THE VIOLET VELVET SUIT.

BY MARY A. BARR.

One morning last winter Katie Dawson stood at the window looking out upon the avenue. She stood amid flowers as fresh and green as if it were July instead of January. The fire in the bright steel grate burned cheerily, and the room was cozily warm and comfortable.

She was dressed for the street, and she made a very pretty picture. Her face was bright and piquant, her figure graceful, and her abundant hair carefully and becomingly arranged. But her whole attitude expressed a secret dissatisfaction, and she cast frequent discontented glances at her costume. And yet it was a very pretty one; Madame Dubaney had declared it to be her ideal school-girl's toilet. It was of fine material and exquisite fit, and the girl's Ulster and cap, boots and gloves, were alike neat and stylish.

She stood slowly buttoning the latter when her mother entered the room.

"Katie, do you know the time? You will lose your place in the French class. Listen;" and as she spoke, the clock on the mantel-shelf chimed in clear silver tones ten. "There, child, you ought to be in school now."

"I know, mamma, but I have no heart for French this morning."

"I am sorry for that, Katie. What is the matter?"

The girl was silent a moment, and then, in a low tone, she said, "Mother, can I have a velvet suit made for school?"

The answer was prompt and decisive: "Certainly not, my dear. The suit you have on is perfectly appropriate. I should not think of wearing velvet myself, except as an evening or visiting costume. It would be absurd in a school-room."

"Clara May has a velvet suit; so have Jenny and Julia Smith; and Cecile Bradley's is very nearly all velvet. I think that papa can afford it just as well."

"It is not a question of money, but of good taste and propriety. If you wear velvet as a school-girl, what do you propose to wear when you are a young lady? I am sorry you have missed your French in order to make a request so silly. Now, dear, had you not better hurry a little? Madame disapproves of late pupils."

Katie took up her books, and went off with a frown on her pretty face. All the way to Madame's she was considering how to accomplish her wish. Her grandfather would give her the dress, or her aunt Lucy; but even then her mother would not permit her to wear it to school, and if she could not wear it in the presence of Clara May and the Smith girls, there would be no consolation for her in velvet.

When she reached school her class had finished its recitation; she had lost her place, and Madame was cross. Katie to-day was careless of these things. Her mind was occupied with one ambition, a very foolish one, doubtless, but a very important one in her own eyes.

Never before, either, had Clara May looked so triumphantly happy and handsome. She had taken Katie's place at the head of the class, and the bright winter sun fell upon the girl's fair hair, turning it to gold, and made dark lustres in the folds of the envied black velvet. The Smiths were awkward, angular girls, and she scarcely envied them costumes which were not in the least becoming. As for Cecile Bradley's suit, it was home-made. Katie's critical eyes had detected that fatal fault at once. It was Clara May who sat in Katie's sunshine; for handsome and stylish as Clara was, Katie was certain if she only had a velvet suit she would far eclipse her.

Now it is a fact that among girls to be the belle of the school-room is quite as envied a position as it is to young ladies to be the belle of the ball-room. Hitherto Katie Dawson had been the recognized belle of Madame Blanc's fashionable classes. She had been an authority on the subject of braids and curls, and on all matters pertaining to rose-bud toilets. But Clara May—quite a new-comer—was heading an "opposition." She had declared she would not wear braids because Katie Dawson did, that frizzes suited her better; and frizzes, though still in the minority, held their own against remarks of the most cutting kind.

There is no contest some girls so thoroughly enter into as that of outdressing rivals. The black velvet suit was Clara's last defiance, and Katie was at a loss how to take it up.

"I will go and tell Agnes Hilton about it this afternoon," she thought, and in the mean time she kept a sulky silence, equally proof against curiosity and sympathy.

Agnes was older than Katie, but they had been companions for years, and now, though Agnes was released from regular school routine, and was "finishing" comfortably with private masters, she still regarded Katie as her chief friend and adviser.

Agnes had a bad cold, and was nursing it in her room. A good talk over things with Katie Dawson was just what she liked. She was soon helping Katie to take off her Ulster and cap, and she noticed at once—as it was meant she should—Katie's look of anxious annoyance.

"What is the matter, dear?"

Then Katie drew a large comfortable chair opposite her friend's, and told her all about her school troubles.

"I never thought Clara May had any style at all," said Agnes, with the authority of sixteen.

"Still, the girls copy her, and she is so unbearably independent. I merely said that frizzes and curls were going out of fashion, and she said pretty things were always in fashion, and that even if they were not, they suited her, and she meant to wear them. Why, you know, Agnes love, if every one was to follow that rule, there would be absolutely no fashions at all. Then," added Katie, after an effective pause—"then she came to school in a velvet suit, and immediately the Smith girls and Cecile Bradley imitate her."

