"I could give you all I have and send you the rest. Couldn't I?" she
asked.
"Yes, that would do. But you must let me set my own price," he returned
in a business like tone.
"Oh I will. I'd do anything to get Miss Prudence a pitcher," she said
eagerly.
The faded muslin brushed against him; and how odd and old-fashioned her
hat was! He would not have cared to go on a picnic with Marjorie in this
attire; suppose he had taken her into the crowd of girls among which his
cousin Helen was so noticeable last week, how they would have looked at
her! They would think he had found her at some mission school. Was her
father so poor, or was this old dress and broad hat her mother's taste?
Anyway, there was a guileless and bright face underneath the flapping
hat and her voice was as sweet as Helen's even it there was such an
old-fashioned tone about it. One word seemed to sum up her dress and
herself--old-fashioned. She talked like some little old grandmother.
She was more than quaint--she was antiquated. That is, she was antiquated
beside Helen. But she did not seem out of place here in the country; he
was thinking of her on a city pavement, in a city parlor, or among a
group of fluttering, prettily dressed city girls, with their modulated
voices, animated gestures and laughing, bright replies. There was light
and fire about them and Marjorie was such a demure little mouse.
"Don't fret about it any more," he said, kindly, with his grown-up air,
patting her shoulder with a light, caressing touch.
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