The Fair Store was a long narrow store with only one window and a curious smell of shoe leather and wool in it, somehow identified pleasurably with new clothes. Mr. Brady owned it. He was a bald, polite fat man who always dressed in black as his wife had been dead many years. His manner was grave and dignified, for he always kept in mind his duties as president of the Chamber of Commerce, head of the School Board, and superintendent of the Methodist Sunday school. He talked to Mama for a while and then with a bow turned her over to Mrs. Stewart.

“I declare, Mrs. Willard, you’re the only person in London Junction that can make Mr. Brady laugh out loud,” Mrs. Stewart whispered to Mrs. Willard, unfolding a bolt of goods on the counter. “Now here is percale, eight cents a yard, but I have some lovely bengaline for dress at forty-five a yard. I made one myself for Mary Evelyn, though I usually get her the store clothes.”

“What color percale would you like?” Mama asked Lena. Lena and Marcia exchanged a look of mutual understanding.

“We’d like store dresses like Mary Evelyn,” Lena said.

Their mother pretended not to hear them but went on comparing materials.

“Four pairs of Black Cat stockings for them,” said Mama. “I’d better get that and their underwear first. Two pantywaists—gauze.”

“Mary Evelyn doesn’t wear Black Cat stockings,” said Lena clearly. “She wears socks. That’s what we want.”

“I don’t wear pantywaists either,” stated Mary Evelyn. “I wear suspenders.”

Mrs. Stewart laughed indulgently, but Mama firmly stuck to her order. She ordered ten yards of percale.

“My cousin Lydia from Venice Corners is a seamstress,” she said. “She made a trousseau for Mr. Brady’s niece last year. She’ll come over with her pattern books to help me make these up, because she keeps up with all the latest styles.”

“I’d rather have a store dress,” said Lena. “I’d rather have a store dress and a black sateen pinafore.”

“I’ve got in some darling little dresses from Chicago,” said Mrs. Stewart helpfully. “Lena Gladys would look sweet in a blue one just the color of her eyes.”

“I’d rather have a pink store dress,” said Marcia, feeling left out. “A pink ’cordion-pleated one so I could do a rose dance.”

“I want that, too,” Lena exclaimed jealously.

Mama bit her lip.

“Then I’ll take twelve yards of the Val lace for trimming,” she said, “and six yards of rickrack for the baby’s dress.”

“Anything for yourself, Mrs. Willard?” asked Mrs. Stewart, taking scissors out of her black apron pocket and snipping busily. “A pretty shirtwaist, maybe—peekaboo style?”

Mama shook her head. She said her husband had brought her some special material from the city which her cousin Isobel was going to help her with as she had a sewing machine and a form. She thought the girls should have Sunday slippers and this surprise almost made up to them for not getting the store dresses. She looked a long time at the shirtwaists and said she might be back for the blue French tucked one with net inserts and velvet bows, but four dollars was a lot of money. When she paid for the shoes and other purchases it took all the money from her purse, her five dollars and even her bread money except a quarter with which she bought Papa a fine handkerchief. They had to hurry home to get Papa’s lunch, as he was to be home for two weeks now, “taking inventory.” Lena and Marcia wanted to stay and help Mary Evelyn sort ribbons, but Mary Evelyn refused their offer.