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your dinner will do you credit—l will
answer for it.”
Mrs. Darcy smiled and sighed, and said,
shaking her head:
“My good Martha, I suspect yowr fore
thought will be useless The day for enter
taining has passed for us.”
“Well, ma’am,” replied Martha, who
noticed the undertone of sadness in her
mistress’voice, “ things are very well as
they are. I. for one, do not regret the
commotion of visitors, and ceremonious
dinners.”
In spite of this consolation, and the
cheerfulness Martha affected, Mrs. Darcy
still sighed, for she could not help feeling
that her isolation was a little wearisome
and making melancholy comparisons be
tween her brilliant past and her present
solitary condition. It was especially pain
ful to see herself deserted by those who
formerly sought her society eagerly. It is
true she had almost no near relations, and
her old friends whom death had not taken
from her, were still faithful, but thy lived
so far away, that they could give her very
few proofs of their affection. So it was
not exactly her heart that suffered from
the isolation in which she lived; but soli
tude is never agreeable unless it is volun
tary. Like everything else, we prize it in
proportion as it is difficult to obtain.
When Martha was in a good humor, she
spoke as we have reported; but the day
our story commences, she did not show her
self so accommodating. After receiving
her mistress’ news in the manner we have
shown, she never went near her all day.
except when her services were absolutely
necessary. Two or three times Mrs. Darcy
tried to conciliate her, but finding she ob
tained only short answers in a surly tone,
she resigned herself to silence, and kept to
herself her observations on the weather,
the time of day, and the behavior of the
cat, with which she had hoped to soften
her maid’s cross humor.
When supper was over, and the last
plate had been put in its place, Manha
brought her work as usual, and sat down
near the lamp, but with a ceremonious air
very uncommon to her. The evening ap
peared long, for the few words that were
exchanged between them were as con
strained on Mrs. Darcy’s part, as they
were brief on Martha’s. At last, when
the latter was folding up her work previ
ous to retiring, Mrs. Darcy, making a visi
ble effort, said in an unsteady voice:
“Martha, my little niece will arrive to
morrow at ten o’clock. Some one must
meet her. The poor child would be very
much embarrassed, if she should find her
self alone at the station; for my nephew
wrote that her nurse could not stop over,
and that be would trust to me to have
some one to meet her.”
“Some one will go, ma’am,” replied
Martha, shortly.
Piercing gusts of wind whistled around
the chimney, and sighed and moaned
through the almost leafless branches of the
trees that surrounded the small abode.
“ You will have very bad weather for
your trip, my poor Martha. I am sorry,
but perhaps there will be a change before
to-morrow.”
“Ami in the habit of complaining?”
responded Martha.
“ No, indeed, no one could accuse vou of it;
but it is quite a distance to the railroad.”
“ Are you going to bed now ?”
“ No, not yet; turn down the bed-clothes,
give me my slippers,and then you may go.”
Martha obeyed orders without uttering
a word, and having lighted her little lamp,
and bidden her mistress good night, left the
room.
Mrs. Darcy remained plungedin thoughts
that were not very agreeable.
“If Martha lakes it this way,” said she
to herself, “ We will not have an easy life.
No one is more obstinate than she, when
she gets a notion in her head. I cannot
say that I willingly resign my quietness;
I have never had the care of a child, and
it is a little lath for me to begin. But still
we must accept the inevitable. If the lit
tle one is gentle and well-bred, all will go
well. One can adapt one’s self to anything
where one has, the will. But if Martha
makes up her mind that she will not toler
ate her the poor child will be unhappy.
We will live in a continual mangle—l,
who like quiet above all things, and who
never had the courage even to approach
anyone. Everything has gone on so quiet
ly up to now. Why should this little girl
come to bring trouble to my home?
“ But in the main Martha has a good
heart, and she will not wish to make a poor
, little creature unhappy, who will be, if she
finds herself making trouble. It is true
she does not like children. At least, I
suppose so, and I can not blame her. They
are one of the great troubles in life. Yet
the Gospel says, ‘ The Kingdom of Heaven
is for those who are like them.’ That al
ways seems very strange to me, for all the
children I have seen in my life were fidgety,
noisy, tiresome, and gave infinitely more
trouble than pleasure.”
