Rensselaer Semi-Weekly Republican, Volume 39, Number 59, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 29 March 1907 — Priscilla’s Easter Bonnet [ARTICLE]

Priscilla’s Easter Bonnet

Miss Priscilla Peck was remodeling her test bonnet, and it was a serious undertaking to Miss Priscilla. The light from the kerosene lamp fell on a forlorn array of bits of silk, ribbon And faded artificial flowers on the little round table at her elbow, and a limp, dilapidated frame lay on the floor at her feet. She had been curling her plumes with the blade of the penknife, and her white apron was covered with the fibers that had broken off in the operation. She held the two rusty little tips up to the light and looked at them critically, and they did look funny, even to Mias Priscilla. The fibers that she had managed to curl were twisted down into little hard, frizzy knobs, and those that were still uncurled hung down in limp, dejected little strings, and Miss Priscilla laughed a little dolefully as she said to herself: “Well, there ain’t but precious little left of them, and that’s a fact; and I don’t know as I’ve improved ’em much, either, but they’ve just got to go back on that bunnit, if they hain’t bigger’n hen’s feathers,” then she laid them carefully aside and picked up a piece of the drab •ilk. “I s’pose I ought to have washed it In gasoline,” she said a little ruefully, “but I really didn’t feel as if I could afford it. And I don’t believe I can ever get it puckered up and put back on the frame ao’s it won’t show the faded streaks. I don’t s’pose I ought to have ripped it up, but I’ve wore it for six years and I just felt as if I couldn’t wear it to-mor-row without something was done to it. Everybody always comes Out on Easter with their pretty 7 new hats and bunnits—and mine was jest as pretty as any of ’em when it was new, but last Easter it looked so kind of faded and shabby beside all the new ones that somehow I felt as if I was slightin’ the day that everybody ought to celebrate by lookin’ and feelin’ as bright and joyful as they can. I’ve tried to keep my heart in harmony with Easter, but folks can’t see my heart and they can my bunnit,” and then Miss Priscilla laughed again and went patiently to work shirring and shaping and fitting the silk over the limp, old-fashioned frame. Miss Priscilla was a sociable little body, and always talked to herself when ■he had no one else to talk to. She had no family of her ewn and was A born nurse, and so everyone in the village felt perfectly free to call on her in case of sickness. She had comforted and cared for the aged whose feet were going •down into the valley of the shadow, and bad ministered td the middle-aged and the young, and everyone in the village loved Miss Priscilla and felt that they owed her a debt of gratitude. But love and gratitude, precious as they are to a lonely heart, are poor commodities wherewith to pay the butcher, the baker and the candlestick maker, to say nothing of the extravagance of buying Easter bonnets, and as Miss Priscilla was no hand to parade her poverty before her friends and neighbors she dyed and turned and made .over, and withal managed to keep so bright and cheery that no one really suspected how poor ■he was. She worked on patiently for a while, too much absorbed to even talk to her•elf, but somehow the result was not very satisfactory. Long years of nursing the sick, however, much as it may soften

the heart and refine the sensibilities, is not conducive to proficiency in fashioning artistic millinery, and Miss Priscilla began to feel somewhat discouraged. She fashioned the stiff ribbon into a bow and tacked it on one side of the bonnet; fastened the two sickly little plumes and the bunch of faded roses on top; pinned on the strings and, stepping over to the little mirror that was perched on top of the old-fashioned bureau, settled the result of her handiwork on her wavy brown hair. But what was the matter? Miss Prisclila looked at . the reflection in consternation. She saw a pair of tranquil brown eyes and a round, rosy face that reminded one of a winter apple, but the bonnet —the frame was all twisted out of shape and the silk was askew, and the bow, plumes and the roses all seemed to stand up and glare at each other in the most belligerent attitude. She gave one look and snatched it off her head and flung it on the table. “There now,” she said, “I hope I’ll be satisfied. I’ve ruined the only thing I had to my name to wear on my head, and now I can just stay at home from church to-morrow, and it’s Easter Sunday, too, and all on account of my foolish pride. Oh, why couldn’t I have been satisfied to let well enough alone?” And then Miss Priscilla did a strange thing for her—she dropped her bead down on the little table and cried softly, all alone by herself. . But not for long, for soon she was bustling around, tidying up the shabby little sitting room. She crammed the one-sided bonnet into its box and put it away out of sight in the closet, and taking her Bible she read one of the sweet old chapters, and somehow she felt strangely comforted. Light footsteps upon the walk and a tap at the door roused her from her reverie ; she opened the door and there stood Roxy Brown, Mrs. Bartlett’s little apprentice, with a bandbox, which she hurriedly thrust into Miss Priscilla’s hand, saying: “Here’s your new bonnet, Miss Priscilla. Mrs. Bartlett couldn’t possibly finish It sooner, and she told me to tell you she hoped you’d like it,” and before Miss Priscilla had recovered from her astonishment the girl and her companion were hastening off down the street, well out of reach of her voice. She carried the box over to the little table and removed the cover with trembling hands, and then lifted out a lovely little bonnet of black lace and jet, with two soft, silky black plumes and a big

