CHAPTER XIII.

THE PARTY.

Well, let us proceed to tell how the eventful evening drew on,—­how Mary, by Miss Prissy’s care, stood at last in a long-waisted gown flowered with rose-buds and violets, opening in front to display a white satin skirt trimmed with lace and flowers,—­how her little feet were put into high-heeled shoes, and a little jaunty cap with a wreath of moss-rose-buds was fastened over her shining hair,—­and how Miss Prissy, delighted, turned her round and round, and then declared that she must go and get the Doctor to look at her.  She knew he must be a man of taste, he talked so beautifully about the Millennium; and so, bursting into his study, she actually chattered him back into the visible world, and, leading the blushing Mary to the door, asked him, point-blank, if he ever saw anything prettier.

The Doctor, being now wide awake, gravely gave his mind to the subject, and, after some consideration, said, gravely, “No,—­he didn’t think he ever did.”  For the Doctor was not a man of compliment, and had a habit of always thinking, before he spoke, whether what he was going to say was exactly true; and having lived some time in the family of President Edwards, renowned for beautiful daughters, he naturally thought them over.

The Doctor looked innocent and helpless, while Miss Prissy, having got him now quite into her power, went on volubly to expatiate on the difficulties overcome in adapting the ancient wedding-dress to its present modern fit.  He told her that it was very nice,—­said, “Yes, Ma’am,” at proper places,—­and, being a very obliging man, looked at whatever he was directed to, with round, blank eyes; but ended all with a long gaze on the laughing, blushing face, that, half in shame and half in perplexed mirth, appeared and disappeared as Miss Prissy in her warmth turned her round and showed her.

“Now, don’t she look beautiful?” Miss Prissy reiterated for the twentieth time, as Mary left the room.

The Doctor, looking after her musingly, said to himself,—­“’The king’s daughter is all glorious within; her clothing is of wrought gold; she shall be brought unto the king in raiment of needlework.’”

“Now, did I ever?” said Miss Prissy, rushing out.  “How that good man does turn everything!  I believe you couldn’t get anything, that he wouldn’t find a text right out of the Bible about it.  I mean to get the linen for that shirt this very week, with the Miss Wilcox’s money; they always pay well, those Wilcoxes,—­and I’ve worked for them, off and on, sixteen days and a quarter.  To be sure, Miss Scudder, there’s no real need of my doing it, for I must say you keep him looking like a pink,—­but only I feel as if I must do something for such a good man.”

The good Doctor was brushed up for the evening with zealous care and energy; and if he did not look like a pink, it was certainly no fault of his hostess.