"Does the dress suit? for we have no time to throw away," says she. "Suit," says I, turning round and round with slow enjoyment of that queenly figure in the glass. "Of course it does. Why, cousin, it is superb; the bunching up is stupendous. Then the pattern--a whole flower garden in full bloom." "Then it had better be sent home at once, for we must go early in the morning," says she, short as pie crust. I paid for that Dolly Varden with satisfaction. It might have been dear--I think it was, but there were no extras, and I knew what I was about from the first. Besides it was a smashing affair, rain-bowish, beautifully puckered up, and blazing with flowers. Well, we went into the street, and then Cousin E. E. began: "One minute, Phœmie; I want some hair pins." We went into the next door and got the hair pins, then out again. After walking about fifty feet she broke out once more: "Dear me, I forgot the black ribbon." In she darted through another door, and came out stuffing a bit of twisted paper into her pocket. Ten feet more and she turned square about: "Some pins, Phœmie; I must get some pins." So we kept darting in and out of doors till there wasn't another in the street, and went home with both our pockets stuffed full of pins, lace, gloves, combs, buttons, and a general assortment of other small things, all of which E. E. had forgotten till the last minute. That night I left her plunged headforemost into a huge trunk, with a sloping roof, her feet just touching the ground, and complaining bitterly because Dempster was not at home to help press the things down. LXXVII. STARTING FOR LONG BRANCH. Early the next morning a big wagon-load of trunks drove from the door. Then a carriage came up ready to take us to the boat. It was awful hot, and the air in that house was so close one could hardly breathe. The parlors were all shut up. The stone girl and that other fellow had white dresses on, and for once made a decent appearance. The chairs and sofas were all done up in linen, the blinds were shut, and the whole house looked like a church whose minister had been sent off on his travels at the expense of an adoring congregation. E. E. and I stood in the hall, I with a satchel in my hand, she with a little brown affair buckled on one side of her waist. That child was a-standing in the open door, watching the men pile the trunks on the wagon. "Mamma," she called out, as the man drove away, "I'm sure they have left a trunk, for I counted, and there was only nineteen." E. E. ran to the foot of the stairs. "Dempster, Dempster!" Down came Dempster, looking hot and worried. E. E. called out: "Do stop the wagon, something is left." Dempster ran into the street, stopped the man, and stood in the hot sun counting over the trunks. His face was in a blaze when he came back. "It's all right," says he, "twenty of them, full count. Come, get into the carriage." E. E. moved forward a step or two, then halted.