out. It has been turned, and died, and sponged, and now it is not fit to wear in Essex—what will they say to it in New-York?"
"We'll see, Susy, how we come out. Father's Sunday coat must be turned." The coat was turned, and the girls ware delighted to see it look almost as well as new; and even Susan was satisfied to pay the hat-money to Sally Fen, the tailoress.
A long deliberation followed upon father's nether garments, and they came to the conclusion they were quite too bad to be worn where father was not known and respected. And, to get new ones, Charlotte must give up buying a new cloak, and make her old one do. There is a lively pleasure in this making do that the rich know not of; the cloak was turned, rebound, and new-collared, and Susan said, "Considering what a pretty colour it was, and how natural Charlotte looked in it, she did not know but what she liked it better than a new one." And now, after Charlotte had bleached and remodelled her five-year old Dunstable, her dress was in order for the expedition—all but the riband, on which Susan's mind was still intent. "Not but just ninepence left," said she to Charlotte, after the last little debt for the outfit was paid. "Ninepence won't buy the riband, that's certain, though Mr. Turner is selling off so cheap. Why can't you break into the fifty dollars; I do hate to have you seen in New- York with that old riband, Lottie."
"But I must, Susan—for I told Harry I would not touch the fifty dollars till we started."
"Well, give me the ninepence, then." Susan's
