JUST LIKE AUNT BANGER. 123

world but lighted waves, with a tiny, fine spray of sea-weed
tossing over them, — all green, but the green that lives and
quivers and crystallizes into gems, as Rye thought.

It was like playing at a sea-bath to make it up. When it
came to trimming, Rye grew perceptibly solemn. It was a
fact familiar in the family history, that Aunt Banger objected
to ruffles.

“ And frills, and plaits, and flounces, and everything that
flies and quirks,” Rye had confided sadly to Trim. So Trim
was over with Godey, and that superior smile.

The pretty mother, — Rye’s, you will remember, — herself
trimmed to the pretty waist, had said with a secret look of
sympathy that was almost as sweet as ruffles to Rye’s little
foolish heart, “ Don’t make Aunt Banger trouble, my dear,”
and had gone away to take a nap, because dress-making made
her head ache.

So all was quiet on the Potokiies and, with Trim for reserve
force, Rye had undertaken to fight it out on that line.

Trim had her finger on a plate in Harper representing a
young woman with a face like cream-candy and a dress
like —

“A orab-bag!” said Auyt Banger. “ A country charity-
fair grab-bag. Nothing belongs to anything. Disjecta mem-
bra!”

“ Latin,” whispered Rye to Trim, who had never studied it.

“ What does it mean ?”’

“‘ Hashed up,” said Rye, after a meditative silence.