Most of the dishes were broken, but a few were only
cracked; and I have given Silas Thomas's wife ten
old wool dresses and a shawl and three old cloaks.
All the other things which did not go into the bon-
fires went to the Aid Society. They will go back out
West." Sally laughed, a girlish peal, and her hus-
band joined. But suddenly her smooth forehead
contracted. "Edward," said she.
"Well, dear?"
"I am terribly puzzled about one thing." The
two were sitting in the study. Content had gone to
bed. Nobody could hear easily, but Sally Patterson
lowered her voice, and her honest, clear blue eyes had
a frightened expression.
"What is it, dear?"
"You will think me very silly and cowardly, and
I think I have never been cowardly, but this is really
very strange. Come with me. I am such a goose,
I don't dare go alone to that storeroom."
The rector rose. Sally switched on the lights as
they went up-stairs to the storeroom.
"Tread very softly," she whispered. "Content is
probably asleep."
The two tiptoed up the stairs and entered the
storeroom. Sally approached one of the two new
trunks which had come with Content from out West.
She opened it. She took out a parcel nicely folded
in a large towel.
"See here, Edward Patterson."
The rector stared as Sally shook out a dress --
a gay, up-to-date dress, a young girl's dress, a very
tall young girl's, for the skirts trailed on the floor as
Sally held it as high as she could.
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