A Houseful of Girls | Page 5

few wool mats as a
little expression of sympathy!'--that's Mrs Ross! Then Mary Ann would
hobble up with a parcel wrapped up in a handkerchief, and kiss us all
twice over, and say, `I've brought round a piece of my own fancy work,
lovies, as a contribution for your sale. My sight is not what it used to be,
and it's difficult to get the material one would like in this little place;
but shaded silks always look well, and I made the fringe myself out of
odd pieces of wool.' And that's not the worst! Mrs Hudson would paint
bulrushes on cream-pots, and forget-me-nots on tambourines, and come
round bristling with importance. `I always find fancy work is overdone
at sales, so I thought a little of my hand- painting would be acceptable!
No one needs more than a dozen cosies, but every one is glad of an
extra tambourine!' ... It's easy to talk, my dear, but what could you do
when it came to the point? There's nothing for it but to smile, and look
pleased."
"I should say politely, but firmly, that I could not find it in my heart to
deprive them of such treasures--that with so many deserving objects
craving support, it would be pure selfishness on our part to monopolise
all the good things! Such munificence was far, far more than we
deserved, and would they kindly send a little cake instead? They would
be delighted, for they are everlastingly giving to some mission or other,
and are always in a rush to get work finished. But I don't propose to let

things reach such a climax. I wouldn't hurt their dear old feelings for
the world. So we will say at once that we want cake and fruit, and we
shall get the very best of its kind. We must fix our date for the
strawberry season; for the human heart is desperately wicked, and
people will gladly pay sixpence to sit under trees and eat strawberries
and cream, when wild horses wouldn't drag twopence out of them for a
pen-wiper. I expect we shall succeed best with punting and
refreshments."
"If it's fine! But it won't be fine--it will pour!" said Elsie gloomily, and
wagged her head in the hopeless manner of one who has tasted deeply
of the world, and knew its hollowness by heart. If there was by chance
a cheerful and a melancholy view to be taken on any subject, Elsie
invariably chose the melancholy one, and gloated over it with ghoulish
enjoyment. She was never so happy as when she was miserable,--as an
Irishman would have had it,--and hugged the conviction that she was
"unappreciated" by her family, and a victim of fate. She shed tears over
Misunderstood in the solitude of her chamber, and cultivated an
expression of patient martyrdom, as most fitted for her condition.
Occasionally she forgot herself so far as to be cheery and playful; but
her feelings were so ultrasensitive that they were bound to be wounded
by some thoughtlessness on the part of her sisters before many hours
were over, when she would remember her own unhappiness, and roam
away by herself to the other end of the garden to apostrophise the
heavens and pity her hard lot. "It will be sure to pour! It always does
pour when we want to do anything!" she declared; upon which Nan
threw her book into the air and caught it again with a dexterous
movement.
"Fiddle-de-dee! It's going to be a bright, glorious summer day, with just
enough sun to be warm and not enough to be hot, and just enough wind
to be cool and not enough to be cold. And the grass is going to be dry
and the strawberries ripe; and all the pretty ladies and gentlemen are
going to drive over from miles and miles around, and spend so much
money that they will have none left to take them home. What is the use
of croaking? If things go wrong, it's bad enough to have to bear them at
the time; but until then imagination is our own, and we will make the

most of it. It will not pour, my dear Raven; so don't let me hear you say
so again! Make up your mind that this sale is going to be a success, and
try to bear it as well as you can."
Elsie looked up at the corner of the ceiling, and arched her eyebrows in
resigned and submissive fashion. When the rain did come,--as of course
it would,--when all the fancy work was drenched and the pretty dresses
spoiled, the girls would remember her prophecy, and be compelled to
acknowledge its correctness; but till then she would suffer in silence,
and refuse to be drawn into