I was sorry that Mammy had come, because a subject was
beginning to take form in my mind. It was suggested by the withered
flowers.
I thought that it would be a good idea to group them with a bundle of
letters, some showing age, the top one with a recent postmark, and call the
composition "Dead Hopes." My thoughts were divided between the selection of
a postmark for the top letter and the possibility of getting a frame,
whilst Mammy was going through the process of finding a chair and seating
herself. The invitation to come in implied the other courtesies.
The old lady was marvellously attired, and I wondered what could be the
occasion of it. She had on a plaid shawl of purple, green, and red
checkers, crossed on her bosom. Around her throat there was a lace collar
of some common sort, held by a breastpin of enormous value if calculated by
the square inch. She wore her usual turban of red and white, but on the top
of it to-day was a straw bonnet of about the fashion of 1835, with flowers
inside, and from it depended a green veil. Her frock was silk of an
indescribable tint, the result of years of fading, and was flounced.
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