Because after all, a child is a child, you know."
It was a longer cry than might have been expected. Howbeit, it wore
itself out in a shadowy corner, and then the dressmaker came forth, and
washed her face, and made the tea.
"You wouldn't mind my cutting out something while we are at tea, would
you?" she asked with a coaxing air.
"Cinderella, dear child," the old man expostulated. "Will you never
rest?"
"Oh! It's not work, cutting out a pattern isn't," said Miss Jenny, with
her busy little scissors already snipping at some paper; "The truth is,
godmother, I want to fix it, while I have it correct in my mind."
"Have you seen it to-day, then?" asked Riah.
"Yes, godmother. Saw it just now. It's a surplice, that's what it is.
Thing our clergymen wear, you know," explained Miss Jenny, in
consideration of his professing another faith.
"And what have you to do with that, Jenny?"
"Why, godmother," replied the dressmaker, "you must know that we
professors, who live upon our taste and invention, are obliged to keep
our eyes always open. And you know already that I have many extra
expenses to meet. So it came into my head, while I was weeping at my
poor boy's grave, that something in my way might be done with a
clergyman. Not a funeral, never fear;" said Miss Jenny. "The public
don't like to be made melancholy, I know very well. But a doll
clergyman, my dear,--glossy black curls and whiskers--uniting two of my
young friends in matrimony," said Miss Jenny shaking her forefinger, "is
quite another affair.
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