FullReads

When they walked out through the hall together, Lucindy cast a quick and eager glance into the parlor. She almost hoped Claribel had unhooked the glass prisms from the lamp, and left them scattered on the floor, or that she had broken the precious shells, more than half a century old. She wanted to put her arms round her, and say fondly, “Never mind!” But the room was in perfect order, and little Claribel waited for them, conscious of a propriety unstained by guilt.

“Lucindy,” said Mrs. Wilson, who also had used her eyes, “where’s your father’s canes? They al’ays stood right here in this corner.”

Lucindy flushed.

“Jane,” she whispered, “don’t you tell, but I–I buried ’em! I felt somehow as if I couldn’t–do the things I wanted to, if they set there just the same.”

Jane could only look at her in silence.

“Well,” she said, at length, “it takes all kinds o’ people to make a world!”

That, at least, was non-committal.

She left the shoppers at her own gate, and they walked on together. Lucindy was the more excited of the two.

“Now, Claribel,” she was saying, “you remember you can choose any hat you see, and have it trimmed just the way you like. What color do you set by most?”

“I don’t know,” said Claribel. “Blue, I guess.”

“Well, there’s a hat there all trimmed with it. I see it this mornin’. Real bright, pretty blue! I believe there was some little noddin’ yellow flowers on it, too. But mind you don’t take it unless you like it.”

Miss West’s shop occupied the front room of her house, a small yellow one on a side street. The upper part of the door was of glass, and it rang a bell as it opened. Lucindy had had very few occasions for going there, and she entered with some importance. The bell clanged; and Miss West, a portly woman, came in from the back room, whisking off her apron in haste.

“Oh, that you, Miss Lucindy?” she called. “I’ve just been fryin’ some riz doughnuts. Well, how’d the flowers suit?”

“I haven’t quite made up my mind,” said Lucindy, trying to speak with the dignity befitting her quest. “I just come in with little Claribel here. She’s goin’ to have a new hat, and her grandma said she might come down with me to pick it out. You’ve got some all trimmed, I believe?”

Miss West opened a drawer in an old-fashioned bureau.

“Yes,” she said, “I’ve got two my niece trimmed for me before she went to make her visit to Sudleigh. One’s blue. I guess you’ve seen that. Then there’s a nice white one. The ‘Weekly’ says white’s all the go, this year.”

She took out two little hats, and balanced them on either hand. The blue one was strongly accented. The ribbon was very broad and very bright, and its nodding cowslips gleamed in cheerful yellow.

“Ain’t that a beauty?” whispered Lucindy close to the little girl’s ear. “But there! Don’t you have it unless you’d rather. There’s lots of other colors, you know; pink, and all sorts.”.

Claribel put out one little brown hand, and timidly touched the other hat.

“This one,” she said.

It was very plain, and very pretty; yet there were no flowers, and the modest white ribbon lay smoothly about the crown. Miss Lucindy gave a little cry, as if some one had hurt her.

“O!” she exclaimed, “O Claribel! you sure?” Claribel was sure.

“She’s got real good taste,” put in Miss West. “Shall I wrop it up?”

“Yes,” answered Lucindy, drearily. “We’ll take it. But I suppose if she should change, her mind before she wore it–” she added, with some slight accession of hope.

“Oh, yes, bring it right back. I’ll give her another choice.”

But Claribel was not likely to change her mind. On the way home, she walked sedately, and carried her hat with the utmost care. At her grandmother’s gate, she looked up shyly, and spoke of her own accord,–