HALF-SISTERS
The next day Chester Humphreys and Stella Russell sat talking together.
They were sitting on the ground under a certain historic apple-tree, and
the young man held the girl's very pretty hand in both his own.
"Stella mine," he said, "I don't like the idea of that new Lavinia taking
the place of our Ladybird."
"She doesn't take her place," said Stella; "anybody can see that Ladybird
has her own place with the Flint ladies, and nobody can put her out of
it."
"I understand all that," said Chester, in his decided way; "but all the
same, this new girl is the Flint heiress, and will eventually be the
owner of Primrose Farm--that dear old place that has belonged to the
Flints for generations."
"So she will," said Stella; "and it's perfectly horrid! I think Miss
Priscilla ought to deed the place to Ladybird. That child loves every
nook and corner of it. In the short time she has been here she has made
herself a part of it, and I can no more think of Primrose Hall without
Ladybird, than without Miss Priscilla and Miss Dorinda."
"But in a few years," said Chester, musingly, "there will be no Miss
Priscilla and Miss Dorinda."
"Of course," said Stella, "that's what I often think. And after they're
gone, that place must belong to Ladybird."
"But it can't, dear," said Chester. "You see, Lavinia is the rightful
heir, and of course, after the death of the old ladies, the farm must
belong to her. But they aren't dead yet," he went on, cheerfully, "and
meantime I have troubles of my own. Little girl, when are you going to
marry me?"
"Is that one of your troubles?" said Stella, smiling straight into his
brown eyes.
"It will be a trouble," said Chester, "until you tell me the day when my
troubles shall end."
"Then you'll be troubled for a good while," said Stella, still smiling,
"because I'm not going to marry you for ever and ever so long."
"You're not! Well, I just guess you are, miss!"
"Indeed!" said Stella. "And, pray, what have _you_ to say about it?"
"Oh, I haven't anything to say," responded young Humphreys, airily; "but
I can scream for help; I'll call in Ladybird."
"Here she is now," called Ladybird's cheery voice. "What do you want of
her?"
"Nothing," called back Stella, quickly; "nothing but your delightful
society. Come and sit with us."
"Thank you, we will," said Ladybird, who was accompanied by Lavinia; and
the two children came and seated themselves on the grass under the old
apple-tree.
"We're getting acquainted with each other," said Ladybird, as, drawing a
long sigh, she settled herself in a comfortable position, and rolled
Cloppy into a small ball in her lap.
"How do you like the process?" said Stella, turning to Lavinia with a
pleasant smile.
"She doesn't like it a bit," said Ladybird; "but she's too polite to say
so. You see," she went on, "we're half-sisters, Lavinia and I, and so we
only half like each other. She only likes half the things I like. She
likes me, but she doesn't like Cloppy. She likes my aunts,--her aunts, I
mean,--but she doesn't like Primrose Hall."
"Well, then, what of us?" said Chester, indicating himself and Stella. "I
suppose she likes only one."
"I suppose so," said Ladybird, her eyes dancing; "but I don't know which
one."
"Never mind," said Stella, hastily. "We don't want to know which one.
We're both vain enough now. But tell me, Lavinia, don't you like Primrose
Hall?"
"No," said Lavinia, who was of a straightforward, not to say blunt,
nature, "I don't. It's not like England, and though my aunts are very
kind, they're not like my grandmother."
"You mean your grandmother Lovell, I suppose?" said Chester.
"Yes," said Lavinia--"my father's mother."
"My father's mother, too," said Ladybird. "But I don't care a cent about
her; I'd rather have my aunties, who are no relation to me, than all the
mothers my father ever had."
"Ah, but you don't know Grandma Lovell!" said Lavinia.
"No, I don't," said Ladybird, "and I don't want to."
"But she's such a dear!" said Lavinia, with almost the first spark of
enthusiasm she had shown since coming to America.
"Why is she?" said Ladybird. "What does she do?"
"Oh, she has such a jolly place in London, and we go out driving, and
shopping, and even calling. I sit in the carriage while she goes in. Oh,
we had beautiful times, and it's very different from this dull, stupid,
farmy old place!"
"Yes, it _is_ different," said Ladybird, seriously, "I know. I know all
about shopping, and calling, and all those things. I did it in India, but
I didn't like it one bit; and I think it's a thousand times nicer to be
at Primrose Hall, with orchards and brooks and trees and birds and
sunshine, and my aunts."
"Oh, _do_ you?" said Lavinia. "Well, I'd rather have one year of London
life than a thousand years of Primrose Hall."
"Well, then, you're all right," said Ladybird, "for probably you can get
one year of London life again before you die."
"I hope so, I'm sure," said Lavinia, so earnestly that they all laughed.
"And if I can help you in any way," said Ladybird, "I shall be very glad
to."
