  “Ladybird and Stella Russell seem to be great cronies,” observed Miss Dorinda one afternoon as she sat knitting by the window and watched the two girls walking down the garden path. “Yes,” said her sister; “and in some ways it is a good thing for Lavinia. She is so hoydenish and daring that I think a nice, quiet girl like Stella Russell will have a refining influence over her.” “Ladybird isn’t unrefined, Priscilla,” said Miss Dorinda. Insinuations against her niece were the one thing which could rouse the meek and mild ire which this good lady possessed. “No, not unrefined, since she is a Flint; but you must admit, Dorinda, that at times she is exasperating beyond all measure. Why, only this morning she cut the strings from my best bonnet, and tied them round the kittens’ necks, because, she said, she never had seen kittens with black ribbons on, and she wanted to see how funny they looked; and she said, too, that the bonnet looked better without strings.” “Yes, she’s thoughtless and careless,” sighed Miss Dorinda, “but not wicked. I think she means all right.” “Then she very seldom expresses her meaning,” snapped Miss Priscilla. “Well, she’s only a child,” said Dorinda; “you can’t put old heads on young shoulders. Sometimes I think perhaps Stella’s influence isn’t altogether good for her: it may fill her head with grown-up nonsense. You know she’s so imaginative.” “Oh, Stella isn’t flighty,” said Miss Priscilla. “She’s a fine, wholesome young woman, and I am sure Lavinia is already better for having known her.” At that moment Ladybird came flying in. Her cheeks were red, her eyes big and bright, and she seemed in a state of wild excitement. She flung her hat one way and her cape the other, and dropped into a chair. “My, aunties,” she exclaimed, “what do you think! Stella Russell thinks maybe—perhaps—she’s going to be engaged to be married!” “Goodness gracious me, child!” exclaimed Miss Priscilla, “what are you talking about?” “I told you so,” said Miss Dorinda. “And she doesn’t want to a bit,” Ladybird went on; “it’s perfectly awful. They’re making her do it—her cruel, cruel grandparents and that silly Charley Hayes; and there isn’t anybody else. And she wouldn’t have confidanted to me only I guessed it, and she said yes; and then I made her tell me all about it. And isn’t it perfectly awful, and can’t we help her some way?” “Lavinia Lovell,” said Miss Priscilla, “do you know what you’re talking about? And if so, can you tell it so any one can understand it?” “That’s the way it is, aunty; and if you can’t understand it, I can’t help it. Charley Hayes wants to marry Stella, and he says she must; and Stella’s grandfather and grandmother they say she must; so everybody wants her to, except Stella herself and me. I think it’s just dreadful. He’s as silly as a loon. He doesn’t know anything, and he’s awkward and rude and countrified and awful homely, and I don’t care if he is rich.” “Lavinia,” said Miss Priscilla, with a tone of displeasure, “you have no business with these matters at all, and I am surprised that Stella should have talked to you about this.” “She didn’t mean to, aunty,” said Ladybird, eagerly; “honest injun, it wasn’t her fault. She wasn’t going to say a word to me about it; but I couldn’t help seeing there was some fearful thing going on in her heart, and so I made her tell me what it was; and of course after I got her started she kept going, and now I know all about it.” “You do!” said Miss Priscilla. “And, pray, what do you propose to do about it?” “Oh, aunty, I don’t know; but let’s help her out some way, can’t we?” “No, we can’t,” said Miss Priscilla, shortly. “It’s none of our affair, and I forbid you, Lavinia, ever to refer to the subject again.” “Yes, aunty, I’ll remember; but just listen a minute.” Ladybird had gone to her aunt’s side, and she perched on the arm of her chair, and caressed the withered old face as she talked. “You see, aunty,” she went on, “both aunties,”—for she felt instinctively that Miss Dorinda would show more sentiment in this matter than her sister,—“Charley Hayes is not half, nor quarter, nor not even the least little mite good enough for my beautiful, lovely, sweet Stella. She’s so pretty, and so wise, that she ought to marry an earl, or a duke, or a king, at least.” “Yes,” said Miss Dorinda, timidly, “I can’t help thinking it is all true, Priscilla.” “It makes no difference how true it is,” said Miss Priscilla, angrily, “it is nothing to us; and I repeat, Lavinia, that I wish you to drop the subject at once and forever.” “Yes, aunty,” said Ladybird, with every outward show of obedience; “but I’ve got the loveliest plan. You know there are places where you can advertise and get husbands.” “What?” cried Miss Priscilla Flint, unable to believe her own ears. “Yes, really, aunty; didn’t you know it? I’ve often wondered why you and Aunt Dorinda didn’t get some husbands that way. I didn’t know you didn’t know about it. It’s perfectly lovely. Martha told me about it; and you just send your name and the color of your eyes, and you say what kind of a husband you want, and they send them to you right away. What kind would you like, aunty?” Miss Dorinda was speechless at these fearsome revelations; but Miss Priscilla was rarely affected that way. “Lavinia Lovell,” she exclaimed, with flashing eyes, “hush this talk at once! I am more ashamed of you than I can say. Hush! do not speak another word.” “No,” said Ladybird, “I won’t; but truly, Aunt Priscilla, it’s a great scheme. Martha knew a lady who got a lovely husband that way, and—” “Silence, Lavinia!” “Yes, ’m. And he married her, and they lived happy ever after. Martha said so.” “Lavinia, be quiet.” “Yes, ’m. And so you see, aunty, if we could just get a real nice husband for Stella, instead of that horrid Charley Hayes, we’d be doing as we’d be done by, and our neighbor as ourselves.” “Lavinia,” began Miss Priscilla again. “Now, Priscilla,” said her sister, “there’s no use talking to her like that. She doesn’t understand. Ladybird,” Aunt Dorinda went on gently, “these institutions you speak of, and which Martha had no