THE STORY OP MABEL'S MERINO DRESS.

Star (Christchurch), Issue 1168, 15 November 1871, Page 3

THE STORY OP MABEL'S MERINO DRESS.

-*** We lived far away in the country in a ruscic district. My father was postmaster of the little pi cc, and kept a few groceries for sale. But he had enough io do to maintain his family scantily and clothe them decently. I was sixteen, and housekeeper ; my mother was dead, anil I was the eldest of us four children. The rest being younger, I strove to do my best for them. My one great trouble then was my clothes. Other young girls of our station that I associated with d ressed better than I could, and it grieved me. Vanity begins earlier than that iv the female heart. I had made up and re made every article in my mother's wardrobe for the children or for me, and had worked up every shred to the best advantage ; and now that was all gone, and I did need a new dress for the coining winter. I made my shoes last as long again as other girls did, for I knew my father needed every sixpence he could earn, and I dreaded wanting anything. Not that he was ever cross, but he often sighed, and he looked so pained and sorrow ful when I asked him for money, that I tried to do with as little as possible But here it was the last of October ; my summer dresses, poor enough at all times, looked very thin and paltry now. One Saturday afternoon I shall never forget. It is what lam goiDg to tell of. My work till done, the children at play in the orchard, I combed out my long brown hair, ;>ut on my bes' cotton frock, selected a plain linen collar of my own making, and pinned it round my neck with au old breastpin, the imly bit of jewellery I had ever owned. With me I ti.ink it was an instinct to dress well. Not line ; only nea\ Then, taking out my last winter's best frock, I sat down by the window to see what I could do at renovating it. tlt was a light blue merino — very light indeed now — and I knew it was too short for me, as I was still growing, and was very shabby. But by turniDg and putting in a wide band of trimming which I had, I thought it might be made to answer ; so I set to work with a will. The work was vexing. I was trying to do what scarcely could be done ; and as I gat sewing and contriving, I felt fit to cry over our poverty. Just then the dog on the shop-sill set up a loud barking, and I looked to see what it was at. A man was coming iv at the gate with a pack on his back ; a travelling pedlar, I knew. He smiled and came in, although I said I did not want anything, and the children, seeing him, came running in too. "I cannot afford to buy; indeed I cannot," I kept saying. But the man only kept, on smiling, and opened his pack on the parlour floor. And it was too great a treat to me to see the things to make great opposition. The first that came out was just the very thing I had moat longed for ; a beautiful French merino, of a dark crimson colour. I had once seen a dress of this kind, but none had ever been offered for sale in our little place that could equal this in shade or texture. The pedlar looked at me with his keen, black eyes, as I knelt down to feel the prize I had no hope of winning. " The lady will buy," he said; but I only shook my head, and crossing my hands behind me, stood up resolutely, trying hard not to long for the much-desired piece of goods. " Not buy 1" he exclaimed, in a bnken

language of some sort, I could not rel? whether Germau or French ; and he looked i -so astonished, even pitiful, that I felt sorry at once, and confessed that I had no money, and could not purchase. w But the beautiful young lady have some old silver — old jewellery — eld silk dresses — just good as money ?" said he. I laughed at the idea, but he only opened another package to d'splay to the hoys somedumb watches with very gay chains, and handing them each one, he took out a small d '11 for my little sister, and told them to run away now " till sister bought her dress." I motioned to the boys to stay near the door step, and then taking up the niuchcoveted dress piece, I again examined it. Satan was tempting me, or some vexatious spirit that does duty for him; and never had I ber-n so sorely beset. How could I let it Ko, yet how pay for it ? The black eyes never left my face, but the fellow was respectful, only bowing lower as he said, " You ihink it good ?" " Oh, yes !" I replied. ' too good for mo." "Not so." he snid; "it suits you imn.-!i and you shall have it cheap." " f tell you I have no money." ." No matter, I trust. You give me something to keep for >ou, and I come again," he said. '• But I have nothing," I insisted. Still he on'y seemed more eager ; suid something of hard times, of having to stay .-it. the tavern, and expenses over Sunday, of being so " very tire "—and I with the merino in my hand all the while. ."-uddenly lie stepped close to me, pointing to the po<r brooch I wore. I could give him that, he said; that is, lend it him in trust until he came again. Did I think much of it, he asked. I laughed as I undid it. I did not tlvnk much of it, but it was all the jewellery I possessed in the world. I showed him my name on the back, " Mabel." But it wu-s worn nearly illegible now. "■Nearly quite," said he, turning it about in his hands; " it very poor." And this was true; the poor, thin gold if it was gold, wa* all dinted and mashed flit, the original pin gone, and a needle tied in by the eye with a thread served to fasten it. One large stone was set in the centre as large a-> a pfa, surrounded by nine sm-iller ones, but one of these was lost long ago, and I had often tried to find a piece of white glass to lit the small cavity, but had failed. Tinstones were all glass, as I believed. Some <>f the girls in the village would ask me why I wore the old-f <shioned things and then I would show them the rtim "Mabel" on flic back, and t 11 them I had been named after the name there. Some one had given niv mother the pin for me when I was born; and she (mother) said I should bear the same name. The pedlar kept it in his hand, and I noticed that his fingers trembled. " I'll bring it to you back in threo mon hs' time," said he ; " 'twon't be o' nv> good to me; but I'll take it on trust. Or — if you can pay sooner, I shall be about the neighbourhood all next week, and sha'l sleep each night at the inn." 15e you very sure I did not hesitate lonsi ; the temptation was too great; so, thrusting the old pin carelessly into his breast pocket, he tied up bis bundles, and with low bows left the house. I could scarcely believe in my good luck. I spread out my new frock on the bed, and held it before me to try the effect. And then I began to repent. My father, I knew, would not give me one cross look : but still I did hate to tell him of the twelve shillings I owed the pedlar. I would be so saving for the next three months, that he would lose nothing by my bargain, for I'd scrape it together myself When I picked up the linen band to put it r und my neck, I did not know how to fasten it at first without that familiar old pin-, then I recollected how often the girls had told me that a bow of ribbon would lo r >k so much prettier. So, looking up a small piece « f black velvet, I formed a bow, and felt more than satisfied. My father did not get home to tea or supper. I put the children to bed after their slices of bread and treacle and a good washing. At ten o'clock a note came, saying some business had detained my father; that I had better close the house and retire. Thin *as nothing very unusual, as his business matters often kept him late. I was quite a staid little woman in management, and did as I was bid. My father would come in with his latch-key. (To be continued.)