"Get one still handsomer."

"Mother won't hear of it—says it is ridiculous, and unsuitable, and all that. Of course mother can't feel as I do about it, though I remember very well that she would not have diamonds at all unless they were bigger than Aunt Jemima's."

"Could you not get her to buy you a velvet suit for church, and then contrive to wear it once to school, just to show it? For a general stand-point you could take your mother's argument—it sounds sensible."

"I don't think mother would do it. Grandfather might, but there would be the delay, and very likely Clara would say I had copied her."

"What color did you say Clara's was?"

"Black."

"Oh, that is very common. See here, Katie;" and Agnes went to her wardrobe, and brought forward a most suggestive box. The two girls bent over its contents in a kind of rapture; Katie could only exclaim, with her pretty hands thrown upward,

"Violet velvet!"

"That is the shade, dear. Now look here;" and the dress was carefully unfolded. "Do you see the linings? They are all of pale violet satin. Do you see the bunch of violets worked on the cuffs, collar, and left breast? Ah, it is exquisite! I got it last week for Lydia Lane's wedding. It was the prettiest dress in the church. Katie, you stay here all night, and wear it to school to-morrow morning. You know to-morrow is Wednesday. The classes close early for the matinée, and you can say you dressed on that account. You could even apologize to the girls for the unsuitable school toilet, which would be quite a snub, you know, to those who consider velvet the proper thing for school suits."

"Oh, Agnes, you are an oracle! There is nothing I should enjoy so much." Then the dress was tried on, found to fit admirably, and Katie laid it away while she wrote a note to her mother, telling her that she was going to spend the night with Agnes.

The next morning was as perfect as if made to Katie's order. The sun shone brilliantly over the bright, breezy streets and squares, and Katie got up with a sense of triumph in her heart. The girls had breakfast in their own room, and then the toilet was made. Certainly the dark violet velvet set off Katie's delicate, flower-like beauty, and her crown of yellow hair, just as a violet velvet cushion sets off the lustre of a diamond. There were a few exclamations, but for the most part the dressing was done in an eloquent silence. Then the Ulster was carefully buttoned over the magnificence, and the two girls kissed each other good-by.

Katie timed herself perfectly. She entered the class-room at the last moment, when the girls were all seated, and Madame in her place. They would have to endure her appearance in decorous silence, and she knew exactly how it would affect them. She advanced to her place, with a graceful indifference which she felt to be a triumph. Her place this morning was at the bottom of the class; she took it with a kind of deliberate pleasure. She knew that she was effectually scattering the wits of her class-mates, and some one would change with her before the recitation was over.

In ten minutes she had taken her seat at the head again. Clara May had not been equal to participles and conjugations in the presence of that violet velvet. On the contrary, there was a distracting calmness about Katie, and when the quarter's recess came she was not to be confused by the questions and compliments that assailed her.

"Where did you get it?" said Julia Smith, who was not the least jealous.

"It is an imported suit."

"Worth's?"

"Oh dear no. Worth is becoming quite common. It is from De Lisle's."

"It fits exquisitely."

"I think it does."

"And is so becoming."

"Yes. Agnes Hilton says I look charming in it."

Katie was far too wise to undervalue herself in any way, and she accepted the girl's compliments as her right.

"Are you going to wear it every day?" asked little Florence Dixon, as she touched admiringly the wrought violets on the cuffs.

Katie stroked her curls with a patronizing kindness, and answered: "No, Miss Foolishness, that would be wretched taste. To the school-room, the school dress. Ladies have the proper toilet for all occasions." Then, before any one could answer her, she dropped her little air of instruction, and said, with the frankness of equality: "Girls, you must excuse me appearing in such a morning toilet. The fact is, I am going to the matinée, and one likes to be early at a Gerster matinée. You know how little time Madame gives us to dress in."

"Oh dear me, there is no need of apology," said Clara May, a trifle defiantly. "One understands quite well that there would be no pleasure in having a suit like that unless there were opportunities to show it; and whether it be in the morning or evening, in the school-room or the opera boxes, is all the same. I don't see why one should not wear as nice things in Madame Blanc's company as in Madame Gerster's; and some people would think a school-room just as worthy of a fine dress as an opera-house."

This argument was received with a murmur of approval. Girls rarely look beneath the surface, and it sounded well; but upon the whole, Katie felt that she had had a great triumph. For a month afterward she wore her brown cloth school suit with the air of one who has vindicated her taste, and who was quite content with its serviceable fitness.

