Across the YearsPorter, Eleanor H. (Eleanor Hodgman)
General
Across the Years
Porter, Eleanor H. (Eleanor Hodgman)
Fiction; Short stories
To-day, however, there was to come a change. No longer need the
carefully sponged and darned black alpaca gowns flaunt their wearers'
poverty to the world, and no longer would they force these same wearers
to seek dark corners and sunless rooms, lest the full extent of that
poverty become known. It had taken forty years of the most rigid economy
to save the necessary money; but it was saved now, and the dresses were
to be bought. Long ago there had been enough for one, but neither of the
women had so much as thought of the possibility of buying one silk gown.
It was sometimes said in the town that if one of the Heath twins
strained her eyes, the other one was obliged at once to put on glasses;
and it is not to be supposed that two sisters whose sympathies were so
delicately attuned would consent to appear clad one in new silk and the
other in old alpaca.
In spite of their early rising that morning, it was quite ten o'clock
before Miss Priscilla and Miss Amelia had brought the house into the
state of speckless nicety that would not shame the lustrous things that
were so soon to be sheltered beneath its roof. Not that either of the
ladies expressed this sentiment in words, or even in their thoughts;
they merely went about their work that morning with the reverent joy
that a devoted priestess might feel in making ready a shrine for its
idol. They had to hurry a little to get themselves ready for the eleven
o'clock stage that passed their door; and they were still a little
breathless when they boarded the train at the home station for the city
twenty miles away--the city where were countless yards of shimmering
silk waiting to be bought.
In the city that night at least six clerks went home with an unusual
weariness in their arms, which came from lifting down and displaying
almost their entire stock of black silk. But with all the weariness,
there was no irritation; there was only in their nostrils a curious
perfume as of lavender and old lace, and in their hearts a strange
exaltation as if they had that day been allowed a glad part in a sacred
rite. As for Miss Priscilla and Miss Amelia, they went home awed, yet
triumphant: when one has waited forty years to make a purchase one does
not make that purchase lightly.
"To-morrow we will go over to Mis' Snow's and see about having them made
up," said Miss Priscilla with a sigh of content, as the stage lumbered
through the dusty home streets.
"Yes; we want them rich, but plain," supplemented Miss Amelia,
rapturously. "Dear me, Priscilla, but I am tired!"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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