HOW AUNT BETTY MADE HER CHOICE
One morning three cousins were walking slowly down the village street
towards the house of their Aunt Betty, where they had been invited to
dine. They were eager and excited, for there was something peculiar
about the invitation, though none but Jenny knew exactly what it was.
Jenny began:--
"Well, I do wonder who'll get it!"
"Get what?" asked Grace.
"Why, don't you know? Didn't your mother tell you?" said Jenny, in
surprise. "Aunt Betty didn't mean to have us know, but mamma told me."
"I don't know what you mean," said Grace.
"Nor I," put in Ruth.
"Why," said Jenny eagerly, "you know Aunt Betty has not been so well
lately, and her doctor says she must have some one to live with her
besides old Sam, and she's made up her mind--mamma says--to take one
of us three and give her all the advantages she can while she lives,
and leave her something when she dies. Mamma says, probably her whole
fortune, or at any rate a big share. It's a grand chance! I do hope
she'll take me!"
"But," said Ruth, "I don't understand; why should she leave everything
to one, after spending so much on her?"
"Oh, to make up to her for giving up so much," said Jenny. "She's so
cranky, you know!"
"It won't be much fun to live with her," said Grace thoughtfully. "But
think of the advantages! I'd have all the music lessons I want, and
I'm sure she'd let me go to concerts and operas. Oh! Oh!"
"I'm not so sure of that," said Jenny. "She wouldn't want you going
out much; for my part I'd coax her to travel; I'd love to go all over
the world--and I'm just dying to go to Europe, anyway."
"What would you choose, Ruth?" asked Grace.
"I don't know," answered Ruth slowly, "and it's no use to wish, for of
course she won't choose me. I don't think she ever cared much for me,
and I do make such stupid blunders. It seems as if I was bound to
break something or knock over something, or do _something_ she
particularly dislikes every time I go there. You know the last time I
went there I stumbled over a stool and fell flat on the floor, making
her nearly jump out of her skin--as she said--and getting a big,
horrid-looking bump on my forehead."
The girls laughed. "You do seem to be awfully unlucky, Ruth," said
Jenny magnanimously, "and I guess the choice will be one of us two."
"Well, here we are!" said Grace, in a low tone, as they reached the
gate of the pretty cottage where Aunt Betty lived. "Now for it! Put on
your best manners, Ruthie, and try not to upset the old lady's nerves,
whatever you do!"
"I shall be sure to do it," said Ruth sadly, "I'm so awkward."
Grace and Jenny laughed, not displeased with the thought that the
choice would be only between two.
These three girls, so eager to leave their parents and live with Aunt
Betty, had comfortable homes, all of them; but in each case there were
brothers and sisters and a family purse not full enough to gratify all
their desires. Aunt Betty had always been ready to help them out of
any difficulty; to give a new dress or a new hat when need became
imperative, or a little journey when school work had tired them. So
she had come to be the source of many of their comforts and all their
luxuries. To live with Aunt Betty, so near their own homes that they
would scarcely be separated from them, seemed to them the greatest
happiness they could hope for.
Old Sam, the colored servant who had lived with Miss Betty, as he
called her, since she was a young woman, and was devoted to her,
opened the door for them, a broad grin on his comely face.
"Miss Betty, she's a-lookin' fur you-all," he said; "you're to take
off your things in the hall."
"Why! Can't we go into the bedroom as usual?" asked Grace, who liked a
mirror and a brush to make sure that every curl was in place.
"No, Miss Grace," said Sam, "y'r aunt said fur you to take 'em off
here."
Rather sulkily, Grace did as she was bid, and then, bethinking herself
of the importance of the occasion, she called up her usual smile, and
the three entered the sitting-room where their aunt awaited them.
Aunt Betty was a pleasant-faced lady of perhaps sixty years, but
though rather infirm so that she walked with a cane, she was bright
and cheery-looking. She was dressed in her usual thick black satin
gown and lace mitts, with a fine lace kerchief around her neck and
crossed on her breast, and a string of fine gold beads around her
throat.
The few moments before Sam opened the door of the dining-room, clad in
snowy apron and white gloves, and announced in his most dignified
butler's manner, "Dinner is served!" were passed by Aunt Betty in
asking about the three families of her guests, and soon all were
seated at the pretty round table, set out with the very best old
china, of which every piece was more precious than gold, with
exquisite cut glass and abundance of silver. This was an unusual
honor, and the girls were surprised.
"You see, nieces," said Aunt Betty, "this is a special occasion, and I
give you my very best."
"This china's almost too lovely to use," said Grace warmly. "I don't
know as I shall dare to touch it!"
"It's all beautiful!" said Jenny eagerly; "I do love to eat off dainty
dishes. Did Sam arrange the table?"
"Yes," said Aunt Betty, "Sam did everything."
"Well, he's just a wonder!" said Grace. "I wish we could ever have a
table like this in our house--but then we haven't any such things to
put on it," she added, with a sigh.
