Particular dresses were special memorials of her loves, her pleasures, her little passing pains; as long as a bit remained of the poor old fabric the sight of it recalled them all.
This brown merino--in which she had sat two whole winters over her Greek and Latin by Robert Lyon's side, which he had once stopped to touch and notice, saying what a pretty color it was, and how he liked soft-feeling dresses for women--to cut up this old brown merino seemed to hurt her so she could almost have cried.
Yet what would Johanna think if the refused?
And there was Elizabeth absolutely in want of clothes.

"I must be growing very wicked," thought poor Hilary.
She lay a good while silent in the dark, while Johanna planned and replanned--calculating how, even with the addition of an old cape of her own, which was out of the same piece, this hapless gown could be made to fit the gaunt frame of Elizabeth Hand .-- Her poor kindly brain was in the last extremity of muddle, when Hilary, with a desperate effort, dashed in to the rescue, and soon made all clear, contriving body, skirt, sleeves and all.
"You have the best head in the world, my love.

I don't know whatever I should do without you." "Luckily you are never likely to be tried.

So give me a kiss; and good night, Johanna." I misdoubt many will say I am writing about small, ridiculously small, things.

Yet is not the whole of life made up of infinitesimally small things?
And in its strange and solemn mosaic, the full pattern of which we never see clearly till looking back on it from far away, dare we say of any thing which the hand of Eternal Wisdom has put together, that it is too common or too small?
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