must be the time of freedom, and certainly that was a long way off.
Jane was sewing strips of woollen cloth together for the big balls that were to make carpet, and their mother was darning stockings, and they were all talking about the school-teacher who had lately come to the little brown house next to the district school. Jane said she was "hity-tity," mother said she didn't like to see so many furbelows, and Matilda Ann criticised her manner of wearing her hair; so Hetty ventured to say, "I don't think it matters much what she wears, or how she looks, if she can teach the children."
"Yes," said the mother, "it does matter; for children, need a good example."
"Of course she ought to be neat," said Hetty.
"Yes, and simple, and not be sticking on jewelry every day."
"For that matter, Aunt Maria says people in the city wear diamonds when they go to market."
"That does not make it any more sensible; fools are to be found everywhere."
"But, mother, Miss Martin isn't a fool; she is very nice. I think you would like her."
"Perhaps so," said the mother, somewhat doubtfully; adding: "She had on a flounced skirt the last time I saw her. It takes a great deal of time to do them up nicely. Only rich folk ought to wear them."
"Suppose some one gave her her fine clothes?" said Hetty.