Miss Diana received the news in absolute silence. The brave daughter of
a brave father, she would make no moan, but the sweetness seemed to have
suddenly gone from the flowers and the light out of the sky.
Unavella looked at her in amazement. She was used to the stormy grief
which finds vent in tears and groans. "It beats me how different folks
takes things!" she ejaculated mentally. "Well, she'll need suthin' to
keep her strength up all the more now she ain't got nuthin' to support
her;" and, gathering peas and pods into her apron with a mighty sweep of
her arm, she marched into her kitchen in a fever of sympathetic
indignation and evolved a dinner which was a masterpiece of culinary
skill.
Miss Diana forced herself to eat something. She knew if she did not,
Unavella would be worried, and she possessed that peculiar regard for
the feelings of others which would not allow her to consider her own.
"You are a wonderful cook, Unavella," she said, with a pathetic
cheerfulness which did not deceive her faithful handmaiden, who, as she
confided afterwards to a friend, wuz weepin' bitter gall tears in her
mind, though she kep' a calm front outside, for she wuzn't goin' ter be
outdid in pluck by that little bit of sweetness. "I shall be able to
give you a beautiful character."
She lifted her hand with a deprecating gesture as Unavella was about to
burst forth with a stormy denial.
"Not yet, please, Unavella; not just yet. Let me have time to think a
little before you say anything. I feel rather shaken. The news was so
very unexpected, you see," she said with a shadowy smile, which Unavella
averred "cut her heart clean in two." "But everything is just right,
Unavella, that happens to the Lord's children, you know. Things look a
little misty now, but I shall see the sunlight again by and bye. In the
meantime there is this delicious dinner. Someone ought to be reaping the
benefit of it. Suppose you take it to poor Mrs. Dixon? She enjoys
anything tasty so much and she cannot afford to buy dainties for
herself." Miss Diana would never learn the economy which is content to
be comfortable while a neighbor is in need. "And, Unavella, if you
please, you might say I am not receiving callers this afternoon. I am
afraid it is not very hospitable, but I feel as if I must be alone. This
has been rather a sudden shock to me."
"You, you--angul!" exclaimed Unavella, as soon as she had regained the
privacy of her kitchen, while a briny crystal of genuine affection
rolled down her cheek and splashed unceremoniously into the gravy.
Up-stairs in her pretty chamber Miss Diana sat and thought. Ruin and
starvation. Was that what it meant? She had seen the words in print
often but they seemed different now. Ruin meant a giving up and going
out, while the auctioneer's hammer smote upon one's heart with cruel
blows, and one could not see to say farewell because one's eyes were
full of tears. It would not be starvation--of the body. She must be
thankful for that. The house and grounds were in a good locality and she
had refused several handsome offers for them during the past year.
She caught her breath a little as she thought of the wide stretching
field where her dainty Jersey was feeding, with its cluster of trees in
one corner, under which a brook babbled joyously as it danced on its way
to the river; the pretty barn with its pigeon-house where her
snow-white fantails craned their imperious heads; the wide porch with
its flower drapery, where she sat and read or worked with her pet
spaniel at her feet, and where her friends loved to gather through the
summer afternoons and chat over the early supper before they went back
to the city's grime and stir.
Then in thought she entered the house. The room which had been her
father's and the library which held his books. Could she sell those! She
shivered, as in imagination she heard the careless inventory of the
auctioneer. She had never attended an auction except once, and then she
had hurried away, for it seemed to her the pictured faces were misty
with tears and she fancied the draperies sighed, as they waved in the
wind which swept through the gaping windows. There were the engravings
which she loved and the pictures her father had brought with him from
Europe, and the rare old china and her mother's silver service, and her
store of delicate napery and household linen; while every table and
chair had a story and the very walls of each room were dear. Had she
been making idols of these things in her heart?
