Love Me Little, Love Me Long | Page 3

then, when we are, shall you turn like the others?"
"Impossible to say."
"Well, then" (after a moment's hesitation), "I'll marry you all the same."
"No! you forget; I shall be afraid until your temper mends."
"I'll mend it. It is mended now. See how good I am now," added he, with self-admiration and a shade of surprise.
"I don't call this mending it, for I am not the one that offended you; mending it is promising me never, never to call naughty names again. How would you like to be called a dog?"
"I'd kill 'em."
"There, you see--then how can you expect poor nurse to like it?"
"You don't understand, cousin--Tom said to George the groom that Mrs. Jones was an--old--stingy--b--"
"I don't want to hear anything about Tom."
"He is such a clever fellow, cousin. So I think, if Jones is an old one, those two that keep nagging me must be young ones. What do you think yourself?" asked Reginald, appealing suddenly to her candor.
"And no doubt it was Tom that taught you this other vulgar word 'nagging,'" was the evasive reply.
"No, that was mamma."
Lucy colored, wheeled quickly, and demanded severely of the terrible infant: "Who is this Tom?"
"What! don't you know Tom?" Reginald began to lose a grain of his respect for her. "Why, he helps in the stables; oh, cousin, he is such a nice fellow!"
"Reginald, I shall never marry you if you keep company with grooms, and speak their language."
"Well!" sighed the victim, "I'll give up Tom sooner than you."
"Thank you, dear; now I am flattered. One struggle more; we must go together and ask the nurses' pardon."
"Must we? ugh!"
"Yes--and kiss them--and make it up."
Reginald made a wry face; but, after a pause of solemn reflection, he consented, on condition that Lucy would keep near him, and kiss him directly afterward.
"I shall be sure to do that, because you will be a good boy then."
Outside the door Reginald paused: "I have a favor to ask you, cousin--a great favor. You see I am so very little, and you are so big; now the husband ought to be the biggest."
"Quite my own opinion, Reggy."
"Well, dear, now if you would be so kind as not to grow any older till I catch you up, I shall be so very, very, very much obliged to you, dear."
"I will try, Reggy. Nineteen is a very good age. I will stay there as long as my friends will let me."
"Thank you, cousin."
"But that is not what we have in hand."
The nurses were just agreeing what a shame it was of miss to take that little vagabond's part against them, when she opened the door. "Nurse, here is a penitent--a young gentleman who is never going to use rude words, or be violent and naughty again."
"La! miss, why, it is witchcraft--the dear child--soon up and soon down, as a boy should."
"Beg par'n, nurse--beg par'n, Kitty," recited the dear child, late tiger, and kissed them both hastily; and, this double formula gone through, ran to Miss Fountain and kissed her with warmth, while the nurses were reciting "little angel," "all heart," etc.
"To take the taste out of my mouth," explained the penitent, and was left with his propitiated females; and didn't they nag him at short intervals until sunset! But, strong in the contemplation of his future union with Cousin Lucy, this great heart in a little body despised the pins and needles that had goaded him to fury before.
Lucy went down to the drawing-room. She found Mrs. Bazalgette leaning with one elbow on the table, her hand shading her high, polished forehead; her grave face reflecting great mental power taxed to the uttermost. So Newton looked, solving Nature.
Miss Fountain came in full of the nursery business, but, catching sight of so much mind in labor, approached it with silent curiosity.
The oracle looked up with an absorbed air, and delivered itself very slowly, with eye turned inward.
"I am afraid--I don't think--I quite like my new dress."
"That is unfortunate."
"That would not matter; I never like anything till I have altered it; but here is Baldwin has just sent me word that her mother is dying, and she can't undertake any work for a week. Provoking! could not the woman die just as well after the ball?"
"Oh, aunt!"
"And my maid has no more taste than an owl. What on earth am I to do?"
"Wear another dress."
"What other can I?"
"Nothing can be prettier than your white mousseline de soie with the tartan trimming."
"No, I have worn that at four balls already; I won't be known by my colors, like a bird. I have made up my mind to wear the jaune, and I will, in spite of them all; that is, if I can find anybody who cares enough for me to try it on, and tell me what it wants." Lucy offered