“Asia, you go git the alpaca from behind the chest, an’ sorter shake it out on the bed.”

“Who’s goin’ to wear it, ma?” The question came in anxious tones, for the blue alpaca had been sent them in a bundle of old clothes, and though it failed to fit either of the girls, the wearing of it was a much coveted privilege.

“Well, now, I don’t know,” said Mrs. Wiggs, critically surveying the children; “it won’t button good on you, and swags in the back on Australia.”

“Lemme wear it, ma!”

“No, lemme!” came in excited tones.

Mrs. Wiggs had seen trouble before over the blue alpaca; she knew what anguish her decision must bring to one or the other.

“It really looks best on Asia,” she thought; “but if I let her wear it Austry’ll have a cryin’ spell an’ git to holdin’ her breath, an’ that’ll take up so much time.”  So she added aloud:  “I’ll tell you what we’ll do.  Asia, you kin wear the skirt, an’ Austry kin wear the waist.”

But when she had pinned the skirt over one little girl’s red calico dress, and buttoned the blue waist over the clean apron of the other, she looked at them dubiously.  “They do look kinder mixed,” she admitted to herself, “but I reckon it don’t matter, so long as they ’re both happy.”

Just here Billy came in, with the veil in one hand and a bunch of faded carnations in the other.

“Look, ma!” he exclaimed, holding up his trophy, “I swapped ’em with Pete fer a top an’ a agate.  He got ’em outen a ash-barrel over on the avenue.”

“Well, now, ain’t that nice?” said Mrs. Wiggs; “I’ll jes’ clip the stems an’ put ’em in a bottle of water, an’ they’ll pick up right smart by the time we go.  I wisht you had something to fix up in, Billy,” she added; “you look as seedy as a raspberry.”

Billy did look rather shabby; his elbows were out, and two of the holes in his pants were patched and two were not.  Mrs. Wiggs was rummaging in the table drawer.

“I wisht I could find somethin’ of yer pa’s that would do.  Here’s his white gloves he wore that time he was pallbearer to ole Mr. Bender.  Seems to me they do wear white gloves to the theayter, but I disremember.”

“Naw!  I ain’t a-goin’ to wear no gloves,” said Billy, firmly.

Mrs. Wiggs continued her search.  “Here’s yer grandpa’s watch-fob, but I’m skeered fer you to wear it, you might lose it.  It’s a family remnant—­been handed down two generations.  What about this here red comforter?  It would sorter spruce you up, an’ keep you warm, besides; you know you ‘ve had a cold fer a week, an’ yer pipes is all stopped up.”  So it was decided, and Billy wore the comforter.

At seven o ’clock they were ready, and, the news having spread abroad that the Wiggses were going to a show, many of the neighbors came in to see how they looked and to hear how it happened.

“Some of you all shake down the stove an’ pull the door to fer me.  I am jes’ that skeered of hurtin’ Mrs. Eichorn’s veil I’m ’fraid to turn my head,” Mrs. Wiggs said nervously, as she stepped off the porch.