We had nothing that others
moving in our circle did not have. Our house and furniture would
hardly compare favorably with the houses and furniture of many of
our fashionable friends. We dressed no better--indeed, not so well
as dozens of our acquaintances. Retrenchment and economy! I remember
laughing with my sisters at the words, and wondering with them what
could be coming over our father. In a half-amused way, we enumerated
the various items of imaginary reform, beginning at the annual
summer recreations, and ending with our milliner's bills. In mock
seriousness, we proposed to take the places of cook, chambermaid,
and waiter, and thus save these items of expense in the family. We
had quite a merry time over our fancied reforms.
But our father was serious. Steadily he persisted in what seemed to
us a growing penuriousness. Every demand for money seemed to give
him a partial shock, and every dollar that came to us was parted
with reluctantly. All this was something new; but we thought less
than we felt about it. Our father seemed to be getting into a very
singular state of mind.
Summer came round--I shall never forget that summer--and we
commenced making our annual preparations for Saratoga. Money was, of
course, an indispensable prerequisite. I asked for fifty dollars.
"For what purpose?" inquired my father.
"I haven't a single dress fit to appear in away from home," said I.
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