right to mention to you—” “I’ll attend to Martha,” said Miss Priscilla, with a competent snap of her eyes. “Are not nice,” went on Miss Dorinda, “and are not even spoken of by nice people. If you love Stella, the most dreadful thing you could do would be to think of her in connection with such a place as you spoke of.” “Is that so, Aunt Priscilla?” said Ladybird, who, though she loved Aunt Dorinda, always referred her opinions to Miss Flint for sanction. “Yes,” said Aunt Priscilla, “of course it’s true—more than true; and you did very wrong, Lavinia, to listen to Martha’s tales.” “Well, but, aunty, then if I can’t help Stella that way, how can I help her?” “You cannot help her at all,” said Miss Priscilla, very sternly. “Am I to be mistress in my own house, or am I not? Cease talking, Lavinia, and go at once to your room.” “And I can’t help Stella in any way?” said Ladybird, slowly. “You cannot. Go!” and Miss Priscilla pointed to the door. Ladybird gathered up her dog, which had been lying, a shapeless mass, at her feet, and without a word walked from the room. “She’s gone up-stairs to cry, Priscilla,” said Miss Dorinda; “she always does that when she feels very bad about anything.” “I can’t help it,” snapped Priscilla Flint; “she’s a spoiled child. We over-indulge her in her whims; and in this case she ought to be made to feel ashamed of herself.” “She didn’t do anything wrong, Priscilla; Martha did the wrong. Ladybird thought only of helping her friend.” “She’s old enough to know better,” said Miss Priscilla, sternly. “And now I will see Martha.” After what was undoubtedly a very stormy interview, Miss Flint returned with the edge of her anger a little dulled. “I suppose Lavinia wasn’t altogether to blame,” she said. “No,” said Miss Dorinda, timidly. “Shall we go and find her, Priscilla?” “Yes; but we must make her understand that it is wrong for her even to think of interfering in Stella’s love-affair. Lavinia’s too romantic already to be mixed up in such doings.” “I suppose so,” said Miss Dorinda, meekly. “Suppose so? You know it. You know as well as I do, Dorinda Flint, that Lavinia’s head is chuck-full of silly, romantic ideas, just as her mother’s was; and unless we’re careful, she’ll only get more and more so, until she’ll run away with some good-for-nothing, as her mother did before her.” “I suppose so,” said the meek Miss Dorinda again. “But I do think, Priscilla, we ought to do something to entertain the child. We might have a children’s party for her.” “Well—we might,” said Miss Priscilla, who had begun to relent a little. “It would be an awful lot of extra trouble; but romping play would be better for that child than sentimental twaddle.” “I suppose so,” said Miss Dorinda. “We could get the ice-cream from the village,” said Miss Priscilla, who had already begun to see the party in its details. “Yes,” said her sister, eagerly; “and I could make my sunshine cake, and Martha could make cookies. It would be a very nice party.” “And they could play games on the lawn,” said Miss Priscilla; “that wouldn’t make the house quite so topsyturvy.” “Well, let us go and find the child and tell her about it,” said Dorinda; “I’m sure she’ll be pleased.” Meantime Ladybird, holding Cloppy fast in her arms, had gone up-stairs. Angry tears were rolling down her cheeks, and her whole thin little frame was shaking with sobs. “It’s awful,” she whispered as she buried her face in the dog’s soft, silky hair; “it’s just awful; and I wish I could find a place where you and I could get away from everybody.” She turned toward the great linen-closet, opened the door and went in. The piles of lavender-scented linen looked very cool and pleasant, and throwing Cloppy over her shoulder, which was one of his favorite positions, Ladybird climbed, with a monkey-like agility, up the broad shelves until she reached the top one. There she curled herself up in a little heap, pillowing her head on the dog, and the dog on a pile of sheets. Being thus comfortably settled, she indulged in one of her first-class crying spells, a thing so turbulent and volcanic that it defies all description. It was during this performance that the aunts came up-stairs in search of their agonized niece. Ladybird had no intention of responding to their repeated call, but her tumultuous sobs easily guided the old ladies to her hiding-place. “Come down, Lavinia,” said Miss Priscilla, sternly, as she saw her precious linen in imminent danger of being spoiled by the tears of her weeping niece; “come down at once.” “Can’t get down, aunty,” said Ladybird, between her choking sobs; “it’s easy enough to get up, but I can’t get down; the shelves will come down if I try.” “Then what do you propose to do?” exclaimed Miss Priscilla, exasperated beyond measure at her ridiculous relative. “I don’t know,” said Ladybird, cheerfully, her tears quite dried by the interest of the situation in which she now found herself; “I expect I shall have to stay up here always.” “Don’t be silly,” said her aunt. “And I don’t want my shelves broken. I will send Matthew for the step-ladder, and you must come down at once.” Once more on the floor, with Cloppy still clasped in her arms, Ladybird looked at her aunts’ faces and sagely concluded they had come in search of her to propose a truce. Always ready to meet them half-way, she sat down in her little chair and said pleasantly: “I’m sorry I cried; but I couldn’t help it. I always have to cry until my tears are all gone, and then I feel better.” “Well, dearie,” began Aunt Dorinda, “we’re sorry to make you feel bad, but—” “But,” interrupted Miss Priscilla, “we’re older than you are, and we know what is best for you; but we do not wish you to have no pleasure, and so, if you will give up your absurd idea of helping Stella Russell, we will let you have a children’s party.” “A very nice children’s party,” supplemented Aunt Dorinda. “I don’t want any children’s party,” said Ladybird; “but it would comfort me to have hot waffles and syrup for supper.” “You shall have them,” said her Aunt Priscilla. |
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