Point Lace and Diamonds Part 6

They're kind enough to their own, no doubt-- Our head just wors.h.i.+ps his own young daughter, Just my age, sir--she's gone away To spend the Summer across the water.

But _us_--oh, well, we're only "hands,"

Do you think to please us they'll bear losses?

No, not a cent's worth--ah, you'll see-- I'm a working girl, sir, and I know bosses.

SLEEPING BEAUTY.

A PARABLE.

You remember the nursery legend-- We heard in the early days, Ere we knew of the world's deception Or walked in its dusty ways, And dwelt in a land of the fairies Where the air was golden haze--

Of the maid, o'er whom the Summers Of youth pa.s.sed, like a swell Of melody all unbroken, Till evil wrought its spell, And dream-embroidered curtains Of slumber round her fell.

The wood grew up round her castle, The centuries o'er it rolled, Wrapping its slumb'rous turrets In clinging robes of mould, And her name became a legend By Winter fire-sides told.

Till the Prince came over the mountains In the morning-glow of youth; The forest sank before him Like wrong before the truth, And he pa.s.sed the dim old portal, With its warders so uncouth,

Woke with a kiss the Princess, And broke enchantment's chain, The sleepy old castle wondered, In its cobweb-c.u.mbered brain, At the tide of life and pleasure That poured through each stony vein.

And so love conquered an evil Centuries old in might, Scattering drowsy glamour, Piercing the murky night, Leading from thrall and darkness Beauty, and joy, and light.

EASTER MORNING.

Too early, of course! How provoking!

I told Ma just how it would be.

I might as well have on a wrapper, For there isn't a soul here to see.

There! Sue Delaplaine's pew is empty,-- I declare if it isn't too bad!

I know my suit cost more than hers did, And I wanted to see her look mad.

I do think that s.e.xton's too stupid-- He's put some one else in our pew-- And the girl's dress just kills mine completely; Now what am I going to do?

The psalter, and Sue isn't here yet!

I don't care, I think it's a sin For people to get late to service, Just to make a great show coming in.

Perhaps she is sick, and can't get here-- She said she'd a headache last night.

How mad she'll be after her fussing!

I declare, it would serve her just right.

Oh, you've got here at last, my dear, have you?

Well, I don't think you need be so proud Of that bonnet, if Virot did make it, It's horrid fast-looking and loud.

What a dress!--for a girl in her senses To go on the street in light blue!-- And those coat-sleeves--they wore them last Summer-- Don't doubt, though, that she thinks they're new.

Mrs. Gray's polonaise was imported-- So dreadful!--a minister's wife, And thinking so much about fas.h.i.+on!-- A pretty example of life!

The altar's dressed sweetly. I wonder Who sent those white flowers for the font!-- Some girl who's gone on the a.s.sistant-- Don't doubt it was Bessie Lamont.

Just look at her now, little humbug!-- So devout--I suppose she don't know That she's bending her head too far over, And the ends of her switches all show.

What a sight Mrs. Ward is this morning!

That woman will kill me some day.

With her horrible lilacs and crimsons; Why will these old things dress so gay?

And there's Jenny Welles with Fred. Tracy-- She's engaged to him now--horrid thing!

Dear me! I'd keep on my glove sometimes, If I did have a solitaire ring!

How can this girl next to me act so-- The way that she turns round and stares, And then makes remarks about people; She'd better be saying her prayers.

Oh dear, what a dreadful long sermon!

He must love to hear himself talk!

And it's after twelve now,--how provoking!

I wanted to have a nice walk.

Through at last. Well it isn't so dreadful After all, for we don't dine till one; How can people say church is poky!-- So wicked!--I think it's real fun.

A LEGEND OF ST. VALENTINE.

Come! Why, halloa, that you, Jack?

How's the world been using you?

Want your pipe? it's in the jar-- Think I might be looking blue.

Maud's been breaking off with me, Fact--see here--I've got the ring.

That's the note she sent it in; Read it--soothing sort of thing.

Jack, you know I write sometimes-- Must have read some things of mine.

Well, I thought I'd just send Maud Something for a valentine.

So I ground some verses out In the softest kind of style, Full of love, and that, you know-- Bothered me an awful while; Quite a heavy piece of work.

So when I had got them done-- Why, I thought them much too good Just to waste that way on one.

Jack, I told you, didn't I, All about that black-eyed girl Up in Stratford--last July-- Oh! you know; you saw her curl?

Well, old fellow, she's the one That this row is all about, For I sent her--who'd have thought Maud would ever find it out-- Those same verses, word for word-- Hang it, man! you needn't roar-- "Splendid joke!" well, so I thought-- No, don't think so any more.

Yesterday, you know it rained, I'd been up late--at a ball-- Didn't know what else to do-- Went up and made Maud a call, Found some other girl there, too, They were playing a duet.

"Fred, my cousin, Nelly Deane,"-- Yes, Jack, there was my brunette; You should just have seen me, Jack-- Now, old fellow, please don't laugh, I feel bad about it--fact-- And I really can't stand chaff.

Well, I tried to talk to Maud, There was Nell, though, sitting by; Every now and then she'd laugh, Sure I can't imagine why.

Maud would read that beastly poem, Nell's eyes said in just one glance, "Wont I make you pay for this, If I ever get the chance!"

Some one came and rang the bell, Just a note for Nell, by post.

Jack, I saw my monogram-- I'd have rather seen a ghost.

Yes--her verses--I suppose That her folks had sent them down-- Couldn't get up there, you know-- Till she'd left and come to town.

Nelly looked them quickly through-- Laughed--by Jove, I thought she'd choke.

"Maud--he'll kill me--dear! oh, dear!-- Read that; isn't it a joke?"

Maud glanced through them--sank right down On the sofa--hid her face-- "Crying!"--not much--laughing, Jack-- Don't think she's a hopeless case.

I just grabbed my hat and left-- Only wish I'd gone before.

How they laughed!--I heard them, Jack-- Till I got outside the door.

There, confession's done me good, I can never win her back, So I'll calmly let her slide-- Pa.s.s the ash-cup, will you, Jack.

FROST-BITTEN.

We were driving home from the "Patriarchs'"-- Molly Lefevre and I, you know; The white flakes fluttered about our lamps; Our wheels were hushed in the sleeping snow.

Her white arms nestled amid her furs; Her hands half-held, with languid grace, Her fading roses; fair to see Was the dreamy look in her sweet, young face.