For example, now and then, Missy secretly longed to spend a
leisurely hour or so just talking with Tess's grandmother. Tess's
grandmother, though an old lady, seemed to her a highly romantic
figure. Her name was Mrs. Shears and she had lived her girlhood in a
New England seaport town, and her father had been captain of a
vessel which sailed to and from far Eastern shores. He had brought
back from those long-ago voyages bales and bales of splendid
Oriental fabrics--stiff rustling silks and slinky clinging crepes
and indescribably brilliant brocades shot with silver or with gold.
For nearly fifty years Mrs. Shears had worn dresses made from these
romantic stuffs and she was wearing them yet--in Cherryvale! They
were all made after the same pattern, gathered voluminous skirt and
fitted bodice and long flowing sleeves; and, with the small lace cap
she always wore on her white hair. Missy thought the old lady looked
as if she'd just stepped from the yellow-tinged pages of some
fascinating old book. She wished her own grandmother dressed like
that; of course she loved Grandma Merriam dearly and really wouldn't
have exchanged her for the world, yet, in contrast, she did seem
somewhat commonplace.
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