"I only hope," said Ruth ruefully, "that I shall not break anything.
Auntie, you ought to have set me in a corner by myself with kitchen
dishes to use; I deserve it for my clumsiness."
"Well, niece!" said Aunt Betty, with a rather anxious look, "I hope
you'll be on your good behavior to-day, for I value every piece above
gold."
"I know you do," said Ruth anxiously, "and that's what scares me."
While they were talking, Sam had served each one with a plate on which
lay a small slice of fish, browned to perfection and temptingly hot.
Each girl took a small taste, and then began picking at the food
daintily with her fork, but not eating. Grace raised her napkin to her
lips, and surreptitiously removed from her mouth the morsel she had
taken. Jenny heroically swallowed, and then hastily drank from her
glass, while Ruth quietly took the morsel from her mouth, deposited it
on her plate, and took no more.
Aunt Betty apparently did not observe all this, but in a moment,
seeing that they were toying with the food on their plates, asked
quietly, "What's the matter? Why do you not eat?"
"I don't care much for fish," said Grace, in her most polite manner,
and, "I beg your pardon, aunt," said Jenny, in apparent confusion,
"but I must confess to having had some candy this morning, and I'm
afraid I haven't much appetite; the fish is fine, I'm sure."
"And you, Ruth?" asked her aunt.
Ruth hesitated.
"I want the truth, niece," Aunt Betty went on; "you know I always want
the honest truth."
"Indeed, Aunt Betty," began Grace, "I'm sure"--She paused, and Jenny
broke in, "I'm awfully sorry, Aunt Betty"--But Ruth, while a deep
blush rose to her honest face, said in a low tone, "Auntie--I'm sorry
to have to tell you--but I think the fish had been kept a little too
long."
Jenny and Grace looked at her in amazement, expecting some burst of
indignation from Aunt Betty.
But she only said quietly, though a queer look stole over her face,
"Then we'll have it removed," touching a bell as she spoke.
Sam appeared instantly, his broad, black face shining, and a grin he
could not wholly repress displaying his white teeth.
In a moment he removed the fish and replaced it with the next course,
which was turkey, roasted in Sam's superb way, which no one in the
village could equal. This was all right, and received full justice
from the youthful appetites, even Jenny forgetting that candy had
spoiled hers.
After this the dinner progressed smoothly till ice cream was served
with dessert. Again something seemed to be out of joint. Aunt Betty
noticed that her young guests did not show their usual fondness for
this dish. Again she asked, "Is anything wrong with the cream?" and
again she was answered with bland apologies, though some confusion.
"I've eaten so much," said Grace, with a sigh.
"It's so cold it makes me shiver," said Jenny, laying down her spoon.
"And what ails you, Ruth?" asked Aunt Betty, with a grave look on her
face.
"I'm afraid"--said Ruth timidly, "I'm really afraid Sam spilled some
salt in it, auntie;" and so embarrassed was she at being obliged to
say what she was sure would be a mortal offense, that in her confusion
she knocked a delicate glass off the table, and it was shattered to
pieces on the floor.
"Oh, dear!" she cried, "I've done it now! Auntie, you'll never forgive
me! I don't know what ails me when I get among your precious things."
"I know," said her aunt grimly. "I believe you are a little afraid of
me, my dear, and that makes you awkward. Never mind the glass," as
Ruth was picking up the pieces, tears rolling down her face, "that can
be replaced; it is only the china that is precious; don't cry,
child."
Ruth tried to dry her tears, but she was really much grieved, and her
cousins exchanged a look which said plainly as words, "That settles
_her_ chance!"
If Aunt Betty saw the look, she did not mention it, but she soon made
the move to leave the table, and all gladly followed her into the
other room.
"Nieces," she said, before they had seated themselves, "did you wonder
why I had you leave your wraps in the hall today?"
"It was, of course, unusual," said Grace, "for we have always gone
into the bedroom, but it did not matter in the least."
"It did not make any difference," murmured Jenny.
"I will show you what I have been doing to the bedroom," said Aunt
Betty, throwing open the door to that room.
It had been entirely transformed. In place of the old-fashioned set of
furniture, the gorgeous flowered carpet, the dark walls and thick
curtains that had been in the room ever since they could remember,
were light-tinted walls, hard wood floors, with several rugs, a
modern light set of furniture, pictures on the walls, lace curtains at
the windows, all the latest style and very elegant. One thing only
made a discord: over the dainty bed was spread a gay-colored cover. It
disfigured the whole effect, but the girls apparently saw nothing out
of the way.
"Oh, how lovely!" cried Jenny.
"It's so dainty and sweet!" put in Grace. "Auntie, you have exquisite
taste."
Ruth looked her appreciation till her glance fell upon the bedspread;
then she hesitated.
"Nieces, do you like it? Could you suggest any change in it?"
