"Of course I want the dresses just as much as you do," went on Miss Priscilla, more confidently; "but when I thought of allowing Mis' Snow to slash into that beautiful silk and just waste it on those great balloon sleeves, I--I simply couldn't give my consent!--and 'tisn't as though we hadn't _got_ the dresses!" "No, indeed!" agreed Miss Amelia, lifting her chin. And so once more the rolls of black silk were laid away in the great box that had already held them a year; and for another twelve months the black alpacas, now grown shabby indeed, were worn with all the pride of one whose garments are beyond reproach. When for the third time Miss Priscilla and Miss Amelia returned to their home with the oblong brown parcels there was no indecision about them; there was only righteous scorn. "And do you really think that Mis' Snow _expected_ us to allow that silk to be cut up into those skimpy little skin-tight bags she called skirts?" demanded Miss Priscilla, in a shaking voice. "Why, Amelia, we couldn't ever make them over!" "Of course we couldn't! And when skirts got bigger, what could we do?" cried Miss Amelia. "Why, I'd rather never have a black silk dress than to have one like that--that just couldn't be changed! We'll go on wearing the gowns we have. It isn't as if everybody didn't know we had these black silk dresses!" When the fourth spring came the rolls of silk were not even taken from their box except to be examined with tender care and replaced in the enveloping paper. Miss Priscilla was not well. For weeks she had spent most of her waking hours on the sitting-room couch, growing thiner, weaker, and more hollow-eyed. "You see, dear, I--I am not well enough now to wear it," she said faintly to her sister one day when they had been talking about the black silk gowns; "but you--" Miss Amelia had stopped her with a shocked gesture of the hand. "Priscilla--as if I could!" she sobbed. And there the matter had ended. * * * * * The townspeople were grieved, but not surprised, when they learned that Miss Amelia was fast following her sister into a decline. It was what they had expected of the Heath twins, they said, and they reminded one another of the story of the strained eyes and the glasses. Then came the day when the little dressmaker's rooms were littered from end to end with black silk scraps. "It's for Miss Priscilla and Miss Amelia,'" said Mrs. Snow, with tears in her eyes, in answer to the questions that were asked. "It's their black silk gowns, you know." "But I thought they were ill--almost dying!" gasped the questioner. The little dressmaker nodded her head. Then she smiled, even while she brushed her eyes with her fingers.