Miss Dexie | Page 9

Sherwood, she would create such a furore in musical circles that she would make something besides money for you. Bring her out, Sherwood; it will pay you better than speculating with horses."
"Heaven forbid!" replied Mr. Sherwood, extremely annoyed at the way Plaisted spoke of his favorite daughter. "I fancy I can make a comfortable living for my family, without turning my daughter into a public character."
"Thank you, papa," came the clear-cut tones from the window; "but pray do not waste any more sentiment on Mr. Plaisted. He happens to be one of that kind of men who would sell their own mothers for profit! But he can't help it, poor man, he was born that way!" and before Plaisted could recover from his surprise, Dexie had left the room.
"That was a pretty good slap, and no mistake," exclaimed Plaisted as he drew out his handkerchief to wipe his hot face. "I meant no offence, Sherwood, 'pon honor."
"Well, as my daughter did not take it so, be kind enough to be more guarded in your remarks in the future. However, in a battle of words, I fancy she is able to hold her own, and come off victor every time, too."
The matter was dismissed with a laugh, though memory lingered long over the plain-spoken words; but in his secret heart Mr. Sherwood was glad that Dexie had so answered this New York gentleman. Dexie had won her position in her father's heart by her prompt and willing service. She it was who could be depended on to do the numberless little tasks, insignificant in themselves, perhaps, but of the greatest moment when taken together, for the joy and comfort of home-life very largely depends on the way these little things are attended to. Her sister, Gussie, was too fond of pleasing herself to be of much service to others; but Dexie was quick to see another's need, and she found it a pleasure to wait on her dear papa, who, however active and energetic he might be when about his business, dearly loved to be waited on when once he was inside his own home. He always found Dexie willing and ready to give all her time for his pleasure. She had even changed the style of her handwriting so as to help her father with his correspondence, and she proved herself such an able assistant that, on giving her verbal instructions, she could write out his letters quite as clearly and business-like as if his own hand held the pen. Once, in Dexie's absence, he had pressed Gussie into service, but Mr. Sherwood never repeated the request, for Gussie's writing resembled the "sprawls of a many-legged spider that had fallen into the ink bottle, and then wiped his legs on the writing-paper," according to Mr. Sherwood's description of it.
But Gussie was pretty if she was not useful. She was a perfect blonde, with a wealth of yellow hair, which she twisted round her head like a golden coronet. Her eyes were as blue as fresh spring violets, and her slight, willowy figure gave promise of much grace when fully developed. Her twin sister, Dexie, was much unlike her in every way, having dark brown eyes, while a mass of short, light-brown curls covered the well-poised head, giving her something of a boyish air. She had a clear complexion, but was not so fair as Gussie, and her figure was shorter and more rounded. She was quick and alert in all her movements, and laughed when Gussie called her a tomboy, but she was only thoroughly wide-awake, and enjoyed life with a zest that was but natural in a girl of her years. She scorned the languid air that Gussie affected, and looked with disdain on the one-legged storks that her sister delighted to transfer to canvas, and she wondered how it was possible for anyone to sit for hours over a bit of fancywork the usefulness of which was doubtful; but this was the only kind of work that Gussie ever cared to do.
Since Aunt Jennie had taken up her abode in the family, Dexie had found great delight in solving some of the mysteries of cookery, and the toothsome articles she evolved, under her aunt's direction, were exhibited with as much pride as Gussie felt when she adorned the new sofa pillow with such gorgeous butterflies that no one dared use it thereafter. But Dexie was at her best when seated before the piano; then her face glowed with a beauty far exceeding that of her sister's, for the soul shone in her face, and she would make the instrument respond to her feelings like a human being. However ruffled her state of mind might be--for, be it known, Dexie was not blessed with a very even temper--she could