A Modern Cinderella | Page 6

it was time for the cider.
Wouldn't you like to take it to him, John? He'd love to consult you; and
the lane is so cool, it does one's heart good to look at it."
John glanced from the steamy kitchen to the shadowy path, and
answered with a sudden assumption of immense industry,--
"I couldn't possibly go, Nan,--I've so much on my hands. You'll have to
do it yourself. 'Mr. Robert of Lincoln' has something for your private
ear; and the lane is so cool, it will do one's heart good to see you in it.
Give my regards to your father, and, in the words of 'Little Mabel's'
mother, with slight variation,--
'Tell the dear old body This day I cannot run, For the pots are boiling
over And the mutton isn't done.'"
"I will; but please, John, go in to the girls and be comfortable; for I
don't like to leave you here," said Nan.

"You insinuate that I should pick at the pudding or invade the cream,
do you? Ungrateful girl, leave me!" And, with melodramatic sterness,
John extinguished her in his broad-brimmed hat, and offered the glass
like a poisoned goblet.
Nan took it, and went smiling away. But the lane might have been the
Desert of Sahara, for all she knew of it; and she would have passed her
father as unconcernedly as if he had been an apple-tree, had he not
called out,--
"Stand and deliver, little woman!"
She obeyed the venerable highwayman, and followed him to and fro,
listening to his plans and directions with a mute attention that quite
won his heart.
"That hop-pole is really an ornament now, Nan; this sage-bed needs
weeding,--that's good work for you girls; and, now I think of it, you'd
better water the lettuce in the cool of the evening, after I'm gone."
To all of which remarks Nan gave her assent; the hop-pole took the
likeness of a tall figure she had seen in the porch, the sage-bed,
curiously enough, suggested a strawberry ditto, the lettuce vividly
reminded her of certain vegetable productions a basket had brought,
and the bobolink only sung in his cheeriest voice, "Go home, go home!
he is there!"
She found John--he having made a free-mason of himself, by assuming
her little apron--meditating over the partially spread table, lost in amaze
at its desolate appearance; one half its proper paraphernalia having
been forgotten, and the other half put on awry. Nan laughed till the
tears ran over her cheeks, and John was gratified at the efficacy of his
treatment; for her face had brought a whole harvest of sunshine from
the garden, and all her cares seemed to have been lost in the windings
of the lane.
"Nan, are you in hysterics?" cried Di, appearing, book in hand. "John,
you absurd man, what are you doing?"

"I'm helpin' the maid of all work, please marm." And John dropped a
curtsy with his limited apron.
Di looked ruffled, for the merry words were a covert reproach; and with
her usual energy of manner and freedom of speech she tossed
"Wilhelm" out of the window, exclaiming, irefully.--
"That's always the way; I'm never where I ought to be, and never think
of anything till it's too late; but it's all Goethe's fault. What does he
write books full of smart 'Phillinas' and interesting 'Meisters' for? How
can I be expected to remember that Sally's away, and people must eat,
when I'm hearing the 'Harper' and little 'Mignon?' John, how dare you
come here and do my work, instead of shaking me and telling me to do
it myself? Take that toasted child away, and fan her like a Chinese
mandarin, while I dish up this dreadful dinner."
John and Nan fled like chaff before the wind, while Di, full of
remorseful zeal, charged at the kettles, and wrenched off the potatoes'
jackets, as if she were revengefully pulling her own hair. Laura had a
vague intention of going to assist; but, getting lost among the lights and
shadows of Minerva's helmet, forgot to appear till dinner had been
evoked from chaos and peace was restored.
At three o'clock, Di performed the coronation ceremony with her
father's best hat; Laura retied his old-fashioned neckcloth, and arranged
his white locks with an eye to saintly effect; Nan appeared with a
beautifully written sermon, and suspicious ink-stains on the fingers that
slipped it into his pocket; John attached himself to the bag; and the
patriarch was escorted to the door of his tent with the triumphal
procession which usually attended his out-goings and in-comings.
Having kissed the female portion of his tribe, he ascended the
venerable chariot, which received him with audible lamentation, as its
rheumatic joints swayed to and fro.
"Good-bye, my dears! I shall be