When it was all done, her cheeks being very red and shiny,
and her hair very damp and smooth, when she was arrayed in her clean
starched white tier, and had her Shaker tied on with an emphatic square
bow, she stood in the door and drank in the parting instructions. Her
eyes were wide and intent, and her mouth drooped soberly at the corners.
The importance of the occasion had begun to impress her. She held a
penny tight in her hand; the raisins were to be charged, it not being
judged advisable to trust Fidelia with so much money.
"I don't believe that little thing can carry three pounds of raisins,"
Mrs. Lennox said to Aunt Maria. She was becoming more and more uneasy
about Fidelia's going.
"Let her take her little wagon an' drag 'em; that'll be just the thing,"
said Aunt Maria, complacently.
So Fidelia started down the road, trundling behind her the little
squeaking cart. It was a warm July day, and it was very dusty. Directly
Fidelia started she forgot her mother's injunctions about stubbing her
toes; she disappeared in a small cloud of dust, for she walked in the
middle of the road, and flirted it up with great delight.
[Illustration: "'WHOSE LITTLE GAL AIR YOU?'"]
In the course of the mile Fidelia met one team. It was an old rocking
chaise and a white horse, and an old farmer was driving. He drove slower
when he came alongside of Fidelia. When he had fairly passed her he
stopped entirely, twisted about in his seat, and raised his voice.
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