  One day, Ladybird, watching from her window, saw a hack drive up to Primrose Hall. A middle-aged gentleman got out. “Mr. William H. Ward,” she said to herself, serenely. Next appeared a golden-haired, blue-eyed girl of about fourteen. “Lavinia Flint!” said Ladybird; and putting her little black head down on Cloppy’s fat back, she cried as if her heart would break. “We ought to be ashamed of ourselves, you and I, Clops,” she said, “because, if that isn’t the real Lavinia, there’s no use in our making a fuss; and if it is, why, then she is It, and we’re nothing, and that’s all there is about that!” A little later Martha came to the door and said, “Miss Ladybird, you’re wanted in the parlor.” “Martha,” said Ladybird, looking straight at the maid, “you go down and say to my Aunt Priscilla that I want that Lovell girl to come up here. And after I have seen her, we will both go down to the parlor.” “Yes, miss,” said Martha. She soon reappeared, bringing the visitor with her. Ladybird took the new-comer by the hand, drew her into the room, and shut the door. “I wanted to see you,” she explained, “before I make up my mind what I am going to do. I suppose it’s all true,—of course it must be,—that you’re Lavinia Flint’s daughter, and I’m not, though we are both the children of John Lovell.” “Goodness,” said the yellow-haired girl, “you talk like a lawyer!” “I am serious,” said Ladybird, with all her dignity, and she had a good deal, “because I have to be. It’s a pretty big thing to think that you’re not the person you thought you were; especially after you’ve had to fight for your place, anyhow.” “You talk like a lawyer” “You talk like a lawyer” “What are you talking about?” said the other. “Never you mind what I’m talking about,” said Ladybird; “the question is, What can you talk about? If you’re going to live here with my aunts,—with your aunts, I mean,—and I suppose you are, can you love them and do as much for them as I could?” At this Ladybird, much to her own disgust, broke down entirely, and wept again on Cloppy’s already soaking back. “Don’t be silly,” said her visitor. “I think you’re making a great fuss over nothing; probably we’ll both stay here. That would suit me, and I’m sure there’s room enough.” “Oh, there’s room enough,” said Ladybird, impatiently; “that isn’t the question; there’s room enough in Primrose Hall for a whole army. But right is right, and if you’re Lavinia Lovell, the daughter of Lavinia Flint Lovell, why, you belong here, and I don’t. And of course I’m not going to make any fuss about it; but please be good to my aunts,—your aunts, I mean,—and especially Aunt Priscilla.” “Why Aunt Priscilla?” said Lavinia Lovell, curiously. “I haven’t seen much of them, but I like Aunt Dorinda better.” “That’s just the reason,” said Ladybird, nodding her wise head: “it’s because you haven’t seen much of them that you like Aunt Dorinda better. I did, too, when I hadn’t seen much of them.” “But now?” said Lavinia Lovell. “But now,” said Ladybird, “I love Aunt Priscilla most. There’s no use talking, I do. You see, Aunt Dorinda is lovely, and sweet, and placid, but Aunt Priscilla is decided, and that’s the thing! Lavinia Lovell, if you’re going to live here in my place, and I suppose you are, just remember that Aunt Priscilla’s decision is worth more than Aunt Dorinda’s sweetness.” “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” said Lavinia Lovell. “I’m talking about what I know about, and you don’t seem to know anything,” said Ladybird. “And now, if you please, we’ll go down-stairs.” They went down the broad staircase hand in hand,—the real Lavinia Lovell, golden-haired and blue-eyed, and the other one, Ladybird, black-haired and dark-eyed,—and together, hand in hand, they entered the drawing-room, where the two Flint ladies sat talking to Mr. Ward. “It’s all right, my aunties,” said Ladybird, advancing, and almost dragging the other, “it’s all right; and this new girl is Lavinia Lovell, and I’m not. I’m Jack Lovell’s daughter, but I am not the daughter of Lavinia Flint, and so, aunty dear, I’ve no claim on you.” Ladybird threw herself into Aunt Priscilla’s arms, and for a moment Miss Flint held her close, without saying a word. Then she said: “Dear, Mr. Ward has told us all about it. Sister Dorinda and I understand it all. You are not our niece; you are in no way related to us.” Here Miss Priscilla’s grasp tightened. “You are in no way related to us. Lavinia Lovell, who has just come, is our niece; but, Ladybird, I love you.” “That’s all right, aunty,” said Ladybird, cheerfully; “I understand the whole business. Lavinia Lovell, the new girl, who has just arrived, is the daughter of Lavinia Flint, your sister, and I am not. But, Aunt Priscilla,—oh, no, you are not even my aunt. Well, then, Miss Priscilla Flint of Primrose Hall, do you love me?” “I love you,” said Miss Priscilla, and the embrace in which she held Ladybird left no doubt in the mind of anybody present. “Quite so,” said Mr. Ward, “quite so. But may I remind you, Miss Flint, that the young lady whom I have brought with me, Miss Lavinia Lovell, has a claim, I may say a previous claim, upon your recognition?” “You may say a previous