Mary made no remark whatever, but she secretly wondered if Ella wore such a hat.  Still her desire to see her sister and to visit her mother’s grave, prevailed over all other feelings, and on Sunday morning it was a very happy child which at about nine o’clock bounded down the stairway, tidily dressed in a ten cent black lawn and a pair of clean white pantalets.

There was another circumstance, too, aside from the prospect of seeing Ella, which made her eyes sparkle until they were almost black.  The night before, in looking over the articles of dress which she would need, she discovered that there was not a decent pair of stockings in her wardrobe.  Mrs. Grundy, to whom she mentioned the fact, replied with a violent shoulder jerk, “For the land’s sake! ain’t you big enough to go to meetin’ barefoot, or did you think we kept silk stockin’s for our quality to wear?”

Before the kitchen looking-glass, Sal was practising a courtesy which she intended making to any one who chanced to notice her next day; but after overhearing Miss Grundy’s remark, she suddenly brought her exercises to a close and left the kitchen.  Arrived at her room, she commenced tumbling over a basket containing her wearing apparel, selecting from it a pair of fine cotton stockings which she had long preserved, because they were the last thing Willie’s father ever gave her.  “They are not much too large for her now,” thought she, “but I guess I’ll take a small seam clear through them.”  This being done, she waited until all around the house was still, and then creeping stealthily to Mary’s room, she pinned the stockings to the pantalets, hanging the whole before the curtainless window, where the little girl could see them the moment she opened her eyes!  Mary well knew to whom she was indebted for this unexpected pleasure, and in her accustomed prayer that morning she remembered the poor old crazy woman, asking that the light of reason might again dawn upon her darkened mind.

On descending to the kitchen, Mary found Sal waiting for her, and, as she had expected, rigged out in a somewhat fantastic style.  Her dress, which was an old plum-colored silk, was altogether too short-waisted and too narrow for the prevailing fashion.  A gauze handkerchief was thrown across her neck, and fastened to her belt in front by a large yellow bow.  Her bonnet, which was really a decent one, was almost entirely covered by a thick green veil, and notwithstanding the sun was shining brightly, she carried in her hand a large blue cotton umbrella, for fear it would rain!

“Come, child,” said she, the moment Mary appeared, “put on your tea-kettle (referring to the bonnet which Mary held in her hand), and let us start.”

There was no looking-glass in Mary’s room, and she stepped before the one in the kitchen while she adjusted her hat, but her courage almost failed her as she saw the queer-looking image reflected by the mirror.  She was unusually thin, and it seemed to her that her teeth were never so prominent before.  Her eyes, always large, now looked unnaturally so and as she placed what Sal had termed a “tea-kettle” upon her head, she half determined not to go.  But Sal caught her hand, saying, “Come, child, it’s time we were off.  They’ll all know it’s Mrs. Campbell’s old bonnet, and will laugh at her for giving it to you.”