But they could stand it long enough for Father to thunder from the library, "Jane, what in Heaven's name is the meaning of all this ?" And for Aunt Jane to give one look at the kind of clothes _real_ folks wear, and then flee with her hands to her ears and her eyes upraised to the ceiling.

Wouldn't it be fun?
But, there! What's the use of imagining perfectly crazy, impossible things like that?
We haven't had a thing here in that parlor since I came but one missionary meeting and one Ladies' Aid Sewing Circle; and after the last one (the Sewing Circle) Aunt Jane worked a whole day picking threads off the carpet, and smoothing down the linen covers because they'd got so mussed up.

And I heard her tell the hired girl that she shouldn't have that Sewing Circle here again in a hurry, and when she did have them they'd have to sew in the dining-room with a sheet spread down to catch the threads.

My! but I would like to see Aunt Jane with one of Mother's teas in her parlor! I can't see as Father has changed much of any these last two weeks.

He still doesn't pay much of any attention to me, though I do find him looking at me sometimes, just as if he was trying to make up his mind about something.