“Mamma Conran! that old gray cashmere. As if I would go out in it to-night! Why, the Barnards come to rehearsal, and the Needhams, and their cousin from New York. The idea of rigging up in that old thing and standing out there to sing, the most prominent person in the choir. I just can’t do it! If I can’t wear the dress I have on I’m not going at all.” “My daughter, don’t be so foolish; the rehearsal surely doesn’t depend upon the dress you wear. You are wasting time; I cannot think of letting you go in that dress. If I had noticed it before I should have called your attention to it; but I hadn’t the least idea you would think of putting it on. The gray cashmere is entirely suitable, my dear. Your mother has not lost all sense of propriety, even though she is older than fifteen. You must allow yourself to be guided by her. I would not make a scene if I were you, and spoil the beauty of the music you have given us. There is ample time just to slip on another dress. Run along, and I will get out your wraps and have them ready for you when you come down.” “Mamma, I’m not going to do it. I told you if I had to wear that old cashmere dress I shouldn’t go out of the house to-night, and I meant it. Other girls can wear decent dresses. Carrie Wheeler wears a white silk to rehearsal often, and here I have got to rig up like an old woman and sing the leading part. You don’t know anything about it, mamma; it is so long since you were a girl you don’t realize how girls dress now. I wouldn’t hurt this dress and you know it. It is just too mean for anything. You always spoil my pleasure.” “Angeline!”—the mother’s gentle voice was growing stern at last—“I cannot allow you to speak to your mother in that way. There are the Wheeler girls coming up the walk now, to call for you. If you will go immediately and change your dress I will explain to them that you will be down in a few minutes.” A loud, angry cry from Angie, a sound like that from a naughty child who had lost all control of herself, and between the sobs she managed to get out: “I won’t go a single step, and you can tell them so; and you can tell them the reason, if you choose; then they will understand just what hard times I have.” And with another jarring crash of the keys the angry girl left the room, slamming the door after her. MYRA SPAFFORD. [Illustration] [Illustration: THE SCHOOL-GIRL OF 1830.] [Illustration: THE BLOSSOMVILLE BAND.] ELSIE’S PLAN.—II. (_Something for Mamma._) “I’M going to stop its raveling,” said Elsie serenely. “I’m going to overcast it, as mother does dress seams, and then line it with Margaret’s dress skirt; that is real strong, and will make it stand up beautifully.”