Not Like Other Girls Part 37

Archie threw down the letter with a frown. For the first time he was annoyed with Grace.

Nan and her sisters rash and designing! "Odd young ladies"! She was sorry they had established themselves at Hadleigh! It was really too bad of Grace to condemn them in this fashion. But of course it must be Mattie's fault: she had written a pack of nonsense, exaggerating things as much as possible.

Poor Mattie would have had to bear the brunt of his wrath as usual, only, as he turned to her with the frown black on his forehead, his eyes caught sight of her dress. Hitherto the room had been very dimly lighted; but now, as he looked at her in the soft lamplight, his anger vanished in amazement.

"Why, Mattie, what have you done to yourself? We are not expecting company this evening: it is nearly ten o'clock."

Mattie blushed and laughed, and then she actually bridled with pleasure:

"Oh, no, Archie; of course not. I only put on my new dress just to see how it would fit; and then I thought you might like to see it. It is the one uncle gave me; and is it not beautifully made? I am sure Mrs.

Cheyne's dresses never fit better. You and Grace may say what you like about the Challoners, but if they can make dresses like this, it would be tempting Providence not to use such a talent, and just because they were too fine ladies to work."

"I do believe you are right, Mattie," returned Archie, in a low voice.

"Turn round and let me look at you, girl. Do you mean--that she--that they made that?"

Mattie nodded as she slowly pivoted on one foot, and then revolved like the figures one used to see on old-fashioned barrel-organs; then, as she stood still, she panted out the words,--

"Is it not just lovely, Archie?" for in all the thirty years of her una.s.suming life Mattie had never had such a dress, so no wonder her head was a little turned.

"Yes, indeed; I like it excessively," was Archie's comment; and then he added, with the delicious frankness common to brothers, "It makes you look quite a different person, Mattie: you are almost nice-looking to-night."

"Oh, thank you, dear!" cried poor Mattie, quite moved by this compliment; for if Archie thought her almost nice-looking he must be pleased with her. Indeed, she even ventured to raise herself on tiptoe and kiss him in grat.i.tude, which was taking a great liberty; only Archie bore it for once.

"She really looked very well, poor little woman!" thought Archie, when Mattie had at last exhausted her raptures and bidden him good-night.

"She would not be half so bad-looking if some one would take her in hand and dress her properly. The women must be right, after all, and there is a power in dress. Those girls do nothing by halves," he continued, walking up and down the room. "I would not have believed they had made it, if Mattie had not told me. 'Rash and designing,'

indeed! just because they are not like other girls,--because they are more natural, more industrious, more courageous, more religious in fact." And then the young clergyman softly quoted to himself the words of the wise old king, words that Nan and her sisters had ever loved and sought to practise:

"Whatsoever thy hands findeth to do, do it with thy might."

CHAPTER XXVI.

"OH, YOU ARE PROUD!"

On the following Monday morning, Nan said in rather a curious voice to Phillis,--

"If no customers call to-day, our work-room will be empty. I wonder what we shall do with ourselves?"

To which Phillis replied, without a moment's hesitation,--

"We will go down and bathe, and Dulce and I will have a swimming-match; and after that we will sit on the beach and quiz the people. Most likely there will be a troupe of colored minstrels on the Parade, and that will be fun."

"Oh, I hope no one will come!" observed Dulce, overjoyed at the idea of a holiday; but, seeing Nan's face was full of rebuke at this outburst of frivolity, she said no more.

It was decided at last that they should wait for an hour to see if any orders arrived, and after that they would consider themselves at liberty to amuse themselves for the remainder of the day. But, alas for Dulce's hopes! long before the appointed hour had expired, the gate-bell rang, and Miss Drummond made her appearance with a large paper parcel, which she deposited on the table with a radiant face.

The story was soon told. Her silk dress was such a success, and dear Archie was so charmed with it--here Mattie, with a blush, deposited a neatly-sealed little packet in Nan's hand--that he had actually proposed that she should have another gown made after the same pattern for every-day wear. And he had taken her himself directly after breakfast down to Mordant's, and had chosen her this dress. He had never done such a thing before, even for Grace: so no wonder Mattie was in the seventh heaven of delight.

"It is very pretty," observed Nan, critically: "your brother has good taste." Which speech was of course retailed to Archie.

Mattie had only just left the cottage, when another customer appeared in the person of Miss Middleton.

Nan, who had just begun her cutting-out, met her with a pleased glance of recognition, and then, remembering her errand, bowed rather gravely. But Miss Middleton, after a moment's hesitation, held out her hand.

