When she returned she bore over her arm her best dress--a cherished blue silk, ornate with ribbons and cheap lace.

"Where's that pattern ?" she asked her sister.
"She wouldn't ever do such a thing," moaned Fanny.
"Where's that pattern ?" "What pattern ?" Fanny said, faintly.
"That little dress pattern.

Her little dress pattern, the one you cut over my dress for her by." "In the bureau drawer in my room.

Oh, she wouldn't." Eva went into the bedroom, returned with the pattern, got the scissors from Fanny's work-basket, and threw her best silk dress in a rustling heap upon the table.
Fanny stopped moaning and looked at her with wretched wonder.

"What be you goin' to do ?" "Do ?" cried Eva, fiercely--"do?
I'm goin' to cut this dress over for her." "You ain't." "Yes, I be.