Dickey Downy by Virginia Sharpe Patterson


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Page 33

"Oh, they've been denouncing the fashion of wearing birds. They belong
to a society called--called--something or other, I forget what. Let me
see," and she ran her eye down the column. "Oh, yes, here it is. They
are members of the O'Dobbin society, and they got so wrought up on the
subject they took the feathers out of their hats right there in the
meeting and vowed never to wear bird trimming again. Well, if such
outlandish notions spread, you'll soon see how it will injure the
millinery trade."

"Pshaw! you needn't worry. The protests of a handful of fanatical
women can't do your business any harm," he answered carelessly, and
turned to his paper again.

She shook her head. "I'm not so sure of that. I think there are some
women in this very town just cranky enough to endorse such foolishness.
There's Mrs. Judge Jenkins for one. I've never yet been able to sell
her a real stylish hat. She won't wear birds, because she thinks it's
wicked. I hope to goodness she won't consider it her duty to start an
O'Dobbin society here."

From the depths of my heart I blessed those kind women who had shown
their disapproval of the nefarious traffic in bird life, and had
pledged themselves to our protection. True, they were but a handful
compared with the millions whom the god Fashion still held in bondage,
only a handful who were fighting the good fight; but would not the
influence of their noble example and their pledge of mercy be spread
abroad till all the women in Christian lands would join in the crusade
against the wrong?

In my joy at the thought I chirped so loudly that the lady looked up
from her reading. She seemed suddenly to recall a thought as she
glanced at my cage, for she said, "I must not forget to ask Katharine
if she can take the bird home with her next week and keep it while
Polly is gone to the country. I'll be sure to forget to feed it.
Anyway, I haven't time to bother with it."

The day before Polly left for the country I heard her inquiring for the
"Daily," which I remembered was the name they called the newspaper
containing the account of the noble city ladies who had pledged
themselves not to wear us any more.

"Tuesday's paper?" her mother asked; she was busy at the time fastening
a poor, little, mute swallow on a rich hat. "Perhaps it was thrown
behind the counter. Did you want it for any special purpose?"

Polly replied that she wanted to read something in it.

"Well, it is probably torn up by this time," said her mother. "If it
isn't on the table in the back room, or on the shelf by the window, or
behind the counter, I'm sure I don't know where it is."

The young clerk who was arranging the goods on the counter had heard
Polly's inquiry, and she now asked if it was the newspaper that told
about the women who thought it wrong to wear birds. It seemed to me
that Polly hesitated a little as she replied that that was the very
paper she wanted.

"Goodness, child, is that the piece you want to read?" Her mother's
voice sounded rather sharp, as if she were vexed. "I hope that subject
hasn't turned your head too," but she said no more, for just then a
customer coming in, she laid down her work and went forward to greet
her.

Polly looked troubled, but she confided to Miss Katharine that she
wanted very much to read the account.

"Fortunately I cut the piece out to give to my sister. I knew she'd be
interested in it, but I have always forgotten to give it to her," said
the clerk. She seemed to be very much in earnest as she continued, "I
do wish something could be done to save the birds. If women must have
feathers, why can't they content themselves with wearing ostrich tips
and plumes? There is nothing cruel or wicked in the way they are
procured."

She opened the little satchel hanging at her belt, and from it took a
folded slip of paper which she handed to Polly, telling her she might
have it to read, and when she had finished it to please bring it back
to her. Polly thanked her, and ran away to a quiet corner of the back
room, where I saw her slowly reading the clipping as she rocked herself
in her pretty birch chair. When she had read it through, she sat for
some time looking very thoughtful. At last she rose and carried the
paper back to Miss Katharine, halting a moment as she passed my cage,
to whisper softly:

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Books | Photos | Paul Mutton | Thu 27th Feb 2025, 14:04