Timothy Grant, the parish clerk, had the pew in between,
and afforded a most edifying spectacle to the community, as there
were seven young Grants of a church-going age, and the ladies of
the congregation were always counting them, reckoning how many
more were in their cradles at home and trying to guess from Mrs.
Grant's lively or chastened countenance whether any new ones had
been born since the Sunday before.
Patty settled herself comfortably, and put her foot on the wooden
"cricket," raising her buff calico a little on the congregation
side, just enough to show an inch or two of petticoat. The
petticoat was as modestly long as the frock itself, and
disclosing a bit of it was nothing more heinous than a casual
exhibition of good needlework. Deacon Baxter furnished only the
unbleached muslin for his daughters' undergarments; but twelve
little tucks laboriously done by hand, elaborate inch-wide
edging, crocheted from white spool cotton, and days of bleaching
on the grass in the sun, will make a petticoat that can be shown
in church with some justifiable pride.
The Wilsons came up the aisle a moment later than was their usual
habit, just after the parson had ascended the pulpit. Mrs. Wilson
always entered the pew first and sat in the far end.
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