"You'll look just lovely," returned Virginia, promptly, for she always said
the sweetest thing at the sweetest time.
"And I'm going to look like this when Dan comes home next summer," resumed
Betty, sedately.
"Not in Aunt Lydia's dress?"
"You goose! Of course not. I'm going to get Mammy to make me a Swiss muslin
down to the ground, and I'm going to wear six starched petticoats because I
haven't any hoops. I'm just wild to wear hoops, aren't you, Virginia?"
"I reckon so," responded Virginia, doubtfully; "but it will be hard to sit
down, don't you think?"
"Oh, but I know how," said Betty. "Aunt Lydia showed me how to do it
gracefully. You give a little kick--ever so little and nobody sees it--and
then you just sink into your seat. I can do it well."
"You were always clever," exclaimed Virginia, as sweetly as before. She was
parting her satiny hair over her forehead, and the glass gave back a
youthful likeness of Mrs. Ambler. She was the beauty of the family, and she
knew it, which made her all the lovelier to Betty.
"I declare, your freckles are all gone," she said, as her sister's head
looked over her shoulder. "I wonder if it is the buttermilk that has made
you so white?"
"It must be that," admitted Betty, who had used it faithfully for the sixty
nights. "Aunt Lydia says it works wonders." Then, as she looked at herself,
her eyes narrowed and she laughed aloud. "Why, Dan won't know me," she
cried merrily.
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