It was a hot morning in July, and the air seemed thunderous and heavy
when she set off on what to her was as important an expedition as is a
trip to Europe to an older person. She had wanted to wear her pink
gingham dress, the one kept sacred for Sunday, and had even hoped that
she might be allowed to display her best straw hat with the blue ribbons
and cluster of apple blossoms. She had no doubt that she should go into
the house and see the crazy man, and Mrs. Tracy, who she had heard wore
silk stockings every day, and she wished to be suitably attired for such
honor.
But Mrs. Crawford dispelled her air castles by telling her that she was
only to go into the side yard where the cherry trees were, and that she
must be very quiet, so as not to disturb Mr. Arthur, whose windows
looked that way. To wear her pink dress was impossible, as she would get
it stained with the juice of the cherries, while the best hat was not
for a moment to be thought of.
So Jerry submitted to the dark calico frock and high-necked,
long-sleeved apron which Mrs. Crawford thought safe and proper for her
to wear on a cherry expedition. A clean, white sun-bonnet with a wide
cape covered her head and concealed her face when she started from the
cottage, with her quart tin pail on her arm; but no sooner was she on
the path which led to the park that the obnoxious bonnet was removed and
was swinging on her arm, while she was admiring the shadow which, her
long, bright curls made in the sunshine as she shook her head from side
to side.
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