A Modern Cinderella | Page 5

she had beheld that day.
"How good of you, to come through all this heat, and not to laugh at
my despair!" she said, looking up like a grateful child, as she led him
in.
"I only obeyed orders, Nan; for a certain dear old lady had a motherly
presentiment that you had got into a deomestic whirlpool, and sent me
as a sort of life-preserver. So I took the basket of consolation, and came
to fold my feet upon the carpet of contentment in the tent of
friendship."
As he spoke, John gave his own gift in his mother's name, and
bestowed himself in the wide window-seat, where morning-glories
nodded at him, and the old butternut sent pleasant shadows dancing to
and fro.
His advent, like that of Orpheus in hades, seemed to soothe all
unpropitious powers with a sudden spell. The Fire began to slacken. the
kettles began to lull, the meat began to cook, the irons began to cool,
the clothes began to behave, the spirits began to rise, and the collar was
finished off with most triumphant success. John watched the change,
and, though a lord of creation, abased himself to take compassion on
the weaker vessel, and was seized with a great desire to lighten the
homely tasks that tried her strength of body and soul. He took a
comprehensive glance about the room; then, extracting a dish from he
closet, proceeded to imbrue his hands in the strawberries' blood.
"Oh, John, you needn't do that; I shall have time when I've turned the
meat, made the pudding and done these things. See, I'm getting on
finely now:--you're a judge of such matters; isn't that nice?"
As she spole, Nan offered the polished absurdity for inspection with
innocent pride.

"Oh that I were a collar, to sit upon that hand!" sighed John,--adding,
argumentatively,
"As to the berry question, I might answer it with a gem from Dr. Watts,
relative to 'Satan' and idle hands,' but will merely say, that, as a matter
of public safety, you'd better leave me alone; for such is the
destructiveness of my nature, that I shall certainly eat something hurtful,
break something valuable, or sit upon something crushable, unless you
let me concentrate my energies by knocking on these young fellows'
hats, and preparing them for their doom."
Looking at the matter in a charitable light, Nan consented, and went
cheerfully on with her work, wondering how she could have thought
ironing an infliction, and been so ungrateful for the blessings of her lot.
"Where's Sally?" asked John, looking vainly for the functionary who
usually pervaded that region like a domestic police-woman, a terror to
cats, dogs, and men.
"She has gone to her cousin's funeral, and won't be back till Monday.
There seems to be a great fatality among her relations; for one dies, or
comes to grief in some way, about once a month. But I don't blame
poor Sally for wanting to get away from this place now and then. I
think I could find it in my heart to murder an imaginary friend or two,
if I had to stay here long."
And Nan laughed so blithely, it was a pleasure to hear her.
"Where's Di?" asked John, seized with a most unmasculine curiosity all
at once.
"She is in Germany with 'Wilhelm Meister'; but, though 'lost to sight, to
memory clear'; for I was just thinking, as I did her things, how clever
she is to like all kinds of books that I don't understand at all, and to
write things that make me cry with pride and delight. Yes, she's a
talented dear, though she hardly knows a needle from a crowbar, and
will make herself one great blot some of these days, when the 'divine
afflatus' descends upon her, I'm afraid."

And Nan rubbed away with sisterly zeal at Di's forlorn hose and inky
pocket-handkerchiefs.
"Where is Laura?" proceeded the inquisitor.
"Well, I might say that she was in Italy; for she is copying some fine
thing of Raphael's or Michael Angelo's, or some great creatures or other;
and she looks so picturesque in her pretty gown, sitting before her easel,
that it's really a sight to behold, and I've peeped two or three times to
see how she gets on."
And Nan bestirred herself to prepare the dish Wherewith her
picturesque sister desired to prolong her artistic existence.
"Where is your father?" John asked again, checking off each answewr
with a nod and a little frown.
"He is down in the garden, deep in some plan about melons, the
beginning of which seems to consist in stamping the first proposition in
Euclid all over the bed, and then poking a few seeds into the middle of
each. Why, bless the dear man! I forgot