Seen from
behind, she looked like a small, tightly-built old lady. Her little
basque, cut after her aunt's own pattern, rigorously whaleboned, with
long straight seams, opened in front; she wore a dimity ruffle, a square
blue bow to fasten it, and a brown gingham apron. Her sandy hair was
parted rigorously in the middle, brought over her temples in two smooth
streaky scallops, and braided behind in two tight tails, fastened by a
green bow. Young Lucretia was a homely little girl, although her face
was always radiantly good-humored. She was a good scholar, too, and
could spell and add sums as fast as anybody in the school.
In the entry, where she took off her things, there was a great litter of
evergreen and hemlock; in the farthest corner, lopped pitifully over on
its side, was a fine hemlock-tree. Lucretia looked at it, and her
smiling face grew a little serious.
"That the Christmas-tree out there?" she said to the other girls when
she went into the school-room. The teacher had not come, and there was
such an uproar and jubilation that she could hardly make herself heard.
She had to poke one of the girls two or three times before she could get
her question answered.
"What did you say, Lucretia Raymond?" she asked.
"That the Christmas-tree out there?"
"Course 'tis. Say, Lucretia, can't you come this evening and help trim?
the boys are a-going to set up the tree, and we're going to trim.
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