“What is it? moths in the furs, a smoky chimney, or smallpox next door?” asked Polly, as they entered Fan’s room, where Maud was trying on old bonnets before the looking-glass.

“Actually I have nothing to wear,” began Fan, impressively; “I’ve been too busy to think or care till now, but here it is nearly May, and I have hardly a decent rag to my back. Usually, you know, I just go to Mrs. O’Grady and tell her what I want; she makes my spring wardrobe, papa pays the bill, and there I am. Now I’ve looked into the matter, and I declare to you, Polly, I’m frightened to see how much it costs to dress me.”

“Not so much as some girls I know,” said Polly, encouragingly.

“Perhaps not, for I have a conscience, and taste is economy sometimes; but really, Polly, I haven’t the heart to ask papa for a cent just now, and yet I must have clothes. You are such a genius for planning and working wonders, that I throw myself upon you, and ask, ‘How shall I make a spring wardrobe out of nothing?’ ”

“Let me see the ‘nothing’ before I advise. Bring out every rag you’ve got, and we’ll see what can be done,” said Polly, looking as if she enjoyed the prospect, for she had a great deal of that feminine faculty which we call “knack”, and much practice had increased it.

Fanny brought out her “rags”, and was astonished to see how many she had; for chair, sofa, bed, and bureau were covered, and still Maud, who was burrowing in the closets, kept crying, “Here’s another.”

“There’s a discouraging heap of rubbish for you!” said Fan, as she added a faded muslin to the last pile.

“Now to me your ‘rubbish’ looks very encouraging, because there is good material there, and not much worn-out finery,—that’s my detestation, for you can’t do anything with it. Let me see, five bonnets. Put the winter ones away till autumn, rip up the summer ones, and out of the three old ones we’ll get a pretty new one, if my eyes don’t deceive me.”

“I’ll rip, and then do let me see you make a bonnet, it must be so interesting,” said Maud, whipping out her scissors and eagerly beginning to reduce a shabby little bonnet to its original elements.

“Now the dress,” continued Polly, who had rapidly sorted out the piles.

“Will you have the goodness to look at this?” said Fan, holding up a grey street suit, faded past cure.

Polly whisked it wrong side out, and showing the clean, bright fabric, said, with a triumphant wave,—

“Behold your new suit; fresh trimming, and less of it, will finish you off as smart as ever.”

“I never wore a turned dress in my life; do you suppose people will know it?” said Fan, doubtfully.

“What if they do, it won’t hurt you. Not one in a hundred will ever think anything about your dress, except that it is pretty. I’ve worn turned and dyed gowns all my days, and it don’t seem to have alienated my friends or injured my constitution.”

“That it hasn’t; I’m a goose, Polly, and I’ll get over the feeling that it’s sort of disgraceful to be poor and have to economize. We’ll turn the grey, and I’ll wear it bravely.”

“Then it will be more becoming than ever. Oh, here’s the pretty violet silk; that will make a lovely suit,” cried Polly, going on with the review.

“Don’t see how two draggled skirts and a stained waist can be transformed into a whole rig,” said Fan, sitting on the bed, with her garments strewn about her in various attitudes of limp despondency.


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