"I suppose," observed the real Elsie Marley thoughtfully, drawing one
of her long curls over her shoulder, "that if I'm going to be at the
library regularly, I'd better put up my hair?"
She addressed Mr. Middleton, but his wife, who had of late fallen into
the habit of sitting downstairs in the evening, replied. She had
conceived a strong fancy to the girl, who secretly shrank from her, and
bore herself toward her in a cold and distant manner.
"Oh, Elsie, love, it would be sweet to do it sort of _Grecian_," she
cried in her sentimental fashion, "with a classic knot at the nape of
your neck, and little curls hanging down behind your ears."
"Let her leave it as it is a little longer, Milly," her husband
pleaded, "for it's just as her mother wore hers."
This was not the fact, even though Elsie had been truly his niece. His
sister had worn her hair in curls, but they had been many and riotous,
and caught at the top of her head with a ribbon; while Elsie's two were
fastened at her neck by a neat clasp, and hung as demurely as a braid
would have done.
"Of course," assented Mrs. Middleton. "Elsie's the picture of her
mother, I suppose?"
"She reminds me of her mother more and more every day," he said, "but
she doesn't look like her at all. You remember I told you that
Elizabeth had enormous dimples? They were so large that I'm not sure
that they wouldn't have disfigured another face; but they added the
last touch to hers--made it irresistible."
He gazed at the fire. It was late September and a chill rain beat
against the windows.
"I suppose if Elizabeth had had a son, _he_ would have inherited the
dimples," he remarked. "I believe they say girls take traits from
their fathers and sons from the mother. Curious, isn't it?"
"Well, my dear, if Elsie had had dimples when she came, she would have
lost them ere this," said Mrs. Middleton with unusual energy. "She's
been put right into a treadmill, Jack. Only sixteen, sweet sixteen,
and she hasn't had any of the gayety a young girl wants and needs, but
has just slaved from morning until night ever since she came to us. At
her age, she ought to be going to dances and lying late in the morning
to make up sleep, and shopping and having beaux and all that sort of
thing, just as her Aunt Milly did."
She sighed deeply, clasping her ringed hands. Elsie was indignant,
even angry; but before she could protest, Mrs. Middleton went on.
"Instead of which, she started work at the library the first thing and
has been off and on ever since, and is now going to do it permanently,
besides teaching a class in the Sunday-school, looking after the
choir-boys, running errands for you, and what not."
"My dear Milly!" cried her husband, really distressed; and went on to
explain that when they decided to open the library in the evening as
well as the afternoon, some one had to relieve Miss Stewart for two of
the afternoon hours, and every one had clamored for Elsie.
"And I love to do it," added Elsie, "and I'm so pleased that I am to
have the hours when the children are out of school."
"Of course," agreed Mrs. Middleton, smiling; "dear lambs! I should
have felt just the same. Indeed, you're so like I was at your age,
Elsie, dearest, that I feel as if it were to _me_ that you are really
related."
Elsie murmured a silent word of deprecation, forgetting, as she often
did, that she wasn't related to Mr. Middleton, either.
The rain beat furiously. The minister rose and put another stick on
the fire. He did not return to his seat but stood with his elbow on
the mantel gazing at his wife. Though thin, John Middleton looked
strong and well, in part, perhaps, because of his florid complexion,
partly because of his serenity. But in moments of stress he had a way
of seeming to grow worn and older under one's very eyes.
He felt the cogency of his wife's words. He had, indeed, he said to
himself, taken possession of his sister's orphan child immediately upon
her arrival, and had made a sort of drudge of her: he kept her
constantly occupied, performing miscellaneous services for him--he
wasn't sure that he could have demanded so much of a paid secretary.
And she, like her mother, unselfish and devoted, had made no complaint.
He spoke before Elsie, who was slow of speech and was regretting that
she didn't share the real Elsie Moss's gift of expression, was able to
put her feeling into words that would convince him.
"No wonder you felt like putting up your curls and saying farewell to
youth, Elsie," he said whimsically yet ruefully. "Your aunt is just
right, dear, and we'll make a change at once. What should you say to
going on to New York to make your little actress friend a visit, and
then starting anew after you come back?"
Now the color flew to Elsie's cheeks and words came.
"Oh, Uncle John, I wouldn't go now for the world!" she cried in genuine
dismay. "I'm just longing to go to the library every day--I think it's
just--splendid! And I like it all--everything--so very much. It isn't
the least a treadmill, and I'm so happy doing it. Please, please,
don't take anything away; only give me more."
He felt the sincerity of her words, and again said to himself that the
girl was her mother over again. His wife went over to Elsie, and
stroking back her hair, kissed her brow fondly. And the color died out
of the girl's cheeks and the glow from her heart as she shuddered
within herself. And presently when Mr. Middleton went to his study to
work, she bade Mrs. Middleton a cool good night and fled to her room.
