At any rate, I
went home a satisfied child; and figuratively speaking, dined
and supped off tulips and hyacinths, instead of mutton and
bread and butter.
That afternoon it fell out that my aunt took me with her to a
milliner's on some business. In the course of it, some talk
arose about feathers and the value of them; and my aunt made
a remark which, like Wat Tyrrell's arrow, glanced from its aim
and did execution in a quarter undreamed of.
"That feather you put in the little riding cap you sent me,"
she said to the milliner, — "your black feather, Daisy, you
know, — you charged me but fifteen dollars for that; why is
this so much more?"
I did not hear the milliner's answer. My whole thought went
off upon a track entirely new to me, and never entered before.
My feather cost fifteen dollars! Fifteen dollars! Supposing I
had that to buy tulips with? or in case I had already tulips
enough, suppose I had it to buy print gowns for Christmas
presents to the women, which I had desired and could not
afford? Or that I had it to lay out in tea and sugar, that my
poor old friends might oftener have the one solace that was
left to them, or that more might share it? Fifteen dollars! It
was equal to one quarter and a half's allowance.
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