Naturally his proposition was met by a firm and unalterable refusal. It
would have been like selling a golden goose to dispose of such a
profitable commodity. He then asked to rent it for a Sunday while he was
having one made. This application, being quite in Amarilly's line of
business, met with a ready assent.
"You can hev it fer a dollar," she offered.
The bargain was finally closed, although it gave Amarilly more than a
passing pang to think of the snowy folds of Mr. St. John's garment
adorning an Ethiopian form.
One day there came to the Jenkins home a most unusual caller. The novel
presence of the "mailman" at their door brought every neighbor to post
of observation. His call was for the purpose of leaving a gayly-colored
postal card addressed to "Miss Amarilly Jenkins." It was from Derry, and
she spent many happy moments in deciphering it. His writing was
microscopic, and he managed to convey a great deal of information in the
allotted small space. He inquired solicitously concerning the surplice,
and bade her be a good girl and not forget the two words he had taught
her. "I have ordered all my meals as though you were with me," he wrote
in conclusion.
Amarilly laid the card away with her wedding waist. Then, with the
Boarder's aid, she indited an answer on a card that depicted the Barlow
Theatre.
The next event for Amarilly was an invitation to attend the wedding of
Mrs. Hubbleston, a buxom, bustling widow for whom Mrs. Jenkins washed.
In delivering the clothes, Amarilly had come to be on very friendly
terms with the big, light-hearted woman, and so she had been asked to
assist in the serving of refreshments on the eventful night.
"I've never been to a wedding," said Amarilly wistfully. "I've been to
most everything else, and I would like to see you wed, but I ain't got
no clo'es 'cept my hair-ribbons."
Mrs. Hubbleston looked at her contemplatively.
"My last husband's niece's little girl left a dress here once when she
was going home after a visit. She had hardly worn it, but she had
outgrown it, and her ma told me to give it away. I had 'most forgotten
about it. I believe it would just fit you. Let us see."
She produced a white dress that adjusted itself comfortably to
Amarilly's form.
"You look real pretty in white, Amarilly. You shall have this dress for
your own."
On the nuptial night Amarilly, clad in the white gown and with black
velvet hair-ribbons, went forth at an early hour to the house of
festivity.