In the midst of this soliloquy, the old
lady heard Martha’s step—though she had
thought her in bed some time ago—resound
ing loundly in the upper story, as if she was
moving heavy objects from one room to
another.
“ What can be the matter?” she asked
herself, very much surprised at Such an
innovation in the custom of the house,
where she never remembered to have heard
so much noise after ten o’clock at night.
A tew minutes afterward, the little wooden
staircase screaked under the weight of
Martha’s ieet, and she came softly and
opened her mistress’ door. She uttered an
exclamation on seeing her still up.
“What!” said she, “Not in bed yet!
you are not sick I hope ? I just stepped in
to see if you needed anything before you
went to sleep.”
“No Martha, I am not sick,” replied
Mrs. Darcy, touched by this solicitude, and
still more by Martha’s affectionate and
submissive tone, which she knew was a
kind of apology for her conduct during the
day. “ But what was all that noise I heard
upstairs ?”
“It was nothing. I was only preparing
a room for the little lady.”
“My good Martha? and I had not
thought of it! Where are you going to put
her?”
‘ We have no choice. I have given her
my room.”
“ Your room; and what will you do,
Martha?”
“You know, off at one side, there is a
small room that we have never used.”
“ Yes, but it is so small, so stifling ; it is
no better than a loft.”
“ Bah ! it is plenty good enough for me.
I have put a what-not and a table by the
side of my bed. I could not get my bier
wardrobe in, so I left it in the passage; but
to-morrow I will get help and move it in.”
“ What bed have you put in your room
tor the child ?”
“ Don’t you remember that we had a
spare one in the garret ? It is not too
large, it is just what I wanted. By the
way how old is the little girl ? I had for
gotten to ask vou.”
“ Eight or nine years old.”
“ Well, if she should be afraid at night,’
I will leave my door open. And now
good-night, ma’am ; I must take myself off
for good.”
“ Good-night, Martha, you are the best
creature that I know,” said Mrs. Darcy
smiling.
Martha closed the door without answer
ing t .
“Yes; the best creature in the world.”
repeated the old lady, when she was alone.
“ There she is already forgetting herself,
and sacrificing her comfort for a child of
whom she could not bear to hear me speak
this morning. There! I no longer feel
any anxiety, I am sure all will go well.”
Giving herself up to these consoling
thoughts, she untied her cap strings, took
off her row of brown hair, and gathered
her thin gray locks under a night-cap of
odd shape and irreproachable whiteness.
Soon nothing was heard in the little cot
tage but the noise of the storm, which only
abated toward morning.
. chapter 111.
It was not without some apprehension
that Mrs. Darcy arose the next morning
thinking that the day would bring a new
inmate to her home. Yet. determined to
keep a brave heart against her evil fortune,
and look on the bright side of things, she
asked God in a special prayer, to help her
do her duty toward the little motherless
one who was coming to her for shelter and
protection. At nine o’clock, Martha ap
peared, with great wooden shoes upon her
feet, armed with a basket and a huge um
brella; a round cap upon her head that
framed in her good-natured face. She
asked her mistress, if there was anything
she wanted her to do in town.
“ No,” she replied’, “but you are starting
very early, Martha.”
“ I won’t have much time to spare, after
I have made my purchases, and I don’t
want to run any risk of being late for the
train.”
It was very near eleven o’clock, when
the noise of a carriage stopping before the
house made Mrs. Darcy tremble; she had
become so absorbed in her knitting as al
most to forget that this was a day of a
great event in her household.
“ What, can it be?” she said to herself.
“ A carriage! and Martha not at home!
What an unlucky accident! Can i# be
that visits are going to begin to-day ?”
She got up quickly, snatched off' her
night-cap to array her head more suitably,
and with a trembling hand re-arranged her
garments, waiting with fear the sound of
the bell that would announce an arrival.
Instead of that formidable sound, the noise
of footsteps was soon heard in the entrance
hall.
“ Where shall I put the trunk,” said a
man’s voice, and Martha answered :
“ This way, you will have to go up stairs.
Take care I the door is narrow, and the
stairs steep. That’s it 1”
When the man came down, Martha went
into the kitchen, saying she would be back
in a minute and pay him.
