The Green Satin Gown | Page 5

Your dear father
was one of that gay sleighing party; and he often speaks of the first
time he saw me--when I was coming down the stairs in the green satin
gown.

BLUE EGYPTIANS [1]
A PAPER-MILL STORY

"I wouldn't, Lena!"
"Well, I guess I shall!"
"Don't, Lena! please don't! you will be sorry, I am sure, if you do it. It
cannot bring good, I know it cannot!"
"The idea! Mary Denison, you are too old-fashioned for anything. I'd
like to know what harm it can do."
The rag-room was nearly deserted. The whistle had blown, and most of
the girls had hurried away to their dinner. Two only lingered behind,
deep in conversation; Mary Denison and Lena Laxen.
Mary was sitting by her sorting-table, busily sorting rags as she talked.
She was a fair, slender girl, and looked wonderfully fresh and trim in
her gray print gown, with a cap of the same material fitting close to her
head, and hiding her pretty hair. The other girl was dark and vivacious,
with laughing black eyes and a careless mouth. She was picturesque
enough in her blue dress, with the scarlet handkerchief tied loosely over
her hair; but both kerchief and dress showed the dust plainly, and the
dark locks that escaped here and there were dusty too, showing little of
the care that may keep one neat even in a rag-room.
"It's just as pretty as it can be!" Lena went on, half-coaxing,
half-defiant. "You ought to see it, Mame! A silk waist, every bit as
good as new, only of course it's mussed up, lying in the bag; and a skirt,
and lots of other things, all as nice as nice! I can't think what the folks
that had them meant, putting such things into the rags: why, that waist
hadn't much more than come out of the shop, you might say. And do
you think I'm going to let it go through the duster, and then be thrown
out, and somebody else get it? No, sir! and it's no good for rags, you
know it isn't, Mary Denison."
"I know that it is not yours, Lena, nor mine!" said Mary, steadily. "But
I'll tell you what you might do; go straight to Mr. Gordon, and tell him
about the pretty waist,--very likely it got in by mistake, --tell him it is
no good for rags, and ask if you may have it. Like as not he'll let you

have it; and if not, you will find out what his reason is. I think we ought
to suppose he has some reason for what he does."
Lena laughed spitefully.
"Like as not he's going to take it home to his own girl!" she said. "I saw
her in the street the other day, and I wouldn't have been seen dead with
the hat she had on; not a flower, nor even a scrap of a feather; just a
plain band and a goose-quill stuck in it. Real poorhouse, I thought it
looked, and he as rich as a Jew. I guess I sha'n't go to Mr. Gordon; he's
just as hateful as he can be. He gave out word that no one was to touch
that bag, nor so much as go near it; and he had it set off in a corner of
the outer shed, close by the chloride barrels, so that everything in it will
smell like poison. If that isn't mean, I don't know what is.
"Well, I can't stay here all day, Mame. Aren't you coming?"
"Pretty soon!" said Mary. "Don't wait for me, Lena! I want to finish this
stint, so as to have the afternoon off. Mother's poorly to-day, and I want
to cook something nice for her supper."
Lena nodded and went out, shutting the door with a defiant swing.
Mary looked after her doubtfully, as if hesitating whether she ought not
to follow and make some stronger plea; but the next moment she bent
over her work again.
"I must hurry!" she said. "I'll see Lena after dinner, and try to make her
promise not to touch that bag. I don't see what has got into her."
Mary worked away steadily. The rags were piled in an iron sieve before
her; they were mostly the kind called "Blue Egyptians," cotton cloth
dyed with indigo, which had come far across the sea from Egypt.
Musty and fusty enough they were, and Mary often turned her head
aside as she sorted them carefully, putting the good rags into a huge
basket that stood beside her on the floor, while the bits of woollen cloth,
of paper and string and other refuse, went into different compartments
of the sorting-table, which was something like an old-fashioned
box-desk.

Mary was a quick worker, and her