Her straw hat was simple also, expensive simplicity doubtless, but without a trace of the horticultural exhibits with which Olinda Cahoon, our Denboro milliner, was wont to deck the creations she prepared for customers.

Matilda Dean would have sniffed at the hat and gown; they were not nearly as elaborate as those Nellie, her daughter, wore on Sundays.

But Matilda or Nellie at their grandest could not have appeared as well dressed as this girl, no matter what she wore.

Just now she looked, as Lute or Dorinda might have said, "as if she came out of a band box." "Good morning," she said, again.

She was perfectly self-possessed.
Remembrance of our transit of Mullet's cranberry brook did not seem to embarrass her in the least.