bunch of purple pansies and lovely lace ties. “Oh, oh,” she breathed, “that dear Mis’ Bartlett, may the good Lord bless her. And to think I was mean enough to call her near. I really don’t deserve this beautiful bonnet.” Then a tear splashed down upon the shining jet lace, and she laughed softly. “I really didn’t know how much I wanted a new bonnet till I got it,” she said comically. A happier hearted little woman than Miss Priscilla Peck, with the little lace and jet bonnet perched on her wavy brown hair, did not enter the little, flower decked church on that beautiful Easter morning. Mrs. Bartlett came in late, and nearly all the congregation were in their places. She settled herself in her pew and then, as was her wont, began surreptitiously scanning the headgear of the feminine portion of the congregation, taking note of the hats and bonnets that wore her own handiwork and those that had come from the rival shop across the way. “More than two-thirds of them came from my store,” she was thinking, exultingly, when suddenly she gave a start and turned hot and cold all in an instant. There, sitting well up in front, where she could enjoy the flowers, with the light from the stained glass window falling like an aureole around her, was Miss Priscilla Peck, with a little black lace and jet bonnet perched airily upon her head. Mrs. Presley’s bonnet 1 The very one she had finished late last evening and sent home to her wealthy customer by Roxy Brown. Then, regardless of what people might think, she turned deliberately around and looked at the Presley pew. Yes, there sat Mrs. Presley, stiff and stately as ever, with her winter bonnet on her head, and a look of cold displeasure in her eyes as they met her own. Then for five minutes she sat perfectly still and thought, and the whole thing became plain to her. “It is all the fault of that careless, trifling Roxy Brown,” she thought angrily ; “she was standing before the glass trying on her own hat when I asked her to take home Mrs. Presley’s bonnet, and she promised as glib as you please, without at all understanding whom the bonnet belonged to, and she’s gone and given Mrs. Presley’s bonnet to Miss Priscilla. But I should desire to know what Priscilla Peck means by going and keeping a bonnet that she knows doesn’t belong, to her. An eight-dollar bonnet, too. and the handsomest one I have made this season, but I’ll settle the matter in short order after church is out,” and then, with a heart that was not at all in harmony with the day. she turned her attention to the beautiful Easter service, that had so far passed unheeded. But what was this anthem the children were singing? All at once she forgot Mrs. Presley and Miss Priscilla, and a little flowerlike face rose before her mental vision, and she heard a shrill, childish little voice practicing an anthem—an Easter anthem that she had never lived 'W' Bing. - ■ She remembered, too, how many, many times during her long illness little Ellen Mary had begged Miss Priscilla to sing that very anthem, so that she might not forget it, hoping and expecting to sing with the other children on Easter Sunday. Then she thought bow Miss Priscilla had watched over and nursed her little daughter during her long sickness, and what a comfort she had been to her on that sorrowful day when little Ellen Mary was laid away to rest. The tears welled up and rolled down her cheeks, she glanced across at Miss Priscilla, and she, too, was wiping her eyes. "I shall always love her for what she did for little Ellen Mary," she thought, with a new feeling of tenderness growing in her heart; “she never, never would set any price on her work, and I gave her that drab Silk bonnet. And I remember I told her that I should always see that she had a nice bonnet.” Here Mrs. Bartlett began to feel uncomfortable “I s’pose she thinks I’ve forgotten my promise and all her kindness; but I haven’t, and never shall." During the next few moments conscience and the Easter anthem did their perfect work in Mrs. Bartlett’s worldly heart. When next she glanced across the