"Won't you please
to show me some?"
He tossed down several pieces upon the counter, and tumbled
them about before her.
"There," said he, "is that anything like what you want?
There's a pink one — and there's a blue one — and there's a
green one. Is that the kind?"
"This is the kind," said Ellen; "but this isn't the colour I
want."
"What colour do you want?"
"Something dark, if you please."
"Well, there, that green's dark; won't that do? See, that
would make up very pretty for you."
"No," said Ellen, "Mamma don't like green."
"Why don't she come and choose her stuffs herself, then? What
colour does she like?"
"Dark blue, or dark brown, or a nice gray would do," said
Ellen, "if it is fine enough."
" 'Dark blue,' or 'dark brown,' or a 'nice gray,' eh? Well,
she's pretty easy to suit. A dark blue I've showed you already
— what's the matter with that?"
"It isn't dark enough," said Ellen.
"Well," said he, discontentedly, pulling down another piece,
"how'll that do? That's dark enough."
It was a fine and beautiful piece, very different from those
he had showed her first. Even Ellen could see that, and
fumbling for her little pattern of merino, she compared it
with the piece. They agreed perfectly as to fineness.
"What is the price of this?" she asked, with trembling hope
that she was going to be rewarded by success for all the
trouble of her enterprise.
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