They had been frugally brushed and sponged, and made neat for a working dress.

Elizabeth felt that they belonged to her.

Under the jacket, which fortunately was long enough to hide her waist, she buckled her belt with the two pistols.

Then she took the battered old felt hat from the closet, and tried to fasten it on; but the pompadour interfered.

Relentlessly she pulled down the work of art that Lizzie had created, and brushed and combed her long, thick hair into subjection again, and put it in its long braid down her back.