She sat by the window some time, then went to bed; but though the sound
of the rain was soothing, she could not get to sleep. It came to her
that it was very thoughtful of Uncle John to wish to send her to visit
Elsie; and how she would have liked to go if it didn't entail leaving
the library and all the fascinating round of her daily life, and
leaving him to his wife's cold comfort. How she would like to see
Elsie Moss at this moment, to confide her troubles and her happiness to
that sympathetic ear. If they could talk together, she could make the
other understand that even with Mrs. Middleton as a drawback, she was
more content, happier, than she had ever been before. And she couldn't
help feeling that she was useful, too, in a measure--that she would be
missed if she were to go to New York.
Still she could not sleep, and presently she found herself puzzling
over a problem that had been growing upon her and now bulked big. The
truth was that already the weight of the top-heavy household had fallen
upon the girl's shoulders. Utterly unprepared and ignorant, she had
been thrust into a tangled labyrinth of domestic affairs. The more
familiar she had become with the internal working of the household, the
more was she baffled and daunted. And presently it seemed to her
youthful inexperience as if it stood upon the brink of ruin.
Though the minister was unaware that the bills were not paid promptly
at the beginning of each month, Mrs. Middleton owed practically every
establishment in the place accounts that dated far back. At this time
the small sums she could pay on account when her funds came in were
insufficient to satisfy any one, and one and another began to threaten
Kate with going to Mr. Middleton and demanding a settlement. They
declared it wasn't respectable for him to be giving away so much money
when he owed probably more than a year's salary.
Kate's only recourse was to her mistress, who would be temporarily
depressed, now and then to the point of tears. But shortly she either
forgot all about it or postponed consideration until another month; and
meantime she never parted with her last penny: she always kept enough
on hand for an ample supply of novels, chocolate drops, and
headache-powders, the latter being especially expensive, according to
Kate.
Ignorant as Elsie was, it did not take her long to understand that the
household was managed--or allowed to run on--with the utmost
extravagance and waste. She had prevailed upon Kate to set the greater
part of the big house in order and to keep it tidy, and she tried to
induce her to be less wasteful and reckless. But the girl was
developing a certain sense of justice, and she rather doubted her right
to insist. Devoted as Kate was to Mr. Middleton, and attached, in an
apologetic, shame-faced way, to her mistress, overworked and unpaid,
save for the sums Elsie forced upon her, how could she demand that Kate
be more scrupulous about details? It would seem that she had all she
could carry without that.
The girl fell asleep at last, and woke next morning with the pleasant
reflection that she was to begin to-day at the library as a regular
salaried assistant. Second thought was still more cheering. As soon
as the minister was out of the house, and she heard Kate go down-stairs
from Mrs. Middleton's room, she betook herself to the disorderly
kitchen. At her entrance Kate rose suddenly and went and peered
anxiously into the oven--which was empty. Elsie would have liked to
tell her that she didn't begrudge her those stolen moments for resting
her tired feet, but she hadn't yet learned to express her new
sensations. It was sufficiently difficult to explain her errand.
"Katy, here are your wages for last week," she said rather brusquely,
trying to press the money into her hands. "Mrs. Middleton will--I hope
she'll pay you in full very soon, but at any rate she--that is, you're
going to get your wages regularly every week, and I'm going to see to
it so that it shan't be neglected. And always come to me if there's
anything to ask. Please don't go to her unless about the back pay."
"Oh, Miss Elsie, you're so good!" cried Kate warmly, believing she had
arranged it with Mr. Middleton. "I'm sorry I complained. You must 'a'
known I didn't mean half what I said. I wouldn't really 'a' gone to
himself about it. But honest, I ain't got a whole pair o' stockin's,
and can't wear them pumps I got last summer on account o' the holes,
and her a-growin' yellower every day and a-layin' round and eatin'
chocolate drops and headache-powders that cost good money and ain't no
benefit."
She stuffed the money into a drawer of the table with a miscellaneous
assortment of less valuable things. While Elsie was wondering if she
could speak about the condition of the kitchen, which Elsie Moss would
have pronounced unspeakable, Kate drew near to her with real appeal in
her blue eyes.
"And, Miss Elsie, I wish you hadn't let what I've confided to you sort
o' set you against your aunt. Everybody has their failin's, they do
say, and after all if she don't do worse than eat choc'late-creams and
munch headache-tablets, why, she's pretty harmless as ladies go. Mis'
Jonathan Metcalf as goes to his church is just as yellow and I don't
know but what yellower, and bedizened as well, and a regular shrew in
her own house."
"Katy, I don't know what you mean," Elsie returned with dignity.
"Well, you call her Mis' Middleton, when you speak of her, with your
voice like a buzz-saw, and it ain't because you're high and mighty with
me, 'cause you ain't. You're like a sister to me, and I ain't once
thought of up and leavin' sence you come as I did frequent before. And
besides, when you talk of himself, you always say Uncle John. And
she's good at heart, Miss Elsie; honest, she is. She'd be just as good
as himself if she knew as much. Her heart's in the right place, and
she takes to you and don't mistrust you don't to her."
"Well, I mustn't stay here and keep you from 'redding' up your kitchen,
as you call it," said Elsie, rather neatly as she believed.
[Illustration: "Well, I mustn't stay here and keep you from 'redding'
up your kitchen, as you call it."]
"Oh, there's plenty of time for that," Kate assured her cheerfully; "if
not to-day, why there's another comin'."