"Never mind," she said, relieved; "there isn't much
harm done. Those are the plates the Ladies' Aid Society in Archertown
gave me the year Frances was born. I never admired them. When some
things go they carry a little piece of my heart with them, but I don't
mind losing donation china. Are you hurt, Amy?"
"A bruise and a scratch--nothing to signify. Here comes Lole with the
arnica. I don't care in the least since I haven't wrecked any of our
Colonial heirlooms. Isn't it fortunate, mother, that we haven't broken
or lost anything _this_ congregation has bestowed?"
"Yes, indeed," said mamma, gravely. "There, gather up the pieces, and
get them out of the way before we have a caller."
In the Manse callers may be looked for at every possible time and
season, and some of them have eyes in the backs of their heads. For
instance, Miss Florence Frick or Mrs. Elbridge Geary seems to be able to
see through closed doors. And there is Mrs. Cyril Bannington Barnes, who
thinks us all so extravagant, and does not hesitate to notice how often
we wear our best gowns, and wonders to our faces where mamma's last
winter's new furs came from, and is very much astonished and quite angry
that papa should insist on sending all his boys to college. But, there,
this story isn't going to be a talk about papa's people. Mamma wouldn't
approve of that, I am sure.
Everybody sat down comfortably in the dining-room, while Frances and
Mildred took hold and helped Amy and Laura finish the closet.
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