Elsie's Girlhood Part 25

More than a fortnight had pa.s.sed since the arrival of Miss Stanhope's guests. It had been a season of relaxation and keen enjoyment to them, to her, and to Dr. King's family, who had joined them in many a pleasant little excursion to points of interest in the vicinity, and several sociable family picnics among the surrounding hills and woods.

A warm friends.h.i.+p had already sprung up between the three young girls, and had done much toward reconciling Elsie to the idea of spending the summer there away from her father.

She had finally consented to do so, yet as the time drew near her heart almost failed her. In all these years since they went to live together at the Oaks, they had never been far apart--except once or twice for a few days when he had gone to New Orleans to attend to business connected with the care of her property; and only on a very few occasions, when she paid a little visit in their own neighborhood, had they been separated for more than a day.

She could not keep back her tears as she hung about his neck on parting. "Ah, papa, how can I do without you for weeks and months?"

she sighed.

"Or I without you, my darling?" he responded, straining her to his breast. "I don't know how I shall be able to stand it. You need not be surprised to see me again at any time, returning to claim my treasure; and in the meanwhile we will write to each other every day. I shall want to know all you are doing, thinking, and feeling. You must tell me of all your pursuits and pleasures; your new acquaintances, too, if you form any. In that you must be guided by the advice of Aunt Wealthy, together with your father's known wishes. I am sure I can trust my daughter to obey those in my absence as carefully as in my presence."

"I think you may, papa. I shall try to do nothing that you would disapprove, and to attend faithfully to all your wishes."

Mr. Dinsmore left by the morning train, directly after breakfast. It was a bright, clear day, and Miss Stanhope, anxious to help Elsie to recover her spirits, proposed a little shopping expedition into the village.

"You have not seen our stores yet," she said, "and I think we'd better go now before the sun gets any hotter. Should you like it, my dear?"

"Thank you, yes, auntie. I will go and get ready at once."

Elsie could hardly forbear smiling at the quaint little figure that met her in the porch a few moments later, and trotted with quick, short steps by her side across the lawn and up and down the village streets. The white muslin dress with its short and scanty skirt, an embroidered scarf of the same material, the close, old-fas.h.i.+oned leg-horn bonnet, trimmed with one broad strip of white mantua ribbon, put straight down over the top and tied under the chin, and the black mitts and morocco slippers of the same hue, formed a tout ensemble which, though odd, was not unpleasant to look upon. In one hand the little lady carried a very large parasol, in the other a gayly-colored silk reticule of corresponding size, this last not by a ribbon or string, but with its hem gathered up in her hand. All in singular contrast to Elsie with her slight, graceful form, fully a head taller, and her simple yet elegant costume. But the niece no more thought of feeling ashamed of her aunt, than her aunt of her.

They entered a store, and the smiling merchant asked, "What can I do for you to-day, ladies?"

"I will look at s.h.i.+rting muslin, if you please, Mr. Under," replied Miss Stanhope, laying parasol and reticule upon the counter.

"Over, if you please, Miss Stanhope," he answered with an amused look.

"Just step this way, and I'll show you a piece that I think will suit."

"I beg your pardon, I'm always making mistakes in names," she said, doing as requested.

"Anything else to-day, ladies?" he asked when the muslin had been selected. "I have quite a lot of remnants of dress goods, Miss Stanhope. Would you like to look at them?"

"Yes," she answered almost eagerly, and he quickly spread them on the counter before her. She selected quite a number, Elsie wondering what she wanted with them.

"I'll send the package at once," said Mr. Over, as they left the store.

They entered another where Miss Stanhope's first inquiry was for remnants, and the same thing was repeated till, as she a.s.sured Elsie, they had visited every dry-goods store in the place.

"Pretty nice ones, too, some of them are; don't you think so, dear?"

"Yes, auntie; but do you know you have strongly excited my curiosity?"

"Ah! how so?"

"Why, I cannot imagine what you can want with all those remnants. I'm sure hardly one of them could be made into a dress for yourself or for Phillis, and you have no little folks to provide for."

"But other folks have, child, and I shall use some of the smallest for patchwork."

"Dere's a lady in de parlor, Miss Stanhope," said Chloe, meeting them at the gate; "kind of lady," she added with a very broad smile, "come to call on you, ma'am, and Miss Elsie too."

"We'll just go in without keeping her waiting to take off our bonnets," said Aunt Wealthy, leading the way.

They found a rather gaudily-dressed, and not very refined-looking woman, who rose and came forward to meet them with a boisterous manner, evidently a.s.sumed to cover a slight feeling of embarra.s.sment.

"Oh, I'm quite ashamed, Aunt Wealthy, to have been so long in calling to see your friends; you really must excuse me; it's not been for want of a strong disinclination, I do a.s.sure you: but you see I've been away a-nursing of a sick sister."

"Certainly, Mrs. Sixpence."

