then black and then worn out. There was an old adage to the effect that
one never could get rich until one's wedding clothes were worn out.

"It's spotted some, I find--just a faint kind of yellow, but that may
cut out. I never had any good of it," and she sighed. "It isn't what you
might call gay; but, land alive! I might as well have bought bright red!
There's plenty of it to make over. They weren't wearing such skimping
skirts then, and I had an extra breadth put in so that it would all fade
alike. Well----" And she gave a half-reluctant sigh.

"Why, I feel as if it ought to be saved for a wedding gown," declared
Betty, her eyes alight with pleasure. "It's the most beautiful thing.
Oh, Aunt Priscilla!"

A modern girl would have thrown her arms around Aunt Priscilla's neck
and kissed her, if one could imagine a modern girl being grateful for a
gown a quarter of a century old, except for masquerading purposes.
People who could remember the great Jonathan Edwards awakening still
classed all outward demonstrations of regard as carnal affections to be
subdued. The poor old life hungered now for a little human love without
understanding what its want really was, just as it had hungered for more
than half a century.

"Well, child, maybe 'Lecty can plan to make something out of it. You
better just take it to her. And here's a box of ribbons, things I've had
no use for this many a year. You see I had a way of saving up--I didn't
have much call for wearing such."

Aunt Priscilla felt that she was renouncing idols. How many times she
had fingered these things with exquisite love and longing and a desire
to wear them! Madam Bowdoin, almost ten years older, wore her fine
ribbons and laces and her own snowy white hair in little rings about her
forehead. No one accused her of aping youth. Aunt Priscilla had worn a
false front under her cap for many a year that was now a rusty, faded
brown. Her own white hair was cut off close.

"Oh, Aunt Priscilla, I think my ship has come in from the Indies. I
never can thank you enough. I'm so glad you saved them. You see, times
_are_ hard, and if father had to pay a girl for taking my place at home,
he wouldn't feel that he could afford me much finery. And the journey,
too. But I have only to pay from Springfield to Boston, for Mr. Eastman
has his own conveyance--a nice big covered sleigh. And now all these
beautiful things! I feel as rich as a queen."

Doris had been standing there big-e