S. Dodge, hopping nimbly down from the ladder. "There, that looks even
nicer than it did at the fair; don't you think so, Abby?" "It looks
perfectly lovely, Maria." "Well, here we are at last," announced Mrs.
Whittle as she entered. "I had to wait till the frosting stiffened up on
my cake." She bustled over to a table and began to take the things out
of her baskets. Mrs. Daggett hurried forward to meet Mrs. Solomon Black,
who was advancing with slow majesty, bearing a huge disk covered with
tissue paper. Mrs. Black was not the only woman in the town of
Brookville who could now boast sleeves made in the latest Parisian
style. Her quick black eyes had already observed the crisp blue taffeta,
in which Mrs. Whittle was attired, and the fresh muslin gowns decked
with uncreased ribbons worn by Mrs. Daggett and her friend, Maria Dodge.
Mrs. Solomon Black's water-waves were crisp and precise, as of yore, and
her hard red cheeks glowed like apples above the elaborate embroidery of
her dress. "Here, Mis' Black, let me take your cake!
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