The library of Mr. Legare was a favorite resort for his sister-in-law,
Mrs. Louisa Emory--or Aunt Louisa, as Frank and Lizzie delighted to
call her. In his books, and also in the paintings, she found joys which
none but an intellectual woman could find, and here, even in her most
melancholy moods, she would brighten up.
Frank and Lizzie, who thought there was no one on earth like their
aunt, were with her when Mr. Legare came into the library with the
portfolio just received from Mr. W----.
“Come, sister, come, children, and look at my new treasures with me,”
cried the old gentleman, taking a seat at his private writing and
reading-table, and opening the portfolio.
“What are these?” asked Mrs. Emory, as he spread out the drawings all
over the table.
“Sketches from the pencil of that wonderful girl in the
book-bindery--the one I have already talked to you about. Look at this
caricature--a fashionable belle and a poor street-sweeper. Is it not
almost a speaking sketch? See the abject, almost hopeless look in the
face of the poor girl. Who would believe a pencil, without color, could
give so much expression?”
“Your protege has wonderful talent,” said Mrs. Emory, her interest
awakened. “Here is a portrait--merely a face--that of a young girl? Is
it that of the artist herself?”
“No, it is not at all like her,” said the old gentleman, looking
at it closely. “This is a picture of a young girl, pretty, but thin
and weary-looking. Hattie Butler is not only very handsome, but very
lady-like. Louisa, you would be proud of her if she were your daughter.”
A look of agony passed over the face of the lady; she turned deathly
pale, and for an instant she looked as if she would faint.
A cry of alarm broke from the young people, and Mr. Legare cried out:
“Are you ill, dear sister, are you ill?”
“A spasm. It will soon pass away,” she said, and with a sad smile she
tried to still the alarm of her anxious relatives.
“I should like to see this gifted young woman,” she said, after
regaining her composure. “Do you think you could induce her to call
upon me here? I do not want to go to that bindery; and if she is as
proud and independent as you say, it might wound her feelings to have
me go unannounced, and without an introduction, to her boarding-house.”
“I will see her when I make a selection of these drawings for purchase,
and try and induce her to visit you,” said Mr. Legare.
“Take them all, dear father. They are really very, very fine,” cried
Frank, who had been looking them over with unwonted attention for him.
“Here is a gem--it is sarcastic, but so true. A foppishly-dressed
fellow is leaving his seat in the car, and handing a well-dressed
lady into it, while a poor old woman on crutches stands close by. She
has eyes, that girl has, and knows how to use them. If I were in your
place, father, and had influence with her, I should get her to make art
her profession. One who draws so well would soon take to color, even
if she has not already tried it.”
“I’ll warrant she paints,” said Lizzie, rather satirically, looking at
her brother to see if he would feel the shaft.
“Not in the sense you mean,” he said, indignantly. “It takes the
daughters of rich fathers to use cosmetics and other necessary articles
to enhance their beauty. The poor toiler gets her color from exercise
and honorable labor.”
“Well met, my little lady. Frank rather had you there,” said Mr.
Legare, laughing.
“Oh, yes, papa, you’ll side with him, because you think so much of her.
You’d better change me off for her,” cried Lizzie, angrily, and then
she fell to weeping.
As I heard a Western man say, “that was her best hold;” she always
conquered with it.
“Dear child, do not be so silly. No one wishes to supplant you. And
I am sure your brother had no wish to wound your feelings,” said Mr.
Legare, tenderly.
“No, indeed, sis, not a thought of it. If it will make you feel any
easier in your mind, I’ll vow that I believe this low-born beauty
paints and powders, too.”
“How do we know she is low-born?” asked Mrs. Emory, gravely, but
kindly. “Her education and gifts--her very genius would speak to the
contrary. Many a well-born person, by a sudden change of fortune,
has been reduced to labor. And I, for one, do not consider labor
dishonorable. It is hard to be forced to toil for one’s daily bread, if
one has to come to it from affluence, but it is not evil. It must be
very inconvenient to be poor; but surely in a grand republic like this
it is not a disgrace.”
“Huzza for Aunt Louisa! That’s my philosophy, too,” cried Frank.
Lizzie laughed. She couldn’t cry over three minutes at a time, and then
smiles followed, just as the sunlight comes after an April shower.
“Your Aunt Louisa always takes a sensible view of things, my dear
children, and though she makes no boasts of it, I dare say few persons
more often extend the full hand of Christian charity.”
“That’s the hand to play,” cried Frank, thinking of his last rubber of
whist at the club-room.
“The hand which helps us forward on the road to Heaven,” said his
father, in a grave tone. “And I wish my dear children to feel that
while they are living in luxury, knowing no sorrow or grief but what in
imagination they make for themselves, heavy hearts and fainting spirits
are all around them. That kind words, followed by kindly deeds, will
brighten their way as they go onward and upward in life, even as I feel
that such things are softening my descent toward the grave.”
Both son and daughter drew near their good old father and kissed him
reverently. His words had fallen on their hearts at the right moment.
“Forgive me, papa, because I spoke slightingly of the poor girl in
whom you have justly taken such an interest. If she comes here to Aunt
Louisa, I will treat her just as well as I would my dearest school-mate
or best friend.”
“There spoke my own blessed girl,” said Mr. Legare, proudly. “Your
heart is in the right place, little one, though we have petted you so
much that you forget it sometimes.”
“Sis, you’re a trump--that’s what you are. And I love you--just bet all
you have I do.”
“Frank, I know you love me--but there is that lunch-bell again. Come,
Aunt Louisa, I ordered oyster patties, because I know you like them so.”
“And we’ve a brace of partridges, father, that Egbert Tripp sent down
from Ulster County to me, and I told the cook to lard them with bacon
and broil them brown for you,” added Frank.
“They’re good children, Louisa--a little spoiled, but at heart real
good children,” said the proud father, as he offered his sister-in-law
his arm.
“It is true, brother, and I love my niece and nephew dearly,” said Mrs.
Emory. “They make my visits here very pleasant. It would be a dreary
world to me were it not for you and them.”
“Forward two!” cried Frank, as he clasped Lizzie around the waist and
waltzed into the lunch-room.