The day was quite a muggy one. I'll hear
your news another time, Priscilla; but don't you be turned with the
vanities of the world, Priscilla. Life's but a passing day: you mind
that when you're young, and it won't come on you as a shock when you
are old. I'm glad the cashmere has worn well-- aye, that I am,
Prissie. But don't put it on in the morning, my love, for it's a sin
to wear through beautiful fine stuff like that. And, even if the color
is gone a bit round the hem, the stuff itself isn't worn, and looks
don't signify. You'll have to make up your mind to wear the cashmere
for best again next term, Prissie, for, though I'm not pinched in any
way, I'm not overflush either, my love."
Priscilla, who had been sitting in a low chair near her aunt, now rose
to her feet.
"Ought we not to come to bed?" she said. "If you don't feel tired, you
look it, Aunt Raby. Come upstairs, do, and let me help you to take
your things off and put you into bed. Come, Aunt Raby, it will be like
old times to help you, you know."
The girl knelt by the old woman, took one of her withered hands,
raised it suddenly to her lips and kissed it. Aunt Raby's face was
still turned from the light.
"Don't you keep kneeling on your cashmere," she said.
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