XV.
That afternoon she harnessed Molly, the new mare, to the buggy, and accompanied by Ranger, son of Rambler, drove over to Honeycomb Farm.
"I want a dress to wear to church," she said to Miss Seena, "something good that will last."
"Then you're going to church again? I must say it is time." Rawboned, wintry, rheumatic, the dressmaker was still an authority.
"The roads were so bad." To her surprise, Dorinda found herself becoming apologetic. "I couldn't take the teams out on Sundays, but I've bought a chestnut mare for my own use, and I'll begin going again."
"Well, I'm glad you ain't a confirmed backslider. What sort of material had you thought of?"
Dorinda reflected. "Something handsome. Silk—no, satin. That shines more."
"Why don't you order it out of a catalogue? My fingers hav