Miss Diana knelt beside the couch, comfortable as only old-fashioned
couches know how to be. "Dear Christ," she cried, "I am thy follower
and I have gone shod with velvet while thy feet were travel-stained, and
I have slept upon eider-down while thou hadst not where to lay thine
head!"
She knelt on, motionless, until the twilight fell and the stars began to
peep out in the sky. Then she went down-stairs and there was a strange,
exalted look upon her sweet face.
"Unavella," she cried softly, "I have found the sunlight, for I can say
'The Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be the name of the
LORD.'"
"Oh, Miss Di-an!" wailed Unavella, "I b'lieve you're goin' ter die an'
be an angul afore the moon changes!"
* * * * *
Miss Diana had been to see her lawyer and he had confirmed her decision.
Her income was gone. With the exception of a couple of hundred dollars,
coming to her from a different source, she was penniless. There was
nothing left her but to sell.
When she reached home that night she looked very white and weary, but
her smile was all the sweeter because of the unshed tears. Unavella had
spread her supper in the porch. She ate but little, however. "I am sorry
I cannot do more justice to your skill, Unavella," she said with her
gentle courtesy, "but I do not seem to feel hungry lately."
"It's that li-yar!" muttered Unavella grimly, as she cleared the things
away. "I never knowed a li-yar yit that didn't scare all the appetite
away from a body."
When her work was finished she came back to the porch where Miss Diana
was sitting very still in the moonlight. "Miss Di-an!" she exclaimed
impetuously, "don't you go fer to be thinkin' of sellin'! I've got a
plan that beats the li-yar's all holler, ef he duz wear a wig."
"Sit down, Unavella," said her mistress kindly, "and tell me what it
is."
"Well, I haven't said nuthin' to you before, 'cause I knowed it would
only hurt you ef I wuz to let my feelin's loose about them thievin'
rapscallions that dared to lay their cheatin' hands on the money the
Gin'rel left ye; but I've been a thinkin'--stiddy--an' while you wuz
comin' to your decision above I wuz comin' to mine below, an' now we'll
toss 'em up fer luck, an' see which wins, ef you air willin'."
Miss Diana smiled. "Well, Unavella." she said.
"You decide ter leave yer hum, with all there is to it, an' me inter the
bargain, an' go ter board with folks what don't know yer likins nor
understan' yer feelin's, an' the end on it'll be that you'll jest wilt
away wuss than a mornin' glory. I never did think folks sarved the Lord
by dyin' afore their time comes.
"I decide to hev you keep yer hum, an' the things in it, an' me too. The
hull on it is, Miss Di-an, _I won't be left_!" and Unavella buried her
face in her hands and sobbed aloud.
"You dear Unavella!" Miss Diana laid her soft hand upon the
toil-roughened ones. "If you only knew how I dread the thought of
leaving you! But what else is there for me to do?"
"Gentlemen boarders," was the terse reply.
"Gentlemen boarders!" echoed Miss Diana in bewilderment.
"Yes. You catch 'em, an' I'll cook'em. We'll begin with two ter see how
they eat, an ef we find it don't cost too much ter fatten 'em up, we'll
go inter the bizness reglar;" after making which cannibalistic
proposition Unavella looked to her mistress for approval.
"Why, Unavella," said Miss Diana, after the first shock of surprise was
over, "I never even dreamed of such a thing! It might be possible, if
you are willing to undertake it, it is very good of you. But we will not
make any plans, Unavella, until I talk it over with the Lord. If his
smile rests upon it, your kindly thought for me will succeed; if not, it
would be sure to fail. I must have his approval first of all."
She rose as she spoke and bade her a gentle good-night, and Unavella
walked slowly back to her kitchen again. "Ef the angul Gabriel," she
soliloquized, "starts in ter searchin' the earth this night fer the
Lord's chosen ones, there ain't no fear but what he'll cum ter this
house, the fust thing."
Up-stairs Miss Diana was whispering softly, as she looked up at the
stars with a trustful smile. "Oh, my Father, if it is thy will that I
should do this thing, thou wilt send me the right ones."