It was the morning after the funeral. Aunt Fanny had tried to make the
breakfast seem cheerful to the children, or at least tolerable. She had
herself gone into the kitchen to send up some trifle a little out of the
way for the family meal. She talked to the children of the West, of the
ways in which her life in Wisconsin differed from their lives in Boston.
And Aunt Fanny succeeded so far that George passed his plate for oatmeal
a second time, and little Sibyl did not ask leave to go before her aunt
had poured out her second cup of coffee.
Aunt Fanny made the breakfast as long as she could. Then she folded her
napkin slowly, and led the children into the other room for morning
prayer. They read the last chapter of Proverbs, and then all knelt down
and said the Lord’s Prayer. Then Aunt Fanny took Nahum’s hand and took
little Sibyl on her lap, and she said to all four of the children, “It is
very hard for us all, dear children, but I must tell you all about what
the plans are. I have a letter from Uncle Cephas, and you know I had a
long talk with Mr. Alfred after he came here yesterday. We will not break
up here yet.”
“Oh, I am so glad of that,” said poor, sturdy Belle, who generally said
so little.
“No, we will not break up here yet. In the spring we will all go to
Wisconsin, and you shall learn to like my home at Harris as much as you
like Roxbury.” So spoke Aunt Fanny, as cheerfully as she could. And not
daring to wait a reply, she hurried on: “See here, Uncle George writes
that I may stay till late in March, or early in April, if I think best,
but that then we must all be ready to go on.”
You must know that the four children were orphans. Their father had died
in April, and now, in the middle of December, their mother had died. Aunt
Fanny had been with them for the last month. But she knew, and they knew,
that their pleasant home was to be broken up forever.
“And now,” she said, “we must all see what we have to do this winter, to
be ready for Wisconsin. Belle and Sibyl, you may come up stairs with me,
and we will look through your clothes and the boys’. I must not be lazy
this winter, and I will have it for my morning work to put everything in
order.”
And when they came up stairs, and this business like, energetic Belle
took their frocks and underclothes from the drawers, Aunt Fanny was
indeed surprised. The girl was grave beyond her years; so long had her
poor mother been ill, and so much of the care of the family had fallen
on her. “I should think you were an old housekeeper,” said Aunt Fanny,
in admiration, as Belle explained how she had mended this, and, on the
whole, determined to retain that. And when Belle took her into the little
room which she called the “sewing room,” and showed her drawers, and even
shirts for the boys, which she had under way, Aunt Fanny squarely told
her that she was quite her own equal in such management.
“How did ever come to be such a thorough seamstress?” said she. “Dear
Mary has been sick so long that I had somehow imagined that such things
as these must slip by.”
“Oh! of course mamma told us everything. But you know we learn this at
school.”
“I do not know any such thing,” confessed Aunt Fanny, promptly.
“Oh, yes,” said Belle, “we learn more or we learn less. But so soon as I
found I could help mamma about it I went into the advanced class. There
we learned to cut shirts and to make them. I can make a shirt now as
well as anybody,” said the girl, laughing. “But of course I do not in
practice.”
“Why of course?” persisted Aunt Fanny.
Belle opened her eyes as much as to say, “How little these people in
Wisconsin know.” But she did not say so in words, she only said: “Oh,
I can buy my collars and wristbands and fronts ready made a great deal
cheaper than I can make them, if my time is worth anything. And you must
not laugh, Aunt Fanny, but papa said my time is worth a good deal.”
Aunt Fanny did not laugh. She smiled very kindly, and drew Belle to her
and kissed her.
“You see, the boys run the machine for me, and Sibyl can do perfectly
well any plain sewing we need. We do not think a set of shirts such
a very heavy job,” said the little matron, quite unconscious of the
amusement she was giving Aunt Fanny.
“Do you mean that every girl in Boston learns to do this?”
“Why yes, if she goes to a public school. She learns it, or she may. I
think perhaps she might shirk a good deal. But if the teacher sees you
are interested, and you do as well as you can, she helps you on. I know
a great many girls who have made dresses for their friends. And I know
there are girls who went directly to dress-makers from schools, and
earned good wages at once. Some girls, you know, have a gift for cutting
and fitting.”