Miss Pickle [antikvár]

CHAPTER I a daughter of the manse Lola Sinclair looked with satisfaction at her reflection in the mirror, A flower-like face, framed in golden-brown hair that waved and curled in a fluffy mass well down on to her shoulders, smiled back at her, the blue eyes bright with excitement. But Lola's pleased attention was given to her frock, and not to her face. The minister's wife, Lola's step-mother, prided herself on the fact that a dressmaker's services were never called in at the Manse. She made the three girls' frocks herself. The fit was excellent, the finishing-off neat, but the style never varied. For some years fashion had decreed an ordinary waist-line, a plain skirt, a cuffed sleeve, and a Peter Pan collar, while Mrs. Sinclair faithfully clung to a high waist-line, a iull skirt, bell sleeves, and a ruching round the neck. Her own daughters, Truda and Ena, made no demur. They were a plain, indolent, cheerful little pair, the one primarily interested in collecting dead beetles, and the other in climbing trees. But the soul of Lola hankered after style.