The delicate
bells were not injured either in shape or color. It was a shame to lose
it for one day's wear, thought the thrifty Katie; and most surely she
herself would never wear it again. She could not even see it without a
flush of mortification as she recalled Donald's contempt for it. The
privileged Elspie, rummaging among all Katie's stores, old and new,
spied this white heather cluster one day, and snatching it up exclaimed:
"The very thing for my weddin' bonnet, Katie! I'll have it in. The bride
o' the master o' the 'Heather Bell' should be wed with the heather bloom
on her."
Katie's face flushed. "It's been worn, Elspie," she said; "I had it in a
bonnet o' my own. Don't ye remember I wore it to the picnic? an' then it
didna suit, an' I put it back in the box. It's not fit for ye. I've a
bunch o' lilies o' the valley, better."
"No; I'll have this," pursued Elspie. "It's as white's the driven snow,
an' not hurt at all. I'm sure Donald'll like it better than all the
other flowers i' the town."
"Indeed, then, he won't," said Katie, sharply; on which Elspie turned
upon her with a flashing eye, and said,--
"An' which 'll be knowin' best, do ye think? What is it ye mean?"
"Nothing," said Katie, meekly; "only he said, that day I'd the bonnet
on, it was no more than sticks, an' not like the true heather at all.
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