"Excuse me, Schilling."

"Oh no, not at all, it's my mistake. Elsie, Mrs. Schilling. My niece, Miss Dinsmore. Sit down, do. I'm sorry you got here before we were through our shopping."

"I'm afraid it's rather an early call," began Mrs. Schilling, her rubicund countenance growing redder than ever, "but--"

"Oh, aunt did not mean that," interposed Elsie, with gentle kindliness. "She was only regretting that you had been kept waiting."

"Certainly," said Miss Stanhope. "You know I'm a sad hand at talking, always getting the horse before the cart, as they say. But tell me about your sister. I hope she has recovered. What ailed her?"

"She had inflammation of the tonsils; she's better now though; the tonsils is all gone, and I think she'll get along. She's weak yet; but that's all. There's been a good bit of sickness out there in that neighborhood, through the winter and spring; there were several cases of scarlet fever, and one of small-pox. That one died, and what do you think, Aunt Wealthy; they had a reg'lar big funeral, took the corpse into the church, and asked everybody around to come to it."

"I think it was really wicked, and that if I'd been the congregation, every one of me would have staid away."

"So would I. There now, I'm bound to tell you something that happened while I was at father's. My sister had a little girl going on two years old, and one day the little thing took up a flat iron, and let it fall on her toe, and mashed it so we were really afraid 'twould have to be took off. We wrapped it up in some kind o' salve mother keeps for hurts, and she kept crying and screamin' with pain, and we couldn't peacify her nohow at all, till a lady that was visiting next door come in and said we'd better give her a few drops of laud'num. So we did, and would you believe it? it went right straight down into her toe, and she stopped cryin', and pretty soon dropped asleep. I thought it was the curiosest thing I ever heard of."

"It was a wise prescription, no doubt," returned Miss Stanhope, with a quiet smile.

"Oh, Aunt Wealthy, won't you tell me how you make that Farmer's fruit-cake?" asked the visitor, suddenly changing the subject. "Miss Dinsmore, it's the nicest thing you ever eat. You'd be sure it had raisins or currants in it."

"Certainly, Mrs. Schilling. You must soak three cups of dried apples in warm water over night, drain off the water through a sieve, chop the apples slightly, them simmer them for two hours in three cups of mola.s.ses. After that add two eggs, one cup of sugar, one cup of sweet milk or water, three-fourths of a cup of b.u.t.ter or lard, one-half teaspoonful of soda, flour to make a pretty stiff batter, cinnamon, cloves, and other spices to suit your taste."

"Oh, yes! but I'm afraid I'll hardly be able to remember all that."

"I'll write the receipt and send it over to you," said Elsie.

Mrs. Schilling returned her thanks, sat a little longer, conversing in the same lucid style, then rose and took leave, urging the ladies to call soon, and run in sociably as often as they could.

She was hardly out of the door before Aunt Wealthy was beating up her crushed chair-cus.h.i.+ons to that state of perfect roundness and smoothness in which her heart delighted. It amused Elsie, who had noticed that such was her invariable custom after receiving a call in her parlor.

Lottie King and Mrs. Schilling pa.s.sed each other on the porch, the one coming in as the other went out. Kind Aunt Wealthy, intent on preventing Elsie from grieving over the emptiness of her father's accustomed seat at the table, had invited her young friend to dinner.

The hour of the meal had, however, not yet arrived, and the two girls repaired to Elsie's room to spend the intervening time.

Lottie, in her benevolent desire to be so entertaining to Elsie that her absent father should not be too sorely missed, seized upon the first topic of conversation which presented itself and rattled on in a very lively manner.

"So you have begun to make acquaintance with our peculiar currency, mon ami! An odd sixpence as Aunt Wealthy calls her. Two of them I should say, since it takes two sixpences to make a s.h.i.+lling."

"I don't know; I'm inclined to think Aunt Wealthy's arithmetic has the right of it, since she was never more than a s.h.i.+lling, and has lost her better half," returned Elsie, laughing.

"Better half, indeed! fie on you, Miss Dinsmore! have you so little regard for the honor of your s.e.x as to own that the man is ever that?

But I must tell you of the time when she sustained the aforesaid loss; and let me observe, sustained is really the proper--very properest of words to express my meaning, for it was very far from crus.h.i.+ng her.

While her husband was lying a corpse, mother went over with a pie, thinking it might be acceptable, as people are not apt to feel like cooking at such a time. She did not want to disturb the new-made widow in the midst of her grief, and did not ask for her; but Mrs. Schilling came to the door. 'Oh, I'm so much obliged to you for bringing that pie!' she said. 'It was so good of you. I hadn't any appet.i.te to eat while he was sick, but now that he's dead, I feel as if I could eat something. You and your girls must come over and spend a day with me some time soon. He's left me full and plenty, and you needn't be afraid to take a meal's victuals off me'!"

"How odd! I don't think she could be quite broken-hearted."