"Well, Mandy Calline," began her mother, "ef I do say it myself, yer frock
fits jest as nice as can be. Looks like ye had been melted 'n' run into it.
Nice langth, too," eying her critically from head to foot.
"Ya'as, 'm; 'n' it's comf'ble, too; ain't too tight ner nothin'," giving
her shoulders a little twitch, and moving her arms a bit.
"I guess th' boys 'll ha' ter look sharp ef that gal sets 'er cap at any on
'em," put in Father Tyler, gazing proudly at his first-born, whereupon a
toss of her head set the ribbon ends fluttering as she moved with great
dignity across the room to the fireplace.
"Come, let me feel, dearie," said the old lady, softly, turning her
sightless eyes toward the girl, hearing her movements in her direction.
"Ya'as, gra'mammy," and stepping nearer, she knelt at her grandmother's
feet, and leaning forward, rested her hands lightly on her shoulders.
The old wrinkled hands groped their way to the girl's face, thence
downward, over her arms, her waist, to the skirt of her dress.
"It feels nice, dearie, 'n' I know it looks nice."
"I'm glad ye like it, gra'mammy," said the girl, gently.
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