“I do think of it,” replied Mrs. S——, quietly; “but the thought to me brings up some scenes that are any thing but agreeable. If I cannot tell ‘tales that would freeze your very blood,’ I can relate some that _would_ freeze a little of that enthusiasm. _A minister’s wife!_ You little know what is comprised in that title.” “Of course,” replied Milly, with a demure face, “it is a station of great responsibility, and has its peculiar duties. A minister’s wife, too, is a sort of pattern, and should be a—a—in short, just the thing.” “Exactly,” returned Mrs. S——, smiling at this very satisfactory explanation, “but for ‘pattern’ read ‘mirror’—a reflection of everybody’s own particular ideas; in which, of course, no two agree. But let me hear _your_ ideas on the subject, Milly—I wish to know what you consider ‘just the thing.’” “Why,” continued Milly, warming with her subject, “her dress, in the first place, should be scrupulously plain—not an article of jewelry—a simple straw hat, perhaps, tied down with a single ribbon—and a white dress, with no ornament but natural flowers.” “Very good,” said Mrs. S——, “as far as it goes; but the beauty of this very ‘simple straw-hat’ is, of course, to consist in its shape and style, and country villages are not proverbial for taste in this respect. It would never do for a minister’s wife to spend her time in searching for a tasty bonnet, and with a limited purse this is no light labor. Then, too, she is obliged to encourage the manufactures of the town in which she resides. If you could have seen some of the hats _I_ had to wear!” Milly shuddered; she could have borne reverses of fortune, could even have stood at the stake unflinchingly, supported by the glories of martyrdom; but an unbecoming bonnet is one of those petty trials for which one gains no credit but that of bad taste. “As to the white dress,” continued Mrs. S——, “you must intend it to be made of some material from which dirt will glance harmlessly off on one side. Or perhaps you have one already—a legacy from one of those everlastingly white-robed heroines in the old novels. Those must assuredly have been spectre woods that they wandered in, for in _our_ days brambles and under-wood leave their marks. _I_ was obliged to give up white dresses.” Milly looked thoughtful. “Oh, well,” said she, after a short pause, “dress is very little, after all. I should like the idea of being a minister’s wife; you are so looked-up to by the congregation; and then they bring you presents and think so much of you.” “Yes,” replied Mrs. S——, “there _is_ something in that; I had seven thimbles given to me once.” “Well, that must have been pleasant, I am sure.”