Guessing at last what all this meant
Mrs. Darcy promptly re-seated herself and
took up her work, as if to keep herself in
countenance. The door opened, and Mar
tha came in, leading a little girl by the
hand, whose face was hidden under a large
traveling hat, and who leaned upon her in
away that showed they were already good
friends.
“Go and kiss your aunt,” said Martha.
The little girl made two steps forward,
then stopped in the middle of the room and
burst into tears.
“ What is the matter with ’ her, eh ?”
asked Mrs. Darcy, whom the tears really
distressed.
“ The matter is. that she does not know
either of us, and it is a little hard on a
poor child of her age, to see around her,
only old faces, that are entirely strange to
her, is it not my little darling?”
“Oh! I already know you, and you
haven t an old face at all,” said the child
again taking the hand of the worthy
woman.
“Come here to your aunt and warm
yourself. She is so cold! her poor little
hands are like ice.”
Rosa approached the fire, and laid her
band in Airs. Darcy’s without looking at
her.
“ How old are you, my dear child?” she
asked.
1 will soon be nine, madam.”
“Did you leave Paris yesterday?”
“Yes, madam.”
“ Does your papa leave soon ?”
The child again answered in the affirm
ative, and began to cry.
“I ought not to have spoken to her of
her father,” thought the old lady, noticing
that her sobbing increased.
“ Your nurse came with you, did she not?”
At this question Rosa sobbed louder still,
and instead of answering cried out:
“I want to see my nurse again, I want
to go ba< kto papa! I don’t want to stay
here! Oh, I don’t want to stay here!”
“Do not weep so, my dear, we will take
good care of you ”
“ No. No,” cried Rosa, edging away from
her aunt, who held out her hand to draw
her to her; 1 don’t want anybody to take
care of me but my nurse. I wan’t to see
her again ! I want to see papa again I”
Mrs. Darcy was stunned at so much
violence. Such a rebellion against neces
sity ans past events, seemed to her to show
a strange perversity of nature in this child.
She tried to make herself heard, and re
peated that it was all for her good, and
that she ought not even to wish to return
to her father, since it was necessary that
she must be separated from him for a few
years. But these wise exhortations pro
duced no effect upon Rosa, whose grief and
irritation were expressed both by torrents
of tears, and stamping violently; of all
those fair speeches, she caught at only one
word.
“A few years!” she cried, suddenly,
ceasing to weep, fastening upon the old
lady a fixed, horrified look.
Then as her aunt made no reply, she sat
down on the floor on the opposite side of
the fire place, as far from her as possible,
andburving her face in her hands, remained
immovable, her body shaken by convulsive
sobs
Mrs. Darcy leaned back in her arm-chair,
and waited with resignation an end of
some kind to this crying fit.
“ What’s the matter?” said Martha, who
just then entered the room. “ What has
happened to her ?”
And she cast an annoyed look at her
mistress, as if she demanded of her to ac
count for the child’s despair.
“She will not listen to a word I say
when I try to console her,” «aid Mrs. Dar
cy, in a tone that expressed the most pro
found discouragement.
“ Will it be years before I see papa
again?” asked Rosa, turning her eyes full
of eager inquiry up- n Martha.
“ What is the use of talking about years?
We will occupy ourselves with days that
pass quick enough, when one knows how
to fill them. It is almost dinner time, and
we have done nothing yet. It is time we
were going io see your pretty bed-room,
which is very near mine, and put your
things in order.”
This dive: sion came just in time. Rosa,
who otherwise would have exhausted her
self by the violence of her emotion, got up
and followed Martha. Passing the kitchen,
the latter showed her the gray cat, lying
in a basket, which served her for a bed,
with two very young kittens by her side
“ Come and getacquainted with Grisette,”
she said. “She will not hurt you, she is
aentleness itself.”
Forgetting everything while looking at
this interesting family, Rosa went toward
the basket, and while she was laying the
foundation of an intimate friendship with
its occupants, Martha returned a moment
to her mistress’ room.
“ Look here, ma’am,” she said, “ you
are not accustomed to children’s ways.
