THE VISIT TO THE PAICHOUX
One bright morning in October, while Pepsie and Lady Jane were very
busy over their pecans, there was a sudden rattling of wheels and
jingling of cans, and Tante Modeste’s milk-cart, gay in a fresh coat
of red paint, with the shining cans, and smart little mule in a bright
harness, drew up before the door, and Tante Modeste herself jumped
briskly down from the high seat, and entered like a fresh breath of
spring.
She and Madelon were twin sisters, and very much alike; the same large,
fair face, the same smooth, dark hair combed straight back from the
forehead, and twisted in a glossy knot at the back, and like Madelon
she wore a stiffly starched, light calico gown, finished at the neck
with a muslin scarf tied in a large bow; her head was bare, and in her
ears she wore gold hoops, and around her neck was a heavy chain of the
same precious metal.
When Pepsie saw her she held out her arms, flushing with pleasure, and
cried joyfully: “Oh, Tante Modeste, how glad I am! I thought you’d
forgotten to come for Lady Jane.”
Tante Modeste embraced her niece warmly, and then caught Lady Jane to
her heart just as Madelon did. “Forgotten her? Oh, no; I’ve thought of
her all the time since I was here; but I’ve been so busy.”
“What about, Tante Modeste?” asked Pepsie eagerly.
“Oh, you can’t think how your cousin Marie is turning us upside down,
since she decided to be a lady.” Here Tante Modeste made a little
grimace of disdain. “She must have our house changed, and her papa
can’t say ‘no’ to her. I like it best as it was, but Marie must have
paint and carpets; think of it—carpets! But I draw the line at the
parlor—the _salon_,” and again Tante Modeste shrugged and laughed. “She
wants a _salon_; well, she shall have a _salon_ just as she likes it,
and I will have the other part of the house as I like it. Just imagine,
your uncle has gone on Rue Royale, and bought a mirror, a console, a
cabinet, a sofa, and a carpet.”
“Oh, oh, Tante Modeste, how lovely!” cried Pepsie, clasping her hands
in admiration. “I wish I could see the parlor just once.”
“You shall, my dear; you shall, if you have to be brought on a bed.
When there’s a wedding,”—and she nodded brightly, as much as to say,
“and there will be one soon,”—“you shall be brought there. I’ll arrange
it so you can come comfortably, my dear. Have patience, you shall come.”
“How good you are, Tante Modeste,” cried Pepsie, enraptured at the
promise of such happiness.
“But now, _chérie_,” she said, turning to Lady Jane, whose little
face was expressing in pantomime her pleasure at Pepsie’s delight,
“I’ve come for you this morning to take you a ride in the cart, as I
promised.”
“Tante Pauline doesn’t know,” began Lady Jane dutifully. “I must go and
ask her if I can.”
“I’ll send Tite,” cried Pepsie, eager to have the child enjoy what to
her seemed the greatest pleasure on earth.
“Here, Tite,” she said, as the black visage appeared at the door. “Run
quick across to Madame Jozain, and ask if Miss Lady can go to ride in
the milk-cart with Madame Paichoux; and bring me a clean frock and her
hat and sash.”
Tite flew like the wind, her black legs making zigzag strokes across
the street, while Pepsie brushed the child’s beautiful hair until it
shone like gold.
Madame Jozain did not object. Of course, a milk-cart wasn’t a carriage,
but then Lady Jane was only a child, and it didn’t matter.
While Pepsie was putting the finishing touches to Lady Jane’s toilet,
Tante Modeste and Tite Souris were busy bringing various packages from
the milk-cart to the little room; butter, cream, cheese, sausage, a
piece of pig, and a fine capon. When Tante Modeste came, she always
left a substantial proof of her visit.
There was only one drawback to Lady Jane’s joy, and that was the
necessity of leaving Tony behind.
“You might take him,” said Tante Modeste, good-naturedly, “but there
are so many young ones home they’d pester the bird about to death, and
something might happen to him; he might get away, and then you’d never
forgive us.”
“I know I mustn’t take him,” said Lady Jane, with sweet resignation.
“Dear Tony, be a good bird while I’m gone, and you shall have some bugs
to-morrow.” Tony was something of an epicure, and “bugs,” as Lady Jane
called them, extracted from cabbage-leaves, were a delight to him. Then
she embraced him fondly, and fastened him securely to Pepsie’s chair,
and went away with many good-bys and kisses for her friend and not a
few lingering glances for her pet.
It was a perfectly enchanting situation to Lady Jane when she was
mounted up on the high seat, close under Tante Modeste’s sheltering
wing, with her little feet on the cream-cheese box, and the two tall
cans standing in front like sturdy tin footmen waiting for orders. Then
Tante Modeste pulled the top up over their heads and shook her lines at
the fat little mule, and away they clattered down Good Children Street,
with all the children and all the dogs running on behind.
It was a long and delightful drive to Lady Jane before they got out of
town to where the cottages were scattered and set in broad fields, with
trees and pretty gardens. At length they turned out of the beautiful
Esplanade, with its shady rows of trees, into Frenchman Street, and
away down the river they stopped before a large double cottage that
stood well back from the street, surrounded by trees and flowers;
a good-natured, healthy-looking boy threw open the gate, and Tante
Modeste clattered into the yard, calling out:
“Here, Tiburce, quick, my boy; unhitch the mule, and turn him out.” The
little animal understood perfectly well what she said, and shaking his
long ears he nickered approvingly.
Lady Jane was lifted down from her high perch by Paichoux himself, who
gave her a right cordial welcome, and in a moment she was surrounded
by Tante Modeste’s good-natured brood. At first she felt a little shy,
there were so many, and they were such noisy children; but they were
so kind and friendly toward her that they soon won her confidence and
affection.
That day was a “red-letter day” to Lady Jane; she was introduced to
all the pets of the farm-yard, the poultry, the dogs, the kittens,
the calves, the ponies, and little colts, and the great soft motherly
looking cows that stood quietly in rows to be milked; and afterward
they played under the trees in the grass, while they gathered roses
by the armful to carry to Pepsie, and filled a basket with pecans for
Madelon.
She was feasted on gumbo, fried chicken, rice-cakes, and delicious
cream cheese until she could eat no more; she was caressed and petted
to her heart’s content from the pretty Marie down to the smallest
white-headed Paichoux; she saw the fine parlor, the mirror, the
pictures, the cabinet of shells, and the vases of wax-flowers, and, to
crown all, Paichoux himself lifted her on Tiburce’s pony and rode her
around the yard several times, while Tante Modeste made her a beautiful
cake, frosted like snow, with her name in pink letters across the top.
At last, when the milk-cart came around with its evening load of fresh
milk for waiting customers, Lady Jane was lifted up again beside Tante
Modeste, overloaded with presents, caresses, and good wishes, the
happiest child, as well as the tiredest, that ever rode in a milk-cart.
Long before they reached the noisy city streets, Lady Jane became very
silent, and Tante Modeste peeped under the broad hat to see if she had
fallen asleep; but no, the blue eyes were wide and wistful, and the
little face had lost its glow of happiness.
“Are you tired, _chérie_?” asked Tante Modeste kindly.
“No, thank you,” she replied, with a soft sigh. “I was thinking of
papa, and Sunflower, and the ranch, and dear mama. Oh, I wonder if
she’ll come back soon.”
Tante Modeste made no reply, but she fell to thinking too. There was
something strange about it all that she couldn’t understand.
The child’s remarks and Madame Jozain’s stories did not agree. There
was a mystery, and she meant to get at the bottom of it by some means.
And when Tante Modeste set out to accomplish a thing she usually
succeeded.