ye. When Martha Spriggs came to take her
place she would have her regular wages. Were hired helpers the only ones
whose labour was deemed worthy of reward? Dresses and hats and boots and
gloves. Absolute essentials with a vengeance, and ten dollars to cover
the whole!

'You can have Abraham Lincoln and the spring waggon this afternoon, if
you want to go to the village for your gewgaws.'

'Very well, father.'

'I don't suppose you'll rest easy till you've made the dollars fly.
That's the way with girls, eh? As long as they can have a lot of flimsy
laces and ribbons and flowers they're as happy as birds. Well, well,
young folks must have their fling, I suppose. I hope you'll enjoy your
shopping, my dear,' and Mr Harding started for the barn, serene in the
consciousness that he had made his daughter happy in the ability to
purchase an unlimited supply of the unnecessary things which girls
delight in.

'You are a grateful piece, I must say!' remarked her step-mother, as she
administered some catnip tea to the whining Polly. 'I haven't seen the
colour of a ten-dollar bill in as many years, and you put it in your
pocket as cool as a cucumber, and go about looking as glum as a
herring. Who's going to do the clothes, I'd like to know? I can't lay
this child out of my arms for a minute. I believe she's sickening for a
fever, and then perhaps your fine relations won't be so anxious to see
you coming. For my part, I wouldn't be in such a hurry to knuckle to
people who waited seventeen years to find whether I was in the land of
the living before they said, "How d'ye do." But then I always was
proud-spirited. I despise meachin' folks.'

'I guess I can get most of the ironing done this morning, if you'll see
to the dinner,' said Pauline, as she put the irons on the stove and went
into another room for the heavy basket of folded clothes.

Dresses and hats and boots and gloves! The words kept recurring to her
inner consciousness with a persistent regularity. She wondered what
girls felt like who could buy what they did not need. She thought it
must be like Heaven, but not Deacon Croaker's kind; that looked less
attractive than ever this morning.

As she passed Mrs Harding's chair Polly put up her hands to be taken,
but her mother caught her back.

'No, no, Pawliney hasn't got any more use for plain folks, Polly. She's
going to do herself proud shoppin', so she can go to Boston and strut
about like a frilled peacock. You'll ha