And when I exclaimed out and ran over to her, I found she was sitting beside an old trunk that was open; and across her lap was a perfectly lovely pale-blue satin dress all trimmed with silver lace that had grown black.

And Mother was crying and crying as if her heart would break.
Of course, I tried and tried to stop her, and I begged her to tell me what was the matter.

But I couldn't do a thing, not a thing, not for a long time.

Then I happened to say what a lovely dress, only what a pity it was that the lace was all black.
She gave a little choking cry then, and began to talk--little short sentences all choked up with sobs, so that I could hardly tell what she was talking about.

Then, little by little, I began to understand.
She said yes, it was all black--tarnished; and that it was just like everything that she had had anything to do with--tarnished: her life and her marriage, and Father's life, and mine--everything was tarnished, just like that silver lace on that dress.