CIVIL WAR
Miss Priscilla Flint was a lady who never did anything by halves or any
other fractions.
Once having accepted the fact that Ladybird was to remain at Primrose
Hall, Miss Priscilla began to lay plans as to how her small niece should
live and move and have her being.
Details were the delight of Miss Priscilla Flint's heart, and she
prepared to attend to the details of Ladybird's life with a great and
large gusto; but in her planning she reckoned without her niece, who
proved a not unimportant factor in the case.
Although Miss Flint's indomitable will could unflinchingly face battle,
murder, and sudden death, the will of her young relative was of the sort
that jumped right over such obstacles and came down smiling on the other
side.
One of the first of these Greek tugs of war was in reference to
Ladybird's dog.
"Of course, Lavinia," Miss Priscilla said, "you must see that it will be
impossible for you to keep that beast here."
There was no reply from Ladybird, who sat with a happy, beaming
countenance, swaying back and forth in a tiny, old-fashioned rocker, with
her blinking terrier closely clasped in her arms.
Miss Priscilla had effectually learned that to get any answer from her
niece she must call her Ladybird. But the good lady compromised by using
the more dignified title when making a statement which required no
answer.
"I say you cannot keep that dog here. What are you going to do about
it--Ladybird?"
Ladybird smiled at her aunt in a bewitching way.
"_I_ don't know, aunty," she said. "Where _could_ I keep him?"
"You can't keep him at all, Lavinia. You know both your Aunt Dorinda and
I detest dogs, and so you must either sell him or give him away."
Ladybird gazed at her aunt with great, serious eyes.
"I won't sell him," she said slowly; "but I will give him away."
"That's a good girl," said her aunt, approvingly. "And will you do it
to-day?"
"Yes; right away," said Ladybird, rising, with Cloppy still cuddled in
her arms.
"Ah!" said Miss Priscilla, uncertain how to account for such docility.
"And to whom will you give him?"
"To you," cried Ladybird, and depositing the moppy mass in her aunt's
lap, she ran laughing from the room.
Miss Priscilla rang a furious peal on the bell, and when Ladybird, who
was dancing through the hall, saw Martha appear and answer to the
summons, she sauntered leisurely into the room behind the rustling maid.
"Martha," said Miss Priscilla, pointing to the dog, which she had slid
from her lap to the floor, "take that animal and dispose of it somehow.
You may give it away or sell it, or take it to the pound; but never let
me see it in or near this house again."
"Yes, ma'am," said Martha, picking up Cloppy, while Ladybird burst into a
peal of ringing laughter.
"Such a funny aunty!" she cried, dancing over to Miss Flint, and putting
one little thin arm round the old lady's neck. "Martha, of course aunty
is only joking. Please put Cloppy in his basket in my room; I'm sure he
wants a nap."
"Yes, miss," said Martha, glancing furtively at Miss Priscilla.
But whether it was the touch of the child's tiny fingers on her old
cheek, or whether her will bowed perforce to a superior one, Miss
Priscilla's face expressed no contrary orders.
Martha left the room, and Ladybird, dreamily curling a wisp of her aunt's
hair over her forefinger, remarked:
"That lemon-pie yesterday was so good, aunty, can't we have another
to-day?"
"Yes, child, of course, if you want it. Run and ask Bridget to make one,
and then come back here; for I want to talk to you about some new
clothes."
"Geranium blossom!" said Ladybird to herself, as she walked slowly along
the hall. She always manufactured her own expletives.
"Now I shall have a high old time! It seems to me that Aunt Priscilla
won't have the same ideas about clothes that I do; and the trick is to
change her opinions."
Without having formed any definite plans, but with a sublime
determination to conquer in the fray, Ladybird came back and sat down
demurely in a small chair facing her aunt.
"Your clothes, Lavinia," Miss Priscilla began, "are shocking, and quite
unfit for you to wear."
"Do you think so?" said Ladybird, with the air of polite interest which
her aunts had learned to regard as ominous. "Now I think they're real
pretty. They were made for me in Bombay. I picked out the stuffs myself."
"I should think you did," said Miss Priscilla; "and they're hideous. Now
that white dress with the huge round red spots is something awful, and
you shall never wear it again."
"Oh, I guess I will, aunty," said Ladybird, cheerfully; "that's my very
favoritest dress of all, and I wouldn't let you send that to the heathen
for anything."
"It's far more suitable for a Fiji cannibal than for a Christian child.
