“I think it’s a shame that I should be left behind when all the rest of the family are going to Ion to have a good time,” muttered Lulu angrily, as she seated herself at her desk again and opened a book.  “Papa could hear my lessons there just as well as here if he chose, and Mamma Vi might have arranged to have my dresses made a week or two later.”

“Miss Lu,” said Agnes, opening the door and putting in her head, “Miss Alma tole me for to tell you she’s ‘bout ready fo’ to try on yo’ new dress.”

“Tell her to take it to my room.  I’ll go up there to have it tried on,” replied Lulu, in a vexed, impatient tone.

Then, as Agnes withdrew her head and closed the door, “Horrid thing! why couldn’t she have come to me while I was up there?  Here I am, hardly fairly settled to my work, and I must drop it and go back again.  I’d better take my book with me, for there’s no knowing how long she may keep me while she alters something that she has got wrong, for she’s generally too stupid to make a thing right at the first trial.  Well, perhaps she’ll get done by the time papa comes back and is ready to hear me recite.”

So saying she went slowly from the school room and upstairs to her own apartment.

There were a few minutes of waiting for Alma, which did not improve Lulu’s temper, and as the girl came in she received an angry glance, accompanied by the remark, in no very pleasant tones, that she had no business to send for people till she was ready to attend to them.

At that Alma colored painfully.  “I am sorry to have inconvenienced you, Miss Lu,” she said, “but I’ll try not to keep you so very long.”

“If you don’t, it will be about the first time that you haven’t,” snapped Lulu.  “I think you are just about the slowest, most blundering dressmaker I ever did see.”

At that unkind remark, Alma’s eyes filled with tears, but she went on silently with her work, making no rejoinder, while Lulu—­the reproaches of conscience rendering her uneasy and irritable—­fidgetted and fussed, thus greatly increasing the difficulty of the task.

“Miss Lu,” Alma said at last, in a despairing tone, “if you can’t keep stiller, it is not possible for me to make the dress to fit you right.”

“Indeed!” returned Lulu scornfully, “I don’t feel sure of your ability to fit it right under any circumstances—­such a stupid, awkward thing as you are, and——­”

Her sentence was left unfinished, for at that instant, to her astonishment and dismay, her father’s voice called to her from his dressing-room, in sterner accents than she had heard from him in a long while.  “Lucilla, come here to me!” She had not known of his detention at home, but supposed he had gone with the others to Ion.

Jerking off the waist, which Alma had already unfastened,—­snatching up a dressing-sack and putting it on as she went,—­she appeared before him, blushing and shamefaced.