Then in August, when the long vacation was nearly over, came the
village dressmaker. Ma had promised me two new dresses, and I would sit
hemming towels or poring over Greek and Roman history while they turned
the leaves of fashion magazines and discussed materials and trimmings.
I secretly hoped for a silk, but Mother, to whom I suppose I am even now--
now!--a little girl, vetoed that as too showy, and the dressmaker added
her plea for good, durable things. The choice fell upon a golf suiting for
school and a black cashmere for church.
I begged hard to have the cashmere touch the ground, but both women smiled
at the folly of the child who forgot the many re-bindings a long skirt
would call for. There was a comic side to my disappointment, for I guessed
that the widow Trask could not make the designs I coveted, nor anything of
which she could not buy a paper pattern.
But when I went up to the University and became entitled to join in the
cry:--
S!----U!
We're----a----few!
S!----T!----A--T--E!
U!----ni----ver--si--tee!
Wow!----Wow!----Wow!
--I found that I compared favourably enough with my mates.
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