"I never saw anybody you couldn't help," said Stella; whereupon, for some
reason, Chester kissed Ladybird, and they all went back to Primrose Hall
for dinner.
After dinner, the Flint ladies asked Stella and Mr. Humphreys into the
drawing-room for a conference, from which Ladybird and Lavinia were
excluded.
"I have had a letter," began Miss Priscilla, "from London--from Mrs.
Lovell, the mother of Jack Lovell, who married our sister Lavinia. In it
she says that she is old and alone, and that she wants one of her son's
daughters to live with her. She suggests that Ladybird should come,
because, she says, we will naturally want to keep our own niece
ourselves. She seems so positive of this that she takes the situation
quite for granted and says that we are to send Ladybird over to her at
the first opportunity. Now, of course, she is quite right in stating, as
she does, that Lavinia is our own blood-niece, while Ladybird is no
relation to us whatever; but she is not right in assuming that for those
reasons we love Lavinia best."
"Lavinia seems to be a very sweet girl," said Stella.
And Miss Dorinda said: "She is indeed a sweet, modest, amiable young
girl."
"She is all of that," said Miss Priscilla; "and, on the other hand,
Ladybird is a fiery, mischievous little scamp; and yet I suppose it's
because I've known her longer, but somehow I love Ladybird a thousand
times the most."
The portières at the doorway parted and Ladybird came in. Calmly walking
toward the open piano, she seated herself on the keyboard of that
instrument with her feet on the piano-stool. This position she took and
kept in such a serene, gentle way that it seemed, after all, the only
correct place for her to sit.
"No, aunty," she said placidly, resting her chin on her little, thin
brown hand, "it isn't because you've known me longer than Lavinia that
you love me more; it's because I suit you better. Lavinia is a dear girl,
and I like her--pretty well; but she isn't our sort; and somehow she
hasn't any gumption about fun."
Ladybird was not familiar with the phrase "sense of humor," or she would
have used it right here.
"And so," she went on cheerfully, "I hear you've had a letter from old
Mrs. Lovell."
"Your grandmother, Ladybird," said Miss Priscilla, a little severely.
"And how did you hear it?"
"Yes, my grandmother," said Ladybird. "And I heard it by listening at the
hall door."
"You're a naughty girl," said Miss Dorinda.
"I am," said Ladybird, serenely; "no nice old lady in London would want
such a naughty girl as I am, would she?"
"That doesn't matter, Ladybird," said Miss Priscilla. "And you must stop
your nonsense now; for your grandmother Lovell has really sent for you,
and you must go to her."
"Indeed!" said Ladybird, with a most derisive accent. "_In_deed!"
"Be quiet, Ladybird," went on Miss Flint; "I am in earnest now--very much
in earnest. Mrs. Lovell has sent for you; for naturally she wants one of
her grandchildren with her, and Lavinia, being our niece, and the
rightful heir to the Flint estates, must, of course, stay with us. By the
way, where is the child?"
"She's up in her room," said Ladybird; "and she's crying her eyes out
because she can't go back to England and live with her grandmother
Lovell. But she'll get over it. Oh, yes, she'll get over it! She'll
change her mind, and she'll love to live with her Primrose aunties; and
she'll forget all about her London grandmother! Oh, yes! _Oh, yes!_ Oh,
yes!"
Ladybird had bounded down from the piano-stool, and with her eyes
flashing, and her voice rising to a higher pitch at each word, she flew
out of the room, and was heard stamping up the stairs.
"Something must be done, Clops!" she said, shaking her dog almost
viciously as she reached her own room. "Something must be done, and it
must be done right away! Right here and now, and we're the ones to do it,
Cloppy-dog!"
Apparently the thing to be done was to write a letter, for Ladybird, with
the force and flutter of a small cyclone, flew to her desk and began to
write. She blotted and tore up many sheets of paper. She made Cloppy's
existence an exceedingly uncomfortable one. She reduced her small
pocket-handkerchief to a damp string; but she finally achieved a result
which seemed to her successful, and this was it:
To my Grandmother Lovell,
My dear Grandmother:
I am Ladybird Lovell, the daughter of your son Jack's second wife.
Perhaps you think I'm a nice child, but I am not, and this letter is to
warn you. I am very, _very_ bad; in fact, I am a turmigant of all the
vices. Only to-day my Aunt Dorinda, who is sweetness itself, said I was
the naughtiest child she ever saw. I think she has never seen any other,
except Lavinia Lovell, my lovely and amiable half-sister and your beloved
granddaughter. Which is the reason I am writing this to say I am quite
sure you would prefer the gentle, charming, and delicious Lavinia, to the
bad, naughty, and altogether disreputable Me.
And I am, my dear madam,
Your disobedient servant,
Ladybird Lovell.
P. S. Lavinia wants to go back to you just fearfully; she's crying about
it.