Mr. Pennington, who had a way of being within hearing if not in sight, had overheard the conversation and laughed as he wondered how some of the costumes at the seaside would strike Elithe’s unsophisticated eyes. After the bathing suit had been renovated and folded ready to pack, the best dress, to be worn only to church and on state occasions, was considered. Miss Phebe had sent money for a new gown which might be needed, but Samona was not the place in which to buy it, and there was not time for Miss Tibbs to go either to Helena or Butte. In this emergency Mrs. Hansford’s wedding dress, a changeable silk of orange and blue, was brought to light. It was twenty years old and had cost thirty dollars, which had seemed a large sum to Lucy Potter, and been commented on by some of her neighbors as extravagant. She had worn it but a few times. Once, when she went out a bride, with white gloves and a white feather in her hat; once to the theatre in Boston, where her aunt had played a leading part, and once to the house-warming in Samona, given by the people to their new rector and his bride, who was thought to be too much dressed for a poor missionary’s wife. After that her children had come rapidly, eight in all. Three had died between Elithe and Rob, and she had not much leisure for silk gowns. Elithe should have it, and she brought it from the drawer where she had kept it, folded between two towels, and, laying it across Miss Tibbs’s lap, asked her rather proudly what she thought of it. In truth, Miss Tibbs thought it old-fashioned for a young girl, but she said it was an excellent piece of silk, and she would do her best with it. Her best was very good, and when the dressmaking was finished no daughter of a millionaire ever felt prouder of her wardrobe than Elithe did of hers. There was the bathing suit, the silk dress, the second best, the third best, and two ginghams for morning,—more than she should need, Elithe thought, and wondered how she could carry them all. The only available trunk was a small hair one which had been her father’s when he was a boy. Mrs. Hansford suggested a new one, but Elithe decided that the hair trunk would probably hold all her clothes, with a little crowding, and it did. As a means of extra protection, a strong cord was tied around it in the shape of a cross and securely knotted over the lock. On each end a large card was tacked with “Elithe Hansford, Oak City, Mass.,” written upon it. Mr. Pennington shuddered when he saw it and thought of the many expensive trunks against which it would rub on its journey East. Elithe would be rubbed, as well as her trunk, less on her journey than at the end of it, he knew, and he wished he could help her.