Your clothes are all too gaudy in coloring, Lavinia, and they must be
discarded. I shall buy you some neat, quiet patterns in soft grays and
browns, which will be much more suitable for a refined little
gentlewoman."
"Aunty," cried Ladybird, springing up, her black elf-locks flying about
her thin little face, and her long arms waving, while her whole body
quivered with excitement, "do I look like a refined little gentlewoman?"
"You do not," said Miss Priscilla Flint, staring critically at her niece;
"but I shall do all in my power to make you look like one."
Ladybird leaned her head on one hand and gazed thoughtfully at her aunt.
After a few moments' pause, she said reflectively:
"Well, that black-and-yellow striped frock of mine is really a fright;
and the red-and-green plaid isn't much better: it's such a 'normous
plaid; but"--and Ladybird shook her forefinger decisively at her
aunt--"it seems to me I shall keep that white dress with the great big
red spots. And so we'll consider that matter settled."
"It _is_ settled," said Miss Flint, rising, "but not in the way you seem
to think. You shall never wear that dress again, Lavinia. Now the Dorcas
Circle meets here this afternoon, and I wish you to do me credit. Wear
that new brown dress I had made for you, and do not dare to appear before
my guests in those red spots."
"Aunty," said Ladybird, and the little forefinger was again wagged at the
old lady, not threateningly, but as a token of final decision, "if I
don't wear those red spots to the Dorcas meeting, you'll have to wear
them yourself."
"Whatever nonsense are you talking, child?" inquired Miss Priscilla,
whose thoughts were already busy with the supper for the Dorcas Circle.
"'Tisn't nonsense, aunty; it's plain, ungarnished truth."
"Well, wear your brown dress, Lavinia," said Miss Priscilla, as she
started for the kitchen in the interests of the elaborate feast demanded
by the august and self-respecting Dorcas Circle.
Ladybird, with a peculiar nod of her head that betokened a completed plan
of action, went up-stairs to her room.
"It seems to me," she said to herself, "that I just _must_ do it."
She took the red-spotted dress down from its hook and threw it on the
bed. Then she knelt beside it, and burying her little face in its soft
folds, she burst into furious tears.
"I do love it so," she sobbed, "it's so bright and gay and comforting:
and I think Aunt Priscilla is mean. Hominy hornets, but she's mean! _I_
wouldn't treat a little girl so. _I_ wouldn't make her wear old
mud-colored frocks when she loves red, _red_, RED! And these red spots
are so beautiful! But since I can't wear them, Aunt Priscilla _shall_."
Stamping her feet as she rose, and angrily brushing the tears from her
eyes, Ladybird took her sharp little scissors and carefully cut out a
score or more of the large disks from the condemned dress. She grew more
cheerful as she did this, and her merry smiles came back, though they
alternated with an expression of angry sadness.
Gathering up the red scraps, she went to her Aunt Priscilla's room.
Spread out in stately grandeur on the bed lay the black silk dress that
was as much a part of the Dorcas meeting as the lady who wore it.
Taking the paste-pot from her aunt's writing-table, Ladybird proceeded to
paste the bits of red fabric at intervals over the black silk skirt and
bodice. She worked diligently and rapidly, and after a few moments
surveyed the effect with great satisfaction.
"Now," she said to herself, as she replaced the paste-pot, "I think it
would be wise for me to go out to spend the day."
Slipping on the despised brown frock, a mild and amiable-looking Ladybird
walked through the kitchen, humming a little tune.
"I'm going out, aunties," she said, "and I won't be back until late this
afternoon."
The Flint ladies were not surprised at this, for Ladybird often spent a
whole day out in the fields and orchards.
"Take something to eat before you go," said Miss Dorinda; "here are some
fresh seed-cakes."
Ladybird accepted half a dozen, and Miss Priscilla, looking approvingly
at the brown frock, said:
"Be back by four. The Dorcas ladies will be here, you know."
"Yes, aunty," said Ladybird, "and I hope they'll think the red spots are
becoming to you."
"What does she mean?" asked Miss Dorinda, as Ladybird disappeared down
the garden path.
"Who can ever tell what her nonsense means?" said Miss Priscilla, feeling
rather irritated at having carried her point regarding the brown frock.
But the brown frock arrayed a very gay and mischievous Ladybird, who
danced along through the sunshine, singing:
"It was best to leave you thus, dear--
Best for you and best for me."