Part 21 (1/2)
Amy made a little _moue_ at him.
”I don't mind particularly,” she said. ”Come, Lole, when a thing's to be done, the best way is to do it and not fuss nor fret. I ought not to have said that; I knew it would vex dear mamma; but papa provokes me so with his solemn directions, as if the whole house did not always hold its breath when he is in the study. Come, Lole, let's do this work as well as we can.” Amy's suns.h.i.+ny disposition matches her quick temper.
She may say a quick word on the impulse of the moment, but she makes up for it afterward by her loving ways.
”It isn't the week for doing this closet, Amy,” said Laura. ”Why didn't you tell mamma so? You wanted to paint in your roses and clematis before noon, didn't you? I think it mean. Things are so contrary,” and Laura sighed.
”Oh, never mind, dear! this won't be to do next week. I think mamma was displeased and spoke hastily. Mamma and I are so much alike that we understand one another. I suppose I am just the kind of girl she used to be, and I hope I'll be the kind of woman she is when I grow up. I'm imitating mother all I can.”
Laura laughed. ”Well, Amy, you'd never be so popular in your husband's congregation as mamma is--never. You haven't so much tact; I don't believe you'll ever have it, either.”
”I haven't yet, of course; but I'd have more tact if I were a grown-up lady and married to a clergyman. I don't think, though, I'll ever marry a minister,” said Amy, with grave determination, handing down a beautiful salad-bowl, which Laura received in both hands with the reverence due to a treasured possession. ”It's the prettiest thing we own,” said Amy, feeling the smooth satiny surface lovingly, and holding it up against her pink cheek. ”Isn't it scrumptious, Laura?”
”Well,” said Laura, ”it's nice, but not so pretty as the tea-things which belonged to Great-aunt Judith. They are my pride. This does not compare.”
”Well, perhaps not in one way, for they are family pieces, and prove we came out of the ark. But the salad-bowl is a beauty. I don't object to the care of china myself. It is ladies' work. It surprises me that people ever are willing to trust their delicate china to clumsy maids. I wouldn't if I had gems and gold like a princess, instead of being only the daughter of a poor country clergyman. I'd always wash my own nice dishes with my own fair hands.”
”That shows your Southern breeding,” said Laura. ”Southern women always look after their china and do a good deal of the dainty part of the housekeeping. Mamma learned that when she was a little girl living in Richmond.”
”'Tisn't only Southern breeding,” said Amy. ”Our Holland-Dutch ancestors had the same elegant ways of taking care of their property. I'm writing a paper on 'Dutch Housewifery' for the next meeting of the Granddaughters of the Revolution, and you'll find out a good many interesting points if you listen to it.”
”Amy Raeburn!” exclaimed Laura, admiringly, ”I expect you'll write a book one of these days.”
”I certainly intend to,” replied Amy, with dignity, handing down a fat Dutch cream-jug, and at the moment incautiously jarring the step-ladder, so that, cream-jug and all, she fell to the floor. Fortunately the precious pitcher escaped injury; but Amy's sleeve caught on a nail, and as she jerked it away in her fall it loosened a shelf and down crashed a whole pile of the second-best dinner plates, making a terrific noise, which startled the whole house.
Papa, in his study, groaned, and probably tore in two a closely written sheet of notes. Mamma and the girls came flying in. Amy picked herself up from the floor; there was a great red bruise and a scratch on her arm.
”Oh, you poor child!” said mother, gauging the extent of the accident with a rapid glance. ”Never mind,” she said, relieved; ”there isn't much harm done. Those are the plates the Ladies' Aid Society in Archertown gave me the year Frances was born. I never admired them. When some things go they carry a little piece of my heart with them, but I don't mind losing donation china. Are you hurt, Amy?”
”A bruise and a scratch--nothing to signify. Here comes Lole with the arnica. I don't care in the least since I haven't wrecked any of our Colonial heirlooms. Isn't it fortunate, mother, that we haven't broken or lost anything _this_ congregation has bestowed?”
”Yes, indeed,” said mamma, gravely. ”There, gather up the pieces, and get them out of the way before we have a caller.”
In the Manse callers may be looked for at every possible time and season, and some of them have eyes in the backs of their heads. For instance, Miss Florence Frick or Mrs. Elbridge Geary seems to be able to see through closed doors. And there is Mrs. Cyril Bannington Barnes, who thinks us all so extravagant, and does not hesitate to notice how often we wear our best gowns, and wonders to our faces where mamma's last winter's new furs came from, and is very much astonished and quite angry that papa should insist on sending all his boys to college. But, there, this story isn't going to be a talk about papa's people. Mamma wouldn't approve of that, I am sure.
Everybody sat down comfortably in the dining-room, while Frances and Mildred took hold and helped Amy and Laura finish the closet. Everybody meant mamma, Mildred, Frances, Elbert, Lawrence, Sammy and Jessie.
Somehow, a downright rainy day in autumn, with a bit of a blaze on the hearth, makes you feel like dropping into talk and staying in one place, and discussing eventful things, such as Grace Wainwright's return, and what her effect would be on her family, and what effect they would have on her.
”I really do not think Grace is in the very least bit prepared for the life she is coming to,” said Frances.
”No,” said mamma, ”I fear not. But she is coming to her duty, and one can always do that.”
”For my part,” said Elbert, ”I see nothing so much amiss at the Wainwrights. They're a jolly set, and go when you will, you find them having good times. Of course they are in straitened circ.u.mstances.”
”And Grace has been accustomed to lavish expenditure,” said Mildred.
”If she had remained in Paris, with her Uncle Ralph and Aunt Gertrude she would have escaped a good deal of hards.h.i.+p,” said Lawrence.
”Oh,” mamma broke in, impatiently, ”how short-sighted you young people are! You look at everything from your own point of view. It is not of Grace I am thinking so much. I am considering her mother and the girls and her poor, worn-out father. I couldn't sleep last night, thinking of the Wainwrights. Mildred, you might send over a nut-cake and some soft custard and a gla.s.s of jelly, when it stops raining, and the last number of the ”Christian Herald” and of ”Harper's Monthly” might be slipped into the basket, too--that is, if you have all done with it. Papa and I have finished reading the serial and we will not want it again. There's so much to read in this house.”
”I'll attend to it, mamma,” said Mildred. ”Now what can I do to help you before I go to my French lesson.”