"You never do, dear!" replied his wife. "Talk of bats! but--well, so I just told him that I should have _loved_ to if I hadn't been a minister's wife, but that you were a cruel tyrant and wouldn't let me; and then I advised him to go to Miss Prudence, because she would know all about tunics and togas and everything else. I knew, you see, that she was all ready to give him a piece of her mind, because she gave me just a scrap the other day, when I was trying on my blue dimity. It's going to be perfectly sweet, John. Oh, I do hope she will not hurt his poor dear funny feelings _too_ much: she can be frightfully severe." But even while Mrs. Bliss was speaking, Miss Prudence Pardon, Rhadamanthus in a black alpaca apron, was laying down the law to Mr. Pindar, and emphasizing her points with a stiffly extended pair of shears. Miss Prudence had sat on the same bench at school with the Hollopeter boys, and saw no reason for mincing matters. "Pindar," she said, "if you hadn't have come to me, I should have held my peace; but seeing as you have come, and asked my opinion, you shall have it, without fear or favor. I think this whole thing is ridic'lous nonsense; and I think if you go on with it as you've begun, you will prove yourself, if I must use such an expression, what I call a gonoph." Mr. Pindar shrank for an instant before the epithet, but gathered himself together with a protesting wave. "Madam!" he cried, "you fail to comprehend--" "Excuse _me_!" said Miss Prudence, waving the shears in return. "I expect if there's any one in this village as ought to comprehend, it's me, with all I've ben through this week. Do you see that pile of truck?" She pointed stiffly with the shears at a mass of drapery piled high on the haircloth sofa. "There's thirty whole dresses there, let alone odd skirts and polonays. There's full sleeves and snug sleeves, and gored skirts and full skirts, and ruffles and box-plaits, and more styles than ever you heard of in your life, and every material from more antique to sarsnet cambric. I am expected to make all them over into toonics and togas, and the hens only know what other foolery; and I tell you, Pindar, it can't be done, nor I ain't going to try to do it." She paused for a moment, for Mr. Pindar was waving his arms and flapping his cloak in fervid assent. "My dear madam," he cried; "my dear Prudence, if I may take the liberty of an old schoolmate, I agree with you fully, entirely. I have endeavored to point out to the ladies with whom I have conversed, that a harmony of costume is absolutely imperative; that flowing drapery--the classic, Prudence, the classic!--is what the occasion demands. A glance at statuary will readily convince you--"