claim,” said Miss Dorinda Flint, who had not spoken for some time; “but is a previous claim to take precedence of a claim preferred?” “Oh, aunty,” cried Ladybird, flying to Aunt Dorinda, and throwing her arms around the old lady’s neck, “that’s just it; relationship can’t come in ahead of me, can it?” “No,” said Aunt Dorinda, slipping her arm round the excited child. “But,” said the smooth lawyer voice of Mr. Ward—“but, my dear Miss Flint, and my dear Miss Dorinda Flint, you must realize that my client and protÉgÉe, Miss Lavinia Lovell, has a claim upon your interests that this child whom you call Ladybird never can have.” “Never!” said Ladybird; and dropping her head on Cloppy’s silvery back, she wept as one who could not be comforted. “That’s not true,” and Miss Priscilla Flint’s voice rang out like a clarion. “You have proved to us, beyond shadow of doubt, that this new little girl, this Lavinia Lovell, is our niece, the daughter of our sister—and yet—you cannot take away from us the fact that Ladybird, our Ladybird, is ours forever and ever!” At this Ladybird flew back to Miss Priscilla, and was clasped in her arms. But Miss Dorinda, holding Lavinia Lovell by the hand, said: “Sister, you love Ladybird, and so do I; but this child is Lavinia Lovell, the daughter of our sister Lavinia; and while we can love Ladybird as a friend, and as an outside interest, yet here is our niece, here is our inheritance, and to her is due our affection.” Miss Priscilla, still holding Ladybird in her arms, said: “Let her then prove herself worthy of it.” “No, aunty,” said Ladybird, rousing herself, “no; that is not necessary. If Lavinia Lovell is your niece, and she is, then her place is here and my place is not.” “What are you going to do, baby?” said Miss Priscilla, kissing Ladybird with unusual tenderness. “Well,” said Ladybird, judiciously, as one who was thinking out a great problem—“well, I don’t know; but I think I shall go to live with Chester and Stella.” “You couldn’t do better,” said Aunt Priscilla, laughing. “Will you come, too?” said Ladybird, patting Miss Priscilla’s apple-cheek. “Yes,” said Miss Priscilla; but nobody heard her except Ladybird, for Mr. Ward had already begun to speak. “In the interests of my client,” he said, “I am obliged to press the claims of Lavinia Lovell, the oldest daughter of John Lovell, against the claims of Ladybird, a younger daughter of the same man.” “But I make no claims,” said Ladybird, who was cuddling in Miss Priscilla’s arms. “If that other Lavinia wants my place, and if she has claims and papers and things to prove she has a right to it, why, let her come and take it, that’s all.” “That’s all,” said Miss Priscilla. “Well, she has,” said Mr. Ward, “Yes,” said Miss Dorinda; “go on.” “There is only this,” said Mr. Ward: “my papers, which I have shown to you ladies, prove conclusively that Lavinia Lovell, whom I have just brought to you, is your niece; and this other child, whom you have accepted as your niece, is not such, although she is the daughter of your sister’s husband by his second wife.” “Yes,” said Miss Priscilla Flint, holding Ladybird closer. “Yes,” said Ladybird, in a contented tone. “And so,” said Mr. Ward, going on with some difficulty—“and so, Lavinia Lovell, the child I have brought to you, is your niece, and consequently dependent upon you.” “Yes,” said Miss Priscilla Flint, still holding Ladybird close. “Yes,” said Ladybird, still contentedly. “And of course,” went on Mr. Ward, “you, as her aunts, and her only living relatives, are responsible for her welfare.” “Certainly,” said Miss Dorinda, who was holding the calm, golden-haired child by the hand. “Certainly,” said Miss Priscilla, who was holding Ladybird and Cloppy both in her arms. “Then,” said Mr. Ward, “may I assume that you, the Misses Flint, undertake the maintenance and support of Lavinia Lovell?” “Certainly,” said Miss Priscilla Flint, with great dignity, although she spoke over the shoulder of a turbulent child, and a no less quivering dog—“certainly we undertake the support and maintenance of the child who is, as you have proved to us, the daughter of our sister Lavinia.” “And what about me, aunty?” said Ladybird. “You are ours, also, child,” said Miss Priscilla; “and I would just like to see you get away!” “You’re a nice lady, aunty,” said Ladybird, stroking the withered cheek of Miss Priscilla. “And do you mean that it is settled that I am to live here with this new Lavinia Lovell?” “It isn’t a new Lavinia Lovell,” said Aunt Dorinda, “for you aren’t Lavinia Lovell at all; you’re only Ladybird Lovell.” “That’s enough for me,” said the child, chuckling; “for you know perfectly well, Aunt Dorinda, that I never wanted to be anything but Ladybird.” “Well, then,” said Mr. Ward, “do I understand, Miss Flint, that you will keep both of these children?” “It seems to me,” said Miss Priscilla, grimly, “that I have no choice. Lavinia Lovell I will keep with pleasure, because she is the daughter of my sister; and Ladybird Lovell I keep because I love her.” “And because I love you,” said Ladybird, as she flung her arms round Miss Priscilla’s neck. |
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