Volume I Part 4 (1/2)
”Dear me, aunt, you must say that for fun, ... for it is hardly likely you should know Agnes, that was almost a baby the last time you ever saw her, and forget me, that was quite grown up at that same time.”
”Oh!... then you are Miss Martha, the great beauty, are you? You look very old indeed, Miss Martha, considering that you can't be very much past thirty, and that I suppose is the reason I did not know you. How is your poor father, Miss Martha?”
”He's very bad, aunt Betsy; but I hope the news I am come to tell you will be a comfort to him, and please you too.”
”And what news can that be, Miss Martha?”
”I am going to be married, aunt Betsy, to a person that is extremely well off, and able to set me above all poverty and difficulties for ever; ... and the only thing against it is, that papa cannot afford to give me any money at all for my wedding clothes, which is a dreadful disgrace to the name of Compton; and to tell you the truth at once, for I am a frank, honest-hearted girl, that never hides anything, I am come over here on purpose to ask you to give me a few pounds, just to prevent my having to ask my husband for a s.h.i.+ft.”
”If you have no s.h.i.+ft, Miss Martha, while you are wearing such a gay bonnet as that, I think any man must be a great fool for taking you.
However, that is his affair, and not mine. I cannot afford to buy your wedding-clothes, Miss Martha; nor do I intend ever to give you any money at all for any purpose whatever, either now, or at any future period; so, if you are wise, as well as frank, you will never ask me again. If you marry a _gentleman_, and have children who shall behave according to my notions of honour, honesty, and propriety, it is possible that the little I may leave will be divided among them, and any others whom I may think have an equal claim upon me. But I heartily hope you will have none, for I feel certain I should not like them; and I would rather that the poor little trifle I may have left when I die, should go to some one I did like.”
Miss Martha's heart swelled with rage, yet, remote as Miss Betsy's contingent benefits were likely to be, they had still influence sufficient to prevent her breaking out into open violence, and she sat silent, though with burning cheeks and a beating heart. The address she had just listened to was certainly not of the most agreeable style and tone, but it may be some apology for Miss Betsy's severity to state, that the scene which had taken place in Mr. Smith's shop rather more than twelve years before, in which a certain Captain Tate took an important, though unconscious, part, was accurately well-known to the little spinster, Mrs. Wright (the wife of her tenant) having witnessed the whole of it.
When she had finished her speech to Miss Martha, which was spoken in her usual gay tone of voice, Miss Betsy turned again towards Agnes, who was then standing at the entrance of the bower, earnestly watching the bees.
”They are pretty, curious creatures, are they not, Agnes?” said she. ”I hope some day or other you will be as active and industrious. Do you love to work, my little girl?”
”I love to play better,” replied Agnes.
”Ay ... that's because you are such a young thing. And who are your playfellows, Agnes?”
”I have not got any playfellows but myself,” was the reply.
”And where do you play?”
”In grandpapa's garden, behind the house.”
”And what do you play at?”
”Oh! so many things. I play at making flower-beds in the summer, and at snow-b.a.l.l.s in the winter; and I know a blackbird, and ever so many robin-redb.r.e.a.s.t.s, and they know me, and I....”
”Do you know how to read, Agnes?”
”A little,” ... replied the child, blus.h.i.+ng deeply.
”Come here, then, and read a page of my book to me.”
Poor Agnes obeyed the summons, and submissively placing herself by the side of her aunt, took the book in her hands and began to read. But it was so very lame and imperfect a performance, that Miss Betsy wanted either the cruelty or the patience to let it proceed; and taking the volume away, she said, in a graver tone than was usual with her, ”n.o.body seems to have given themselves much trouble about teaching you, my little girl; ... but I dare say you will read better by and bye.... Are you hungry, Agnes?... do you wish for something to eat after your walk?”
Delighted at being thus relieved from exposing her ignorance, the little girl replied gaily--
”I am very hungry indeed, ma'am.”
”Then sit here to rest for a few minutes, and I will see what I can get for you;” and so saying, Miss Betsy rose, and walked briskly away towards the house.
”Old brute!...” exclaimed Miss Martha, as soon as she was quite beyond hearing.... ”There's a hump for you!... Isn't she a beauty, Agnes?”