"Of course we couldn't dress just alike, Abel," replied Blossom. His
question had seemed foolish to her and her usual soft solemnity was
ruffled by a passing irritation. "Judy's frock will be green, but she
wants bretelles like these on it."
"Bretelles?" he repeated as incredulously as if he had possessed any but
the vaguest idea of the article the word described. "Why didn't she wait
until she was married, and then I'd have bought them for her," he added.
"Of course she wants her wedding clothes--all girls do," said Blossom,
invoking tradition. "Are you coming in now. We're having dinner a little
earlier."
She turned and moved slowly up the walk, while he followed, caressing
the head of Moses, his spotted hound. From the kitchen he could hear
Sarah Revercomb scolding the small negro, Mary Jo, whom she was training
to wait on the table. On one side of the hearth grandmother sat very
alert, waiting for her bowl of soup, into which Mary Jo was crumbling
soft bread, while across from her grandfather chuckled to himself over a
recollection which he did not divulge.
At Abel's entrance, the old man stopped chuckling and inquired in an
interested tone,
"Did you buy that ar steer, Abel?"
"Not yet, I'm to think it over and let Jim Bumpass know.
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