A TRANSACTION IN COTTON.
The week that followed the Trixy-Trewman incident was a trying one to
Trif. Her sister Fenie, although an intelligent and well-educated young
woman who could talk well on many subjects, and whose interests were
generally as broad as those of a clever young woman should be, would
converse about nothing but the dreadful position in which Trixy had
placed her toward a young man whom she cared no more for than for old
Father Adam--indeed, not as much, for Adam was regarded by all good
people of New England extraction as a member of the family, although
somewhat remotely removed.
As for Trif, she had no patience with a girl who did not know her own
mind. When she had first met Phil Highwood, nearly ten years before,
she knew at once what to think of him, and she had never changed her
mind. Neither had she thought it necessary to talk of him to the
exclusion of everything and everybody else--not at least until she had
been married to him and before Trixy made her appearance as the eighth
wonder of the world and the most important creature ever born.
It would never do, she argued, to betray her feelings to and about
her sister, for she had determined to have Harry Trewman for a
brother-in-law, and her husband loyally supported her in her decision.
But what was to be done?
Upon one thing she and her sister were resolved, and one morning after
breakfast the couple called upon Phil to witness their resolution,
which was that they would never again say in Trixy's hearing anything
which could make mischief by being repeated. Phil listened with a
smile so provoking that Fenie called him perfectly horrid, while Trif
playfully but vigorously boxed his ears.
"Oh, you'll keep that resolution," Phil admitted. "I've no doubt
whatever that both of you will live up to it--while the dear child is
asleep, but if either of you blessed women think that you're going to
leave anything unsaid that you want to say while you're together you're
dangerously mistaken. You've been sisters and chums too long to hold
your tongues at home."
"I flatter myself," said Trif loftily, while Fenie pouted exuberantly,
"that we have sense enough to make each other understand what we have
to say, and at the same time keep the child from knowing what we are
talking about."
"Women aren't like men," added Fenie. "It isn't always necessary for
them to talk to make themselves understood. Trif has told me thousands
of things with her eyes, without saying a word."
"She certainly has a remarkable faculty at that sort of thing," said
Phil, with a gentle pinch at his wife's cheek. "She often conversed
with me across the entire width of a crowded room--just as you'll
probably do, Fenie dear, when the proper man appears. At the present
time, however, there's no sign that either of you will let your tongues
suffer through lack of exercise."
"Trif," said Fenie, "isn't it about time for your husband to be on his
way to his office? I'm sure his employers will complain of him for
being late."
When Phil had departed, the two women, to make assurance doubly sure,
called Trixy and gave a full hour of cautions against repeating
anything whatever that she might chance to overhear in the house.
She was reminded that she was mamma's and auntie's little lady, and
that ladies never repeat what is said in the home circle, and that
nobody liked tale-bearers, and that, although Harry Trewman was not
of the slightest consequence--Fenie was elaborately explicit on this
point--some dear friend of the family might be greatly offended by
hearing something which was said only in fun.
Trixy listened attentively and promised profusely; then she retired
to her doll's nursery to have a long season of thought over all that
had been said. Fenie often worried about the habits of the child, for
dreaming was more to her own taste, but Trif said that Trixy's way was
entirely natural and proper; she had exactly the same manner when she
was a little girl; besides, according to Phil's parents, the child's
father had done much retiring for thought in his youthful days.
But Trixy had much besides thinking to do. She felt greatly mortified
at having made any trouble, and the less there seemed to be of the
trouble, according to her Aunt Fee, the more of it there was--according
to Trif. She reverted to the subject, again and again, asking
numberless questions at unexpected times, generally with the result of
bringing a blush to Fenie's face. When Trif asked her husband what it
could be that made the child so curious, despite all that had been done
to belittle Harry Trewman in connection with the incident, Phil's only
reply was:
"There's an old saying to the point--'You can't fool a child or a dog.'"
Meanwhile Trixy went on thinking, and one day she came to her mother
with a confession.
"You see, mamma, I thought about it a lot, and I thought the best way
not to repeat things was not to hear 'em, so I made up my mind that I
wouldn't listen any more to anything that wasn't said right straight to
me."
"Sensible little girl," exclaimed Trif, showing her approval further by
a shower of caresses and kisses.
"Oh," said Trixy, trying to escape, "but you don't know how bad I am.
Since I made up my mind to stop hearing things I've heard more of them
than ever."
"You poor little darling," exclaimed Trif, snatching the child into her
arms, "you must stop tormenting yourself in that manner. Stop thinking
about it, dear. Listen when you like, and when you don't. Perhaps that
will cure you."
"Oh, I know a better way than that," said Trixy, perching herself upon
her mother's knee, and looking up with the expression of a cherub. "You
remember that time when I had the earache and you put cotton, with
smelly stuff on it, in my ears? Well, I couldn't hear a thing then.
Now, I think----"
"Be quiet, dear," exclaimed Trif. "You talk as if you were some
dreadful creature from somewhere, instead of mamma's darling, sweet,
good little daughter."
A morning call put an end to the interview, but a few hours later,
while Trif was sewing busily and Fenie was talking volubly and
aimlessly about Harry Trewman, a light step was heard in the room, and
Fenie dropped her subject for a moment, and exclaimed:
"Tryphosa Wardlow Highwood, will you look at your daughter--this
instant?"
