Fanny. Well! I was a little better off. I sat half the time making fun of all the shabby cloaks and umbrellas that turned out in the rain. There was Mr. Skimmer went by every day with a cotton umbrella; and Mr. Saveals with an old faded silk one, three of the whalebones started out on one side, as if he wanted to poke people’s eyes out, and a great slit to let the rain through:—both of them misers, I know! And there was Miss Goodbody! she goes to see sick poor folks in all weathers, and won’t take a carriage, though she can afford it, because she says that would be ridiculous. I wish you had seen her come paddling through the wet! such shoes, and such stockings! I do think it is unladylike. Then, when everything else failed to amuse me, there were our neighbors opposite to be speculated upon.
Susan. Ah! Laura Busy lives just across the street, I believe?
Fanny. Yes, and there she sat at the window, on purpose to be seen, stitching away, and reading, and setting herself up as a pattern to the whole neighborhood.
Susan. I would not have such a strict mother as she has for all the world. I don’t believe she enjoys her vacation at all.
Fanny. I dare say it is her mother that keeps her at it so close. I should think she was bringing her up to be a seamstress; and yet, considering that everybody knows Mr. Busy is not rich, they dress Laura extravagantly. Did you see that beautiful French calico she wore on examination day?
Susan. Yes, I saw it across the room, and thought I would go over and look at it, but couldn’t take the trouble.
Fanny. Why, how you do gape, Susan!
Susan. I know it; mother says I have a terrible trick of gaping. But I do get so tired.
Fanny. Tired of what?
Susan. I don’t know; I am tired of the vacation, I believe: and before the term was over I was wishing so for it! I was tired to death of school, and dare say I shall be so again in a fortnight.