ons would serve also; in
fact, the dinner was planned to accommodate the silver. So far, so good.
But now as to dress; here the poor little mistress was sadly pinched.
She knew this; but she hoped to make use of a certain well-worn
changeable silk that had belonged to Miss Margaretta, in hue a dull
green and purple. But, alas! upon inspection she discovered that the
faithful garment had given way at last, after years of patient service,
and now there was nothing left but mildew and shreds. The invitation had
been formally accepted; the dinner was in course of preparation: what
should she do? She had absolutely nothing, poor child, save the two
faded old lawns which she wore ordinarily, and the one shabby woolen
dress for cooler weather. "If they were anything but what they are," she
said to herself, after she had again and again turned over the contents
of her three bureau drawers, "I would wear my every-day dress without a
moment's thought or trouble. But I will not allow these men, belonging
to the despot army of the North, these aliens forced upon us by a strong
hand and a hard fate, to smile at the shabby attire of a Southern lady."
She crossed the hall to Miss Margaretta's closed room: she would search
every corner; possibly there was something she did not at the moment
recall. But, alas! only too well did she know the contents of the closet
and the chest of drawers, the chest of drawers and the closet; had she
not been familiar with every fold and hue from her earliest childhood?
Was there nothing else? There was the cedar chamber, a little cedar
cupboard in the wall, where Miss Margaretta kept several stately old
satin bonnets, elaborate structures of a past age. Mechanically Gardis
mounted the steps, and opened the little door half-way up the wall. The
bonnets were there, and with them several packages; these she took down
and opened. Among various useless relics of finery appeared, at last,
one whole dress; narrow-skirted, short, with a scantily fashioned waist,
it was still a complete robe of its kind, in color a delicate blue, the
material clinging and soft like Canton crape. Folded with the dress were
blue kid slippers and a silk belt with a broad buckle. The package bore
a label with this inscription, "The gown within belonged to my respected
mother, Pamela Gardiston," in the handwriting of Miss Margaretta; and
Gardis remembered that she had seen the blue skirt once, long ago, in
her childhood. But Miss Marga