She had not been able to make up her mind about these girls. Her father's shocked sense of decorum, and her own old-fashioned gentlewoman's idea, had raised certain difficulties in her mind, which she had found it hard to overcome. "Recollect, Elizabeth, I will not have those girls brought here," the colonel had said to her that very morning. "They may be all very well in their way, but I have changed my opinion of them. There's poor Drummond: now mark my words, there will be trouble by and by in that quarter." For Colonel Middleton had groaned in spirit ever since the morning he had seen the young vicar walking with Phillis down the Braidwood Road, when she was carrying Mrs. Tr.i.m.m.i.n.gs's dress. Elizabeth answered this gentle protest by one of her gentle smiles. "Very well, dear father: I will ask no one to Brooklyn against your wish, you may be sure of that; but I suppose they may make my new dress? Mattie's has been such a success; they certainly understand their business."

"You have a right to select your own dressmaker, Elizabeth," returned the colonel, with a frigid wave of his hand, for he had not got over his disappointment about the girls. "I only warn you because you are very quixotic in your notions; but we must take the world as we find it, and make the best of it; and there is your brother coming home by and by. We must be careful, for Hammond's sake." And, as Elizabeth's good sense owned the justice of her father's remark, there was nothing more said on the subject.

But it was not without a feeling of embarra.s.sment that Miss Middleton entered the cottage: her great heart was yearning over these girls, whom she was compelled to keep at a distance. True, her father was right, Hammond was coming home, and a young officer of seven-and-twenty was not to be trusted where three pretty girls were concerned: it would never do to invite them to Brooklyn or to make too much of them. Miss Middleton had ranged herself completely on her father's side, but at the sight of Nan's sweet face and her grave little bow she forgot all her prudent resolutions, and her hand was held out as though to an equal.

"I have come to ask you if you will be good enough to make me a dress," she said, with a charming smile. "You have succeeded so well with Miss Drummond that I cannot help wishing to have one too." And when she had said this she looked quietly round her, and surveyed the pretty work-room, and Dulce sitting at the sewing-machine, and lastly Phillis's bright, intelligent face, as she stood by the table turning over some fashion-books.

At that moment Mrs. Challoner entered the room with her little work-basket, and placed herself at the other window. Miss Middleton began talking to her at once, while Nan measured and pinned.

"I don't think I ever spent a pleasanter half-hour," she told her father afterwards. "Mattie was right in what she said: they have made the work-room perfectly lovely with pictures and old china: and nothing could be nicer than their manners,--so simple and una.s.suming, yet with a touch of independence too."

"And the old lady?" inquired the colonel, maliciously, for he had seen Mrs. Challoner in church, and knew better than to speak of her so disrespectfully.

"Old lady, father! why, she is not old at all. She is an exceedingly pleasing person, only a little stately in her manner; one would not venture to take a liberty with her. We had such a nice talk while the eldest daughter was fitting me. Is it not strange, father dear, that they know the Paines? and Mrs. Sartoris is an old acquaintance of theirs. I think they were a little sorry when they heard we knew them too, for the second girl colored up so when I said Adelaide was your G.o.ddaughter."

"Humph? we will have Adelaide down here, and hear all about them,"

responded her father, briskly.

"Well, I don't know; I am afraid that would be painful to them, under their changed circ.u.mstances. Just as we were talking about Adelaide, Miss Mewlstone came in; and then they were so busy that I did not like to stay any longer. Ah, there is Mr. Drummond coming to interrupt us, as usual."

And then the colonel retailed all this for Archie's benefit. He had come in to glean a crumb or two of intelligence, if he could, about the Challoners' movements, and the colonel's garrulity furnished him with a rich harvest.

Phillis had taken Miss Mewlstone in hand at once in the intervals of business: she had inquired casually after Mrs. Cheyne's injured ankle.

"It is going on well: she can stand now," returned Miss Mewlstone.

"The confinement has been very trying for her, poor thing, and she looks sadly the worse for it. Don't take out those pins, my dear: what is the good of taking so much pains with a fat old thing like me and p.r.i.c.king your pretty fingers? Well, she is always asking me if I have seen any of you when I come home."

"Mrs. Cheyne asks after us!" exclaimed Phillis, in a tone of astonishment.

"Ah, just so. She has not forgotten you. Magdalene never forgets any one in whom she takes interest; not that she likes many people, poor dear! but then so few understand her. They will not believe that it is all on the surface, and that there is a good heart underneath."

"You call her Magdalene," observed Phillis, rather curiously, looking up into Miss Mewlstone's placid face.

"Ah, just so; I forgot. You see, I knew her as a child,--oh, such a wee toddling mite! younger than dear little Janie. I remember her just as though it were yesterday; the loveliest little creature,--prettier even than Janie!"

"Was Janie the child who died?"

"Yes, the darling! She was just three years old; a perfect angel of a child! and Bertie was a year older. Poor Magdalene! it is no wonder she is as she is,--no husband and children! When she sent for me I came at once, though I knew how it would be."

"You knew how it would be?" repeated Phillis, in a questioning voice, for Miss Mewlstone had come to a full stop here. She looked a little confused at this repet.i.tion of her words.