Leave it to me to make this little one tract-
able. You must not interfere, or you will
spoil the whole thing. I promise you, she
wiM be very happy here in a lew days.”
'* I am not accustomed to children’s ways,
that is true.” said Idrs. Darcy, in a slightly
offended tone, “but are you more accus
tomed to them than I, Martha? I do not
know, indeed, where you could have
learned it.”
“Nor I either, but you see, some persons
have the gift to talk to children.”
A short time afterward, Mrs. Darcy con
cluded that she would see how things were
progressing. She had scarcely reached the
little staircase before she heard a peal of
joyous laughter.
“ Well,” said Martha, “do you like this
pretty little room ?”
“Oh! yes, I have never had a room all
to myself. lam going to keep it in such
order. It must always have flowers in it,like
it has now. Those flowers are so pretty!”
“ Flowers,” thought Mrs. Darcy, “ where
could Martha have gotten flowers? There
can scarcely be any in the garden.”
But when she reached the threshold of
the room, that Martha had so gracefully
arranged for the new-comer, her astonish
ment was beyond bounds. She had never
seen this room look so orderly before.for in
this small space, besides the bed, there had
al wavs been two chairs, a bureau, a large
wardrobe, and a small table loaded down
with all sorts of things; and then Martha
kept several boxes piled up in a corner,
which she would not do without, although
she could easily have found another place
for them.
And now it was a pretty little bed-room,
simple, orderly, and entirely appropriate to
the age of the child who was to occupy it.
Opposite the fireplace was a bureau sur
mounted by a pretty glass; by the window
was a table upon which stood a rose bush
covered with flowers and buds. Martha
had bought it that morning, with money
out of her own purse.
She and Rosa were both engaged unpack
ing the trunk and putting its contents in
Ibe drawers. Neither one had noticed
that Mrs. Darcy was near.
Wi en everything was in order, Martha
observed that it was time she was thinking
about dinner, which would not have the
kindness to get itself.
“ Fortunately,” she said, “it won’t take
me long to-day. We have some cold meat,
and I am going to make soup and an ome
lette. Do you want to break the eggs for
me? I will put a big white apron on you,
and then you won’t soil your pretty blue
merino dress.”
Rosa’s eyes sparkled with pleasure at
this proposal, and she went toward the
door, where she found herself suddenly in
the presence of her aunt. Mrs. Darcy
gently leaned over, and kissed her . n the
forehead.
“ I am very glad your room pleases you,
my dear child. Do you not think you can be
happy with us. and will you not try to be
more reasonable than you were this morn
ing?”
“ Yes, madam.” said Rosa, in a low voice,
her eyes filling with tears, for these w< rds
reminded her that she was among strangers.
“You must not call me‘madam;’ you
know I am your aunt, you must call me
aunt. Would you like that?”
“Yes, dear aunt.” And she spoke still
lower than she did the first time.
“ Well, that is settled, and when you are
good, you shall be my dear little daughter,
whom I shall love very much.”
These affectionate words round there way
to Rosa-’s heart, who stood on her tip-toes
to throw her arms around the old lady’s
neck.
“ I shall love you too,” she cried. Mrs.
Darcy was very much touched at this
voluntary token of affection, for she had
just learned, that in loving herself, she
would find it returned.
The omelette proved a perfect success.
Rosa had broken the eggs; she thought it
was very good, and took all the credit to
herself of its success. She amused herself
with the kittens, part of the afternoon, then
she got her needle-work, and like a very
reasonable person, sat down by her aurt’s
arm-chair, and occupied herself so dili
gently with her work, and was so quiet
and attentive, that the good lady dropped
to sleep, as she of en did when alone.
Rosa looked at her several times, and
when she was sure that her aunt had really
fallen into a deep sleep, threw down her
work and very quietly slipped from the
room.
[To be Continued.]
A few words well chosen and well dis
tinguished, will do work that a thousand
cannot, when every one is acting, equivo
cally, in the function of another. Yes;
and words, if they are not watched, will do
deadly work sometimes. However go« d
you may be, you have faults; however
dull you may be, you can find out what
some of them are; and however slight they
may be, you had better make some—not
too painful, but patient—effort to get quit
of them.— Ruskin.