“Here y’are, Huldy!” said the farmer, pointing to the shop with a flourish of his whip.  “Here’s whar ye git the styles fust hand.  Hev to come from New York to Glenfield to git the reel thing, ye see.”

“I see!” laughed Hilda, springing lightly from the wagon.

“I’ll call for ye in ’bout half an hour;” and with a kindly nod the farmer drove away down the street.

Hildegarde entered the dingy little shop with some misgivings, “I hope I shall find something fresh!” she said to herself; “those things in the window look as if they had been there since the Flood.”  She quickly made friends with the brisk little milliner, and they were soon turning over the meagre store of hats, trimmed and untrimmed.

“This is real tasty!” said the little woman, lifting with honest pride an alarming structure of green satin, which some straggling cock’s feathers were doing their best to hide.

Hilda shuddered, but said pleasantly, “Rather heavy for summer; don’t you think so?  It would be better for a winter hat.  What is this?” she added, drawing from the farthest recesses of the box an untrimmed hat of rough yellow straw.  “I think perhaps this will do, Miss Bean.”

“Oh my land, no! you don’t want that!” cried the little milliner, aghast.  “That’s only common doin’s, anyhow; and it’s been in that box three years.  Them shapes ain’t worn now.”

“Never mind!” said Hilda, merrily; “it is perfectly fresh, and I like the shape.  Just wait till you see it trimmed, Miss Bean.  May I rummage a little among your drawers?  I will not toss the things about.”

A piece of dotted mull and a bunch of soft pink roses rewarded her search; and with these and a bit of rose-colored ribbon she proceeded to make the rough straw into so dainty and bewitching a thing that Miss Bean sat fairly petrified with amazement on her little hair-cloth sofa in the back shop.  “Why! why!” she said.  “If that ain’t the beat of all!  It’s the tastiest hat I ever see.  You never told me you’d learned the trade!”

This last was rather reproachfully said; and Hilda, much amused, hastened to reassure the good woman.

“Indeed, I never learned the trade,” she said.  “I take to it naturally, I think; and I have watched my mother, who does it much better than I.”

“She must be a first-class trimmer, then!” replied Miss Bean, emphatically.  “Works in one o’ them big houses in New York, I reckon, don’t she?”

Hildegarde laughed; but before she could reply, Miss Bean went on to say:  “Wal, you’re a stranger to me, but you’ve got a pooty good count’nance, an’ ye kem with Farmer Hartley; that’s reference enough.”  She paused and reflected, while Hildegarde, putting the finishing touches to the pretty hat, wondered what was coming.  “I wasn’t calc’latin’ to hire help this summer,” continued the milliner; “but you’re so handy, and yer ma could give ye idees from time to time.  So if ye’d like a job, I d’ ‘no’ but I’d like to hire ye.”