Part 17 (1/2)
”Mine is to be trimmed with point-lace,” broke in another.
”And I'm to wear mamma's diamonds,” boasted somebody else.
”You can't,” demurred a quiet girl, who had not spoken before. ”Sister Agnes said that we are not to be allowed to wear jewelry or silk either; and that, though the material for the dresses may be of as fine a quality as we choose, they ought not be showy or elaborate.”
”That is all very well to say,” answered Eugenia. ”The nuns can enforce these rules in their boarding-schools, but hardly in a day-school like this. We'll wear what we please, or what our mothers select. Mamma has decided to get the white silk for me, because so many of our friends will be present, and she wants my dress to be the handsomest of any.”
This information was received without comment, but it aroused in some foolish little hearts a feeling of envy, and in others a desire of emulation.
Eugenia Dillon was the richest girl in the school. Her father, a plain, sensible man, who had lacked early advantages, had within a few years ama.s.sed a considerable fortune, which he would gladly have enjoyed in an unostentatious, unpretending manner. This, however, did not suit his wife at all. Mrs. Dillon, though a kind-hearted, charitable woman, was excessively fond of style, lavishly extravagant, and inclined to parade her wealth upon all occasions. She did not realize that the very efforts she made to attain the position in society which would have come to her naturally if she had but the patience to wait, caused her to be sneered at as a _parvenu_ by those whose acquaintance she most desired. Unconscious of all this, she pursued her way in serene self-satisfaction,--a complacency shared by Eugenia, who delighted in the good fortune and bad taste which permitted her to wear dresses of silk or velvet to school every day in the week, and caused her to be as much admired as a little figure in a fas.h.i.+on-plate by those of her companions who were too unsophisticated to know that vain display is a mark of vulgarity.
”Oh children, children!” exclaimed Sister Agnes, who caught the drift of the conversation as she came into the room. ”Do not be troubling your precious little heads about the fas.h.i.+ons. We must all trust something to the good sense of your mammas that you will be suitably gowned. Certainly it is eminently fitting that one should be beautifully attired to honor the visit of the King of kings.
Considered in this light, no robe could be too rich, no ornament too splendid. But, lest a small thought of vanity should creep in to spoil the exalted motive, the custom is to adopt a lovely simplicity. If you notice, we never think of the angels as weighed down with jewels.
Bestow some of this anxiety upon the preparation of your hearts; see that you are clothed in the royal robes of grace; deck yourself with the jewels of virtue,--rubies for love, emeralds for hope, pearls for contrition, diamonds for faith, and purity. It was with gems like these that the holy maidens, Saints Agnes, Philomena, and Lucy, chose to adorn themselves, rather than with the contents of their trinket caskets.”
Thus the nun continued to speak to the band of little girls, who had eagerly gathered around her; thus was she wont to teach them lessons of wisdom in a sprightly, gay, happy-hearted way, as if generosity, unselfishness and self-denial were the most natural traits imaginable, and the whole world fair because it is G.o.d's world, and we are all His children. Was it this spirit of joyousness which attracted young people especially to her, and gave her such an influence with them?
”Somehow, when Sister Agnes talks to me,” even so flighty a little personage as Lillie Davis said one day, ”I feel as if I could make any sacrifice quite as a matter of course, and without a speck of fuss about it.”
”Yes,” agreed Connie. ”She seems to take your hand in her strong one and to lead you up a stony, hilly path; and then, when you come to the roughest, steepest places, she almost carries you onward; and you are ashamed to complain that you are tired, because, though she is so gentle with you, she does not mind such trifles at all herself--”
”She makes me think,” interrupted Lillie, ”of the pleasant, suns.h.i.+ny breeze that comes up sometimes on a cloudy morning, and chases away the mists through which everything looks so queerly, and lets us see things as they really are.”
Lillie's quaint comparison was an apt one, as was proved in the present instance.
When Sister Agnes had gone the subject which the girls had been discussing presented a different aspect, and the keynote of her character which always impressed them--”Do n.o.ble deeds, not dream them all day long,”--caused them now to feel dissatisfied with themselves and to cast about for something to do. This reminded Constance again of Annie Brogan and the white dress that Lillie had regarded with so much scorn.
”Girls,” said she, ”wouldn't it be nice if we could give a dress and veil, and whatever is necessary, to some poor child who is to make her First Communion on the same day as ourselves? Perhaps, too, we could arrange to have her make it with us. Don't you think this would make us happy, and be a good way to prepare?”
”It's a grand idea, Connie!” proclaimed Lillie, with ready enthusiasm.
”How could we do it?” asked the quiet girl, coming to the practical question at once.
”By giving up some of our ribbons and candies and knickknacks during the next few weeks, maybe,” continued Constance earnestly, thinking it out as she went along. ”Suppose we all agree to get the pretty dresses the nuns wish us to wear on that day, instead of the showy ones we want? They would not cost as much, and our mothers would, I am sure, let us use the extra money in this way.”
”What! give up the white silk! Oh, I couldn't!” objected Eugenia, disconcerted. ”Anyhow, I don't believe mamma would like to have me do it.”
”Tulle is so lovely!” sighed Lillie. ”And I never did like plain mull.”
On the whole, the proposal was not received with favor. It was discussed with much animation, but the bell rang before any decision had been arrived at. Later, however, after a consultation with Sister Agnes, who promised her cordial co-operation, the children concluded to adopt Connie's suggestion, if their mothers would consent.
”I must acknowledge that I am disappointed,” remarked Mrs. Davis to her husband that evening. ”To-day I ordered the material for Lillie's First Communion dress,--an exquisite tulle. But she came home from school with a story about furnis.h.i.+ng an outfit for a poor child, and she a.s.sures me that her companions are to wear plain dresses for the occasion.” Thereupon the lady proceeded to give the details of the plan as she had understood it.
”A very creditable determination,” said Lillie's papa, approvingly. ”I endorse it heartily. If attired simply, the children will not be distracted by the thought of their gowns, while at the same time some deserving little girl will be provided with an appropriate costume. I advise you to send back the tulle by all means, my dear, and apply the difference in price between it and the fabric agreed upon to the fund the children are trying to make up.”
”Well, I suppose it will be best to do so,” decided his wife. ”Anyhow, tulle is so delicate a tissue, and Lillie is such a heedless little creature, that it would probably be badly torn before the end of the ceremonies.”
”I am sorry,” soliloquized Connie's mother when she heard of the project. ”Connie's First Communion will be so important an event for her that I feel as if I could not do enough in preparation for it. I should like to dress her more beautifully than on any day in her life.
If she were grown and about to enter society, or if I were buying her wedding-dress, I would select the handsomest material procurable,--why not now, for an occasion so great that I ought hardly mention it in comparison? But, after all,” mused she, later, ”the children's arrangement is the best. I am happy that Constance is so free from frivolity, and has shown so edifying a spirit.”