"It is simply perfect as it is," said Grace warmly, while not to be
outdone by Grace, Jenny added with a sigh, "Nothing could improve it,
I'm sure."
Aunt Betty looked at Ruth, who was covered with confusion, but she
stammered, "I seem to be the only one to find fault to-day, but
indeed, auntie--if you want my honest opinion"--
"I do," said Aunt Betty, with a smile.
"Well then--couldn't you--couldn't you put on a white spread instead
of that gay one? That doesn't seem to suit the beautiful room."
Aunt Betty smiled again. "Take it off, then, and let's see!"
Ruth pulled off the spread, and there under it was a dainty lace one
as exquisite as the rest of the room.
"I guess we'll keep it off," said Aunt Betty, "though Jenny and Grace
seem to like it well enough; it certainly is an improvement."
Aunt Betty's manner was so peculiar as she said this, that the two
girls who had sacrificed truthfulness to please her, began to suspect
that there was more in it than they had thought; they were both rather
silent when they returned to the sitting-room and Aunt Betty began:--
"Nieces, I have a little plan to tell you about, though possibly you
may have suspected it"--with a sharp look at the two guilty ones.
"Perhaps you have heard that I have decided, by the advice of my
physician, to take one of you to live with me--provided you and your
parents are willing, of course. I shall ask a good deal of the one I
select, but I shall try to make it up to her. I shall formally adopt
her as my own, and, of course, make a distinction in her favor in my
will. I shall ask a good deal of her time and attention; but I shall
not live forever, and when I am gone, she will be independent, and
able to make her own life."
The three girls were breathless with attention, and Aunt Betty went
on.
"I want the one I shall choose to ponder these conditions well; there
will be a few years--probably--of partial seclusion from society, and
of devotion to her old auntie, and then freedom, with the
consciousness of having made happy the declining years of one who
buried the last of her own children many years ago."
She paused--but not a word was spoken--and in a moment she went on.
"I did not know how to choose between you, for you are all so sweet to
me, so I made a plan to find out--with Sam's help--a little about your
characteristics. The virtue I prize almost above all others,
is--truthfulness, honest, outspoken truth. The bad fish, the salted
cream, and the odious spread were tests, and only one of you stood the
test and spoke the honest truth. I am glad that _one_ did, for
otherwise I should not have found, in my own family, one I could adopt
and depend upon."
She paused; not a word was said.
"Ruth," she began again, turning to that confused, and blushing, and
utterly amazed girl, "Ruth, will you come to live with me, take the
place of a daughter, and occupy that room?"
"You ask _me_?" cried Ruth, "clumsy and awkward as I am! I never
dreamed you could want me!"
"I know you did not," said Aunt Betty; "but your habit of truthfulness
is far more valuable to me than the deftest fingers or the most
finished manners. Will you come?"
"Oh, yes, indeed!" cried Ruth, falling on her knees and burying her
face in Aunt Betty's lap, while happy tears fell from her eyes, and
Aunt Betty gently stroked her hair.
"Well, well," said Jenny, with a sigh, as the two girls walked slowly
home, "I always knew Aunt Betty was the crankiest woman in the world,
and if Ruth wasn't so perfectly sincere I should almost think that
she"--
She paused, and Grace broke in.
"Yes; I'm perfectly sure Ruth is not capable of putting on; besides,
we always knew she couldn't deceive to save her life."
* * * * *
"Hush," said mamma, as Kristy was about to speak. "Here comes Mrs.
Wilson."
Mrs. Wilson, the next door neighbor, walked in, explaining that she
had come in the rain because she was all alone in her house and was
lonely, and seeing Mrs. Crawford sewing by the window, thought she
would bring her work and join her.
Mrs. Crawford welcomed her, but Kristy was disturbed. "Mrs. Wilson,"
she began, "don't you think a person ought to keep her promise?"
"Why, certainly," said Mrs. Wilson.
"Kristy! Kristy!" said her mother warningly.
"I'm just going to ask Mrs. Wilson," said Kristy, with a twinkle in
her eye, "if she doesn't think you ought to _go_ on telling me
stories, when you promised to do it as long as it rained. She likes to
hear stories, too, I'm sure."
Mrs. Wilson laughed. "Of course I do, and I shall be delighted, I'm
sure. Your mother must be a master hand at the business, for I never
knew such a story-lover as you, Kristy."
"I've about told myself out," said Mrs. Crawford. "Kristy, I think you
really ought to excuse me now."
"How will it do if I tell you one to rest mamma?" asked Mrs. Wilson.
"I happen to be much interested just now in a story that is still
going on in town."
"Do tell it!" said Kristy. "I can get mamma to keep her promise this
evening."
Mrs. Wilson laughed, and first taking her sewing out of a bag she
carried, she began:--
"It's about the Home we see on the cars, going to the city."
"Oh, yes! where we always see girls in the yard as we go by?" said
Kristy.
"Yes; I'll tell you how it began."
Kristy settled herself more comfortably on the lounge, and the story
began.