“Let me see it,” I begged.

“There is a horrid monk in it”; but she gave it to me, and was presently called out.  I devoured its pages, and for the only time in that year of Barmouth life, I forgot my own wants and woes.  She saw my interest in the book when she came back, and coaxed it from me, offering me more cake, which I accepted.  She told me that she had known father for years, and that he kept his horse at the inn stables, and dined with her.  “But I never knew that he had a daughter,” she continued.  “Are you the only child?”

“I have a sister,” and after a moment remembered that I had a brother, too; but did not think it a fact necessary to mention.

“I have no children.”

“But you have novels to read.”

She laughed, and by the time father returned we were quite chatty.  After dinner I asked him to go to some shops with me.  He took me to a jeweler’s, and without consulting me bought an immense mosaic brooch, with a ruined castle on it, and a pretty ring with a gold stone.

“Is there anything more?” he asked, “you would like?”

“Yes, I want a pink calico dress.”

“Why?”

“Because the girls at Miss Black’s wear pink calico.”

“Why not get a pink silk?”

“I must have a pink French calico, with a three-cornered white cloud on it; it is the fashion.”

“The fashion!” he echoed with contempt.  But the dress was bought, and we went back to Barmouth.

When I appeared in school with my new brooch and ring the girls crowded round me.

“What does that pin represent, whose estate?” inquired one, with envy in her voice.

“Don’t the ring make the blood rush into your hand?” asked another; “it looks so.”

“Does it?” I answered; “I’ll hold up my hand in the air, as you do, to make it white.”

“What is your father’s business?” asked Elmira Sawyer, “is he a tailor?”

Her insolence made my head swim; but I did not reply.  When recess was over a few minutes afterward, I cried under the lid of my desk.  These girls overpowered me, for I could not conciliate them, and had no idea of revenge, believing that their ridicule was deserved.  But I thought I should like to prove myself respectable.  How could I?  Grand’ther was a tailor, and I could not demean myself by assuring them that my father was a gentleman.

In the course of a month Aunt Mercy had my pink calico made up by the best dressmaker in Barmouth.  When I put it on I thought I looked better than I ever had before, and went into school triumphantly with it.  The girls surveyed me in silence; but criticised me.  At last Charlotte Alden asked me in a whisper if old Mr. Warren made my dress.  She wrote on a piece of paper, in large letters—­“Girls, don’t let’s wear our pink calicoes again,” and pushing it over to Elmira Sawyer, made signs that the paper should be passed to all the girls.  They read it, and turning to Charlotte Alden nodded.  I watched the paper as it made its round, and saw Mary Bennett drop it on the floor with a giggle.