It is a
very happy family, but it was not about any of them that I set out to tell
you. In truth, it was Muriel's apron that I wanted to talk about; but it
seemed necessary to describe the family in order to secure full
appreciation of the apron.
Muriel, I should tell you, is still a high-school girl, hoping to be
graduated next year, though at times a little anxious lest she may not
pass, and with ambitions to enter college as soon as possible.
The entire family have ambitions for Muriel, and I believe that she will
get to college in another year. But about her apron. I saw it first one
morning when I crossed the street to my neighbor's side door that opens
directly into the large living-room, and met Muriel in the doorway, as
pretty a picture as a fair-haired, bright-eyed girl of seventeen can make.
She was in what she called her uniform, a short dress made of dark print,
cut lower in the neck than a street dress. It had elbow sleeves, and a bit
of white braid stitched on their bands and around the square neck set off
the little costume charmingly.
Her apron was of strong dark-green denim, wide enough to cover her dress
completely; it had a bib waist held in place by shoulder straps; and the
garment fastened behind with a single button, making it adjustable in a
second.
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