The velvets began to look common, and a little shabby; imitations of a cheaper kind were plentiful on the streets. She almost wondered how she ever could have thought them so desirable. It was just when she had reached this position, when velvet suits had sunk below the tide of wishing for in her mind, that they were again forced on her attention.

One morning Clara May came to school in a state of great excitement. She threw aside her Derby and Ulster, and hastened to the group chatting by the open fire.

"Girls," she said, in a tone which implied something far beyond the words—"girls, I was at the charity fair last night."

"Oh!" from half a dozen voices at once.

"And I saw Agnes Hilton there. She had a stand—Japanese things."

"Did you buy?"

"I priced some scrolls; they were horrid, and very dear. What do you think she wore?"

"Could not guess; she has such lots of things," said an old pupil who remembered Agnes.

"A—violet—velvet—suit!"

"Oh!"

"Lined with pale violet satin!"

"Oh!"

"And little bunches of violets worked on the cuffs, collar, and left breast!"

"Never!"

"Yes, it is, I positively declare."

"Katie Dawson's?" inquired some one, in a hesitating voice.

"Or else—Katie Dawson wore Agnes Hilton's suit that day."

"They might have suits alike," said Julia Smith; "they are great friends."

"They might, but I don't believe they have."

Just then Katie entered the room, and there was a moment's silence. Then Clara said:

"Good-morning, Miss Dawson. Were you at the fair last night?"

"Yes. What a horrid crush it was!"

"Do you think so? What did you wear?"

"Navy blue silk."

"Why did you not wear your violet velvet?"

"In that crush? What an idea!"

"Agnes Hilton had hers on. I saw her; I priced some goods at her stand. I noticed particularly the flowers on her cuffs. It was a suit exactly like the one you wore that morning you came dressed for the matinée. Your suit was made precisely the same as hers. Perhaps it was"—and then she stopped, and with a very irritating smile turned to her books.

The attack had been so sudden that for once Katie was tongue-tied. That group of inquisitive girls was too much for her. She turned haughtily on her heel, and disdained to answer, but she felt that her sceptre had departed. There were whisperings in her presence, and confidences in which she had no share. Girls looked meaningly at her dress, and a week afterward, when the day for translations came round, Clara May read aloud the fable of the jay in peacock's feathers, which she had freely rendered into French from the English version.

To Madame it had no particular meaning; to the whole school-room it was startlingly intelligent. Katie tingled with shame and burned with anger. She had pretended not to notice much that had wounded her deeply. Should she continue a course which left her a text for sermons of this kind, or should she boldly take her punishment in her own hand? She decided that the latter would be the bravest and wisest thing to do, and as soon as Clara sat down she rose and asked, "Will Madame allow me to answer Miss May's fable in English?"

"This is the French class, Miss Dawson."

"But, Madame, I desire all present to understand me clearly."

"You have a motive? Ah! then it is well you speak as you wish."

"Madame, I am intended to point the moral of the jay and the peacock's feathers. If Madame permits me, I will explain."

"I desire not to interrupt."

Then Katie spoke frankly of her desire for a velvet suit, and repeated her mother's objections to it—to which objections Madame said, emphatically, "Good, they were good."

"Then I went to Agnes Hilton's, and she proposed I should wear her dress, and I agreed to it very gladly. Madame perhaps remembers the dress?"

Madame nodded her head decidedly.

"And then, Madame, Miss May saw Miss Hilton at the fair in the violet velvet, and Miss May is very shrewd, and supposed what is really the case. I might, of course, have said that Agnes and I had dresses alike, and so have left the matter in doubt. But I have regretted my folly very often since, and I prefer to tell the truth. Whatever punishment Madame thinks I deserve, I am ready to accept."

"This is a great pleasure to me," said Madame. "What is a velvet suit?—a few dollars, a thing that quite common people may have. But the truth!—but the brave heart to confess a fault! That is beyond all price. Miss Dawson has taken her punishment this morning; now I give to her, with great pride, my hand."

There had never been such a sensation in the school before. Katie lifted her eyes, full of tears, to Madame, and in that moment the girl gained a point in character which vanity and deception never again will conquer.

Then the translations went on as usual, but when the books were closed, Madame said: "We have learned a lesson this morning, young ladies, which is the same in all the languages—the power of simple truth to conquer even the vanity and the ill-will. If you forget the French, then you will try always to remember this."

The girl whom I have called Clara May told me the story of the violet velvet suit, and she added: "I like no one so well as I do Katie Dawson now. Madame Dubaney will make our school dresses alike next winter, and they will not be velvet."

RUSSIAN CHILDREN AT PLAY.