Trixy was evidently expecting to be looked at, and was pleased at the
effect of her appearance. Over each ear was a great dark ball or wad of
something, her mother could not imagine what, until examination showed
that the outside of each was a rubber tobacco pouch, two or three of
which Phil had discarded when he gave up smoking pipes. Inside of each
was a mass of raw cotton, and the mouth of each bag was tied tightly
around a juvenile ear.
"I can't hear hardly a thing," shouted Trixy. "A little bit of cotton
in each ear didn't make much difference, but a whole lot on the outside
made lots, and the bags made more, beside keeping the cotton on. Now go
on talkin' all you like; I'm goin' to read."
"She shan't wear those dreadful things," exclaimed Fenie, untying the
bags, despite Trixy's remonstrances. "She shan't keep cotton in her
ears, either. The idea of the darling little thing being----"
"Let her have her way a little while," said Trif. "It will amuse her,
without harming any one else. Besides, you may accidentally mention
Harry Trewman in the course of the afternoon, and----"
There must have been a note of sarcasm in Trif's voice, for Fenie
retorted sharply:
"Tryphosa, this is your house, and if you dislike that young man so
much that you object to the child hearing the sound of his name, why
I----"
"Fenie! Fenie, dear!" interrupted Trif, scarcely able to control her
voice and not daring to lift her eyes from the work which she had
resumed. "Whatever you like to talk about, you know I like to hear
about. Aren't you my only sister, and my----"
"I didn't suppose that I talked much about Harry Trewman," said Fenie,
making a pretense of sewing industriously.
"You mean nothing but what is entirely right, dear girl."
"Then why do you object to that innocent child hearing what I say? I'm
sure that I say nothing which any one might not listen to--do I?"
"Certainly not; still, don't you remember what happened a night or two
ago, dear, through a certain child hearing something and repeating it?"
"Yes, but--" here Fenie looked cautiously toward Trixy, who was
reading, with an air of utter absorption--"but I'm not likely to speak
so foolishly again. Trif, do let me take the cotton from that child's
ears. It is making her uncomfortable. See. She is rubbing one of her
ears now."
"She is sensible enough to complain when it really hurts. You don't
imagine that her mother will let her suffer, do you?"
"No, but--well as I was saying, I don't really talk much about Harry
Trewman, do I?"
Trif looked up so intently and roguishly that Fenie blushed deeply, and
the blush remained while Trif said softly:
"Really, dear, you don't talk much about anything else."
"I don't see how you can say that," replied Fenie with uncertain voice,
"when you know that I don't care anything--or not much, for him or
about him. I don't suppose I would have spoken his name a single time
this week if he hadn't come here last week, and if Trixy hadn't made
that dreadful blunder. You certainly don't think me in love with him, I
hope?"
"I hope not, dear. There are many gradations of feeling that a true
woman must go through before she can say honestly that she is in love.
But you--well, you like him a little better than you like any other of
your admirers, don't you?"
"Ye--es, I suppose I do," replied Fenie, her voice not entirely under
control. "He is gentlemanly, and honest-looking, and never brings the
odor of liquor or tobacco with him. He doesn't make silly attempts at
flattery, and he talks a great deal about his sisters, who are very
nice girls, and he knows when to go home, instead of dawdling here
until midnight, and we like the same books and pictures, so----"
"And so he is a pleasant acquaintance to have--too pleasant to lose
entirely?"
"Yes, indeed, and if it hadn't been for that dreadful child--there,
Trif, she's rubbing that ear again. I'm sure she's in pain. Do let me
remove that ridiculous cotton."
"Tut, tut. Go on. You were saying----"
"Oh, what was I saying? What were we talking about?" asked Fenie, with
charming but entirely transparent hypocrisy. "Oh, I was merely going
to say that if Trixy hadn't made that dreadful speech to him the other
night, I wouldn't have missed one delightful party--perhaps two, to
which he and his oldest sister would have taken me."
"Oh, I see. 'Tis only the parties that trouble you."
"Tryphosa," exclaimed Fenie indignantly, as she arose from her chair,
"I think you're real unkind--real tormenting. First you make fun of
me for talking a lot about him, and then you make me talk about him a
great deal more. I wasn't going to say a word about him this afternoon,
but you've kept me at it in spite of myself. Perhaps you don't want me
to like him. Well, I shan't oblige you. I do like him. I'm not a bit
in love with him, but I do like him ever so much, and I'm not a bit
ashamed to say so. There!"
"Bravo!" exclaimed Trif, springing from her chair and throwing her arms
about her sister. "I'm glad that at last you know your own mind. Now
stop acting like a child, and be the woman you have the right to be.
I'm proud of you, my darling sister--proud of your honesty and spirit.
But--why, my dear girl, what is the matter?"
"Harry's been driven away from here," sobbed Fenie, "and I'm dreadful
unhappy about it, and I want him to come back."
"Hurrah," sounded a high childish treble. The sisters looked in the
direction of the sound, and there stood Trixy, with glowing cheeks and
dancing eyes as she continued:
"I want him to come back, too, for he promised to bring me a doll."
"Trixy," exclaimed Fenie severely. Trixy understood at once and looked
guilty, but she explained:
"One of the cottons dropped out, and I didn't know a thing about it
till you boo-hoo'd."