A Modern Cinderella | Page 4

CONTENTS
A MODERN CINDERELLA: OR, THE LITTLE OLD SHOE
DEBBY'S DEBUT BROTHERS NELLY'S HOSPITAL

A MODERN CINDERELLA OR, THE LITTLE OLD SHOE
HOW IT WAS LOST Among green New England hills stood an
ancient house, many-gabled, mossy-roofed, and quaintly built, but
picturesque and pleasant to the eye; for a brook ran babbling through
the orchard that encompassed it about, a garden-plat stretched upward
to the whispering birches on the slope, and patriarchal elms stood
sentinel upon the lawn, as they had stood almost a century ago, when
the Revoiution rolled that way and found them young.
One summer morning, when the air was full of country sounds, of
mowers in the meadow, black- birds by the brook, and the low of kine
upon the hill-side, the old house wore its cheeriest aspect, and a certain
humble history began.
"Nan!"
"Yes, Di."

And a head, brown-locked, blue-eyed, soft- featured, looked in at the
open door in answer to the call.
Just bring me the third volume of 'Wilhelm Meister,' there's a dear. It's
hardly worth while to rouse such a restless ghost as I, when I'm once
fairly laid."
As she spoke, Di PUlled up her black braids, thumped the pillow of the
couch where she was lying, and with eager eyes went down the last
page of her book.
"Nan!"
"Yes, Laura," replied the girl, coming back with the third volume for
the literay cormorant, who took it with a nod, still too content upon the
"Confessions of a Fair Saint" to remember the failings of a certain plain
sinner.
"Don't forget the Italian cream for dinner. I depend upon it; for it's the
only thing fit for me this hot weather."
And Laura, the cool blonde, disposed the folds of her white gown more
gracefully about her, and touched up the eyebrow of the Minerva she
was drawing.
"Little daughter!"
"Yes, father."
"Let me have plenty of clean collars in my bag, for I must go at once;
and some of you bring me a glass of cider in about an hour;--I shall be
in the lower garden."
The old man went away into his imaginary paradise, and Nan into that
domestic purgatory on a summer day, -- the kitchen. There were vines
about the windows, sunshine on the floor, and order everywhere; but it
was haunted by a cooking-stove, that family altar whence such varied
incense rises to appease the appetite of household gods, before which

such dire incantations are pronounced to ease the wrath and woe of the
priestess of the fire, and about which often linger saddest memories of
wasted temper, time, and toil.
Nan was tired, having risen with the birds,-- hurried, having many cares
those happy little housewives never know,--and disappointed in a hope
that hourly " dwindled, peaked, and pined." She was too young to make
the anxious lines upon her forehead seem at home there, too patient to
be burdened with the labor others should have shared, too light of heart
to be pent up when earth and sky were keeping a blithe holiday. But
she was one of that meek sisterhood who, thinking humbly of
themselves, believe they are honored by being spent in the service of
less conscientious souls, whose careless thanks seem quite reward
enough.
To and fro she went, silent and diligent, giving the grace of willingness
to every humble or distasteful task the day had brought her; but some
malignant sprite seemed to have taken possession of her kingdom, for
rebellion broke out everywhere. The kettles would boil over most
obstreperously,-- the mutton refused to cook with the meek alacrity to
be expected from the nature of a sheep,--the stove, with unnecessary
warmth of temper, would glow like a fiery furnace,--the irons would
scorch,--the linens would dry,--and spirits would fail, though patience
never.
Nan tugged on, growing hotter and wearier, more hurried and more
hopeless, till at last the crisis came; for in one fell moment she tore her
gown, burnt her hand, and smutched the collar she was preparing to
finish in the most unexceptionable style. Then, if she had been a
nervous woman, she would have scolded; being a gentle girl, she only
"lifted up her voice and wept."
"Behold, she watereth her linen with salt tears, and bewaileth herself
because of much tribulation. But, lo! Help cometh from afar: a strong
man bringeth lettuce wherewith to stay her, plucketh berries to comfort
her withal, and clasheth cymbals that she may dance for joy."
The voice came from the porch, and, with her hope fulfilled, Nan

looked up to greet John Lord, the house-friend, who stood there with a
basket on his arm; and as she saw his honest eyes, kind lips, and helpful
hands, the girl thought this plain young man the comeliest, most
welcome sight