Still, it appeared, even the matter of the out-of-date coat could not put off the evil day forever. One Saturday night—the only night that stores were open in Bancroft—Mr. Duval took Jeanne to the business section of the town, where they entered the very store in which Old Captain had made his purchases.
The month was September and the pink dress, washed many times by Jeanne herself and dried in the full sunshine on the old dock, had faded to a more becoming shade.
Unlike the Captain, Léon Duval behaved quite like an ordinary shopper. He carried himself with dignity and seemed to know exactly what he wanted. He said:
"Stockings for this little girl, if you please."
The clerk, after a hasty glance at the rather shabby garments of her customers, laid some cheap, coarse stockings on the counter.
"Better ones," said Mr. Duval.
"Not good enough," said he, rejecting a second lot. "Something thinner and finer. Yes, these are better. Four pairs, please.
"Now I shall want some underwear for her. Lisle-thread or balbriggan, I think. Also two chemises, night-dresses, whatever petticoats are worn now and a good, serviceable dress—a sailor suit, I think. And after that shoes."
"Why, Daddy!" gasped Jeanne. "I thought you were going to buy nails. You said nails."
"Nails, too, perhaps; but first these."
Jeanne regarded her father thoughtfully. He had always been very gentle with her, but of late—yes, certainly—he had been very much kinder to her. And now, all these clothes. Was he, perhaps, going to send her to a real school—the big public school that stood so high that one could see its distant roof from the wharf? A lack of proper clothing had heretofore prevented her going—that, the distance, and her usefulness at home. She was older now, she could manage the walk. Michael disliked the task, but he could look after the younger children. But with clothes, she could go to school. That would be splendid. Perhaps, in another year, Michael could have clothes, too.
But how particular her father was about hers. The chemises must have a little fine lace on them, he said. And the petticoats—the embroidery must be finer. Yes, the blue serge dress with the fine black braid on the sailor collar would do nicely. And next, a small, neat hat.
Jeannette gasped again. A hat! She had never worn a hat except when she had gone "up town" and then it hadn't been any special hat—just anybody's old cap. But, of course, if she went to school she'd need a hat.
"Now, if you please," said Mr. Duval, "we'd like to see some gloves."
"Kid, or silk?"
"Whichever is the more suitable."
"It's getting late for silk. Maybe you'd better take kid."
Mr. Duval did take kid ones. The sales-woman, with many a curious glance at her unusual customers, fitted a pair of tan gloves to Jeanne's unaccustomed fingers. Her fingers wouldn't stay stiff. They doubled and curled; but at last the gloves were on—and off again. Jeanne gave a sigh of relief.
Then there were shoes. Jeanne was glad that the holes in her stockings were quite small ones. Supposing it had been her other pair! All holes! As it was, the man to whom the clerk had transferred her customer seemed rather shocked to see any holes. Was it possible that there were people—even entire families—with no holes in their stockings? The fat boy that had tumbled off the wharf that morning and hadn't known her afterwards in the new pink dress, probably that fortunate child had whole stockings, because everything else about him seemed most gloriously new and whole; but surely, the greater part of the population went about in holes. Mollie, Mrs. Shannon, her father—even Old Captain. She had seen him put great patches in his thick woolen socks.
But what was the clerk putting on her feet! She had had shoes before. Thick and heavy and always too large that they might last the longer. Mollie had bought them, usually after the first snow had driven barefooted Jeanne to cover. But never such shoes as these. Soft, smooth, and only a tiny scrap longer than her slender foot. And oh, so softly black! And then, a dreadful thought.
"Daddy," said Jeanne, "I just love these shoes for myself; but I'm afraid they won't do. You see, Sammy gets them next. They aren't boys' shoes."
"These are your shoes, not Sammy's," replied her father.
When Mr. Duval had paid for all the wonderful things, they were tied in three big parcels. Jeanne carried one, her father carried two. It was dark and quite late when they finally reached the wharf.
"We will say nothing about this at home," said Mr. Duval, when Jeanne proposed stopping to show the things to Old Captain. "For the present, we must hide them in the old trunk. I have no wish to talk about this matter with anybody. It concerns nobody but us two. Can you keep the secret—even from Old Captain?"
"Why, I guess so. Will it be very long? I'm afraid it will bubble and bubble until somebody hears it. And oh! That darling hat!"
"Not long, I fear."
"I'll try," promised Jeanne.
"Give me that package. Now, run along to bed. I guess everybody else is asleep."
It was a long time before excited Jeanne was able to sleep, however. One by one she was recalling the new garments. She wished that she might have had the new shoes under her pillow for just that one night.
Perhaps the only thing that saved the secret next day was the wonderful tale that she told the children, after she had led them to the farthest corner of the old wharf.
"The beautiful princess," said she, "wore a lovely white thing called a chemise—the prettiest thing there ever was. It was trimmed with lovely lace that had a blue ribbon run through it. There was a beautiful white petticoat over that and on top of that a dress."
"What for," asked Sammy, the inquisitive, "did she cover up her pretty chemise with all those things? Was she cold?"
"Oh, no. Only grand. A chemise is to wear under."
"I'm glad I'm not a princess," said Michael. "Botherin' all the time with blue ribbons. Didn't she wear no crown?"
"Any crown. No, she had just a little dark blue hat the very color of her dress, some brown gloves and oh! the smoothest shoes. They fitted her feet just like skin and she had stockings—"
"Aw, cut out her clothes," said Michael. "What did she eat?"
School had started. Jeanne knew it because on her last trip to the library she had met a long procession of boys and girls hurrying homeward; chattering as only school children can chatter. But still Mr. Duval had said nothing to Jeannette about going to school. The home lessons went on as usual, and the wondering pupil hoped fervently that she was not outgrowing that hidden wardrobe. That would be too dreadful.
The following Saturday evening, Mr. Duval shopped again. This time, he went alone; returning with more bundles. These, too, were concealed. The wharf afforded many a convenient hiding place under its old planks; and this time, even Jeanne failed to suspect that anything unusual had happened during the evening. There were never any lessons Saturday night; and this particular evening she had been glad of the extra time. She was finishing the extra dress she had started for Annie, the red and white striped calico. Mollie was in bed and asleep, Mrs. Shannon was dozing over the stove, Jeanne sat close to the lamp, pushing her needle through the stiff cloth.
"There!" breathed Jeanne, thankfully. "The last button's on. Tomorrow I'll dress Annie up and take her to call on Old Captain. He'll like her because she'll look so much like the American flag."