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THE CHRISTIAN NATION. Vol. 69.
A r o u n d t h e O l d
Arm Chair
THE WHITE CHALLIS.
By Mildred Van Inwegen.
"What's the matter, dear?" asked' Mrs.
Warren, glancing at her daughter's clouded
face.
Amy
"Disappointing news ?''
laid down the letters she had been
reading and shook her head.
"It's Elizabeth Burnes's
party," she replied.
"I'm invited."
A
happy light leaped into Mrs. Warren's
eyes and for the moment her pale, tired face
radiated with pleasure.
"'Really?" she cried.
I'm so glad she included you!
delighted?"
"How lovely, Amy!
Aren't you
Amy shook her head. "No," she replied.
"I'm not."
Mrs. Warren looked at her in amazement.
"You're not?" she echoed. "And why? Only
last week you were hoping you would be
fortunate enough to be invited and doubting
that you would.
I thought"-—
"I know," broke in Amy. "And I did
want to be invited then.
I—I haven't a thing to wear."
But I don't now.
"There's your white challis," her mother
reminded her.
"You look so sweet in that.
With a new sash, it would be very pretty
and
fresh"—
"Mother!'' cried Amy. "That challis is
three years oJd. I've worn it to everything.
I hate it. The skirt is too full and the
sleeves are all out of date. And, besides, no
one wears challis nowadays. All the girls at
school are having lovely new gowns, satins
and silks and chiffons.
That's all they talk
about. Why, I can't wear that challis. You
wouldn't ask me to if you understood."
"It's a very sweet and girlish dress,," said
lier mother.
"And much more suitable for
a school girl than the things they wear."
"Perhaps it is," Amy conceded.
"But the
school girls I know aren't sweet and simple.
They are gorgeous fashion plates. Oh, dear,
I'd like to have a real gown for once in my
life."
"And I should like to have one," said
?ifrs. A\'arren, wistfully. "You don't know
how it grieves me not to be able to give a'Ou
everything"—
There was such pain in her voice that
'AiYiy glanced; at lier apprehensively. The
next minute she had crossed the room and
had flung her arms about her, crying:
"Oh, mother, dear, don't say that! I'm a
selfish pig!. I don't deserve a thing! You
do' a great deal too much for me, anyway.
I ought not to let you send me to the Academy.
It's such an expense and we haven't
money for luxuries."
"A good education is never a luxury," said
Mrs. Warren, smoothing the hair from her
daughter's flushed forehead. "Ii want my
girl tO' meet the best people. I want her to
be invited to th.eir parties, too."
"Don't you worry aboyt me," Amy exclaimed.
"I don't care about parties. I'll
send my regrets."
"No, you won't send your regrets," said
Mrs. Warren. "I want you to go."
"But I can't wear the challis," Amy declared,
almost tearfully. "I can't. Really I
can't. The Academy girls are always so exquisitely
dressed"—
"I'm sure you look quite as well as any
of them"—
"In school, yes, but at parties,, it's different.
Some of them will have Paris frocks,
Mother—beautiful, shimmery things"—
"Clothes aren't everything," said Mrs.
Warren. "Elizabeth Burnes is a lady and
won't care in the least what you wear. If
she likes you, and she surely does, else you
would not be invited to this party, it won't
make any difference to her whether you
come in a Paquin creation or a challis
dress"—
"Oh, Mother, you don't know," said Amy.
"Clothes mean everything, .nowadays. If yoti
don't look well, no one will pay the least
attention to you. You wouldn't want me to
be a wallflower, would you?''
Mrs. Warren looked at her daughter's
lovely hair and pretty, clear coloring and
smiled. "I hardly think you need worry
about that,'' she said reassuringly. "You
must go, Amy. I'll remodel the challis, and
we'll buy a blue sash and I'll wager you'll
be the prettiest girl in the room."
Amy sighed dolefully at the thought of a
made-over dress, but she wrote out her acceptance,
nevertheless, and dropped it in the
mail box. That afternoon Mrs. Warren began
to rip apart the offensive challis. Amy
watched her fearsomely and as the days
slipped by and the dress neared completion,
she felt actual misery. At school the leading
topics of conversation were draped
gowns, gold embroidered laces, veiled overdresses
and even trains. The sig-'ht of her
own challis made her want to scream. IXIrs.
Warren sewed morning, noon and night, and
seeing her, bending patiently over her tedious
task, gave Amy pangs of remorse.
"I ought to be asharned," she told herself.
"Mother is such a dear, but she can't understand.
Oh, I don't want to go. I can't go."
The night of the party finallv cnme. .\mv
dressed for it in silence, dumblv viewin';- the
marks of former stitches that ivould show in
spite of all their pressing. The sash covered
a darned place and the bottom of the skii
was faced. Nevertheless, Amy was surprise
when she saw her reflection in the mirroi
Her mother had done some exquisite em
broidering about the neck and sleeves am
the ribbon sash had a decidedly French'
twist. While she was studying these details
her mother came in with a box.
Wonderingly, Ainy took the box from he
and lifted the cover. A shimmering scarf o:
.blue and silver was disclosed. With littlf
shrieks of delight Amy took it out. 4
"Oh, Mother!" she cried. "How exquisite
! But you shouldn't have bought it" j
"It's a birthday present in advance," saic
her mother, her own face radiating with delight.
"And I -got it at a sale. There*
Throw it about your shoulders. Oh, howpretty!
It just wa-^^J-your dress!" S
"It's be-^a«tiful," said Ainy, fervently. '
Pier joy was not lasting, however. Foi
when she was driving away in the carriage
to the beautiful Burnes' home, vision of
the finery her friends would wear dancer
before her. How old and made-over hei
dress would look against theirs!! How mn,
of date she was! ,^
She shrank into the friendly darkness ant;
shed teairs of chagrin. |j
Mrs. Warren had seen the dumb miser32
in her eyes and it cut her keenly. With a
sigh she closed the door on the departing
vehicle and returned to a long, lonely even-s
ling. Time dragged endlessly. At twelve:
she went into the tiny kitchen and made
some hot chocolate and sandwiches. Therfe
Amy found her when she came flying in. t
"Oh, Mother, Mother!" slie cried, her eyer
glowing like stars and her cheeks the coloiof
roses. "I had a beautiful time. Oh, if
was perfect! I wouldn't have missed it for
anything. I'm so glad you made me go." ,
Her mother hugged her happily. "I kne*.
you'd enjoy it," she said. "Now sit downs
here and sip this chocolate and tell me alk
about it from start to finish."
,'
Amy plunged into her recital and Mra^
Warren listened in delight. • .^
"I've discovered," said Amy, in conolusionjj
"that with the right people clothes don't
matter. Paul Burnes chose me for the cotillion
when I W'as sitting right by Elsie
Hathway, who looked like a dream in a.
Paris gown. And Wesley Mills, Elizabeth's,
rich cousin from the East, took me in tc
supper. Think of it, Mother! But the
nicest ,thing of all was when Mrs. Burnes
told her husband that I had on the prettiest
dress in the room. She asked me where I
got it, and I told her, and I showed her the
darn, too. She said she thought yoti must
be a wonderful mother. And you are! Oh,
I'm so happy! I just love my white chains
dress. It was the only real dress there he-^
cause a real person made it."—Congregationalist.