AHETTYS RED GOWN.

says the village folks swarm the pastur’ like crows. Come in kerridges,
sometimes.”

Hetty cast one look at her book, and then went for her tin pail and little
dipper. She found the rocky pasture had been well gleaned, as her mother had
said. Yet she staid, gathering what few berries she could.

One of the pickers drew near her. Hetty knew the girl very well. It was
Ann Pellet, and Hetty always tried to avoid her. Her family was not looked upon
as very respectable. She was dressed in the style of the village girls, although
ina shabby and tawdry way. Hetty particularly noticed a string of green glass
beads she wore on her neck — which looked as if it had been seldom washed.
She was dark, like Hetty, but she had a secretive expression, very different from
Hetty’s frank innocent one. Hetty had never forgotten the time she left her
pail filled with blackberries beside the stone wall, and came back -to find it
empty, and Ann hurrying home.

“Halloo!” called Ann. “Berries are skurce, ain’t they? Mother ‘greed
to let me have all the money I could earn pickin’’em; but I guess she’s safe
sayin’ it.”

Hetty’s only reply was to look up a moment. She resumed her search for
berries.

“You needn't feel so big,” Ann snapped out. “ With your long pantalets
and short hair, you're a perfect gawk. The girls all say so.”

With this speech she darted away.

Hetty remained in the pasture till after sundown, busy with other than
cheerful thoughts. ;

“TY can’t pick enough,” she said dejectedly to her mother, as she showed the
meager quart of berries she had gathered.

“Tt’s no matter, for you've got a chance you'd never dream of. Jes’ after
you'd gone, Mr. Peters come down— there’s the marks of his kerridge wheels
‘fore the door— an’ he ast if you could be spared couple o’ days to cover them
lib’ry books. Said you looked keerful an’ tidy.”

“O, mother! if I could buy a pretty red gown — could have it long, without
pantalets —I should be so happy. And my hair shin Jed.”

“Heavens an’ earth!” cried Mrs. Prior; “as if your father’d hear to sech a
thing. "Bout your hair, I mean. He sets astore on’t. He’s said time ’n’ agin
them shingled heads looked wuss ’n’ plucked geese. He mentioned the other
day ’twas ‘bout time your hair was let to grow long.”

“ Mother,” exclaimed Hetty excitedly, “I couldn’t have it grow long. I
do so want it shingled like the village girls.”

“Bout the gown an’ pantalets,” Mrs. Prior said reflectively, “mebbe ’t’d
be a good plan, now you're beginnin’ to grow up.”

Taking a little comfort in this partial concession, Hetty busied herself cover-
ing the library book. She took great care in view of her new duties.