Miss Dexie | Page 8

I suppose, so she was selected to bear the name of the capital city, while I had to bear the burden of Dexter! It is a wonder how I managed to survive the christening, for the very name was enough to finish one! Oh! I have wished a thousand times that the town of Dexter had been visited by a conflagration, and wiped out of existence, before mother's people ever went there! But there! I daresay they would have gone to Skowhegan! Norrigewock! Mattawamkeg! or some other place with an outlandish name, and, of course, I should have been named after it, just the same! Dexie is bad enough, but Skowie, think of it!"
A peal of laughter interrupted Dexter's hot-spoken words; but the mention of her name always touched a tender spot, and she added, in an injured tone, that made her father smile in spite of himself:
"And there is Louie. Everybody thinks her name is Louisa, so she escapes the questions of the curious; but her name is Louisiana, after the State where grandma's old home is. We were there for a long visit when she was a baby, and she is not likely to forget that fact all her life. Then papa has a sister in Georgia; so of course we went to see her, too; but her plantation was so lovely we were all delighted when papa consented to stay there a year or two and help Uncle Edward set out some new groves, and get everything in good running order. We were there when Georgie was born, so he got off comparatively easy; but then! boys always do!"
Plaisted's shouts of laughter forbade further expressions of displeasure, and Dexie turned her back again and looked out the window, while she regained her composure. Nothing so aroused her indignation as the mention of her name consequently few knew what it really was. Louie liked her name, for by bearing it she became her grandmother's favorite, and Gussie could look on the matter with indifference.
"I quite sympathize with Dexie," said Mrs. Sherwood, "but her father has a New Englander's love for novel names, and gives no thought to the unnecessary burden that it puts upon the children, one which they have to bear all their lives."
"Oh! well, Gussie can't complain, I'm sure," said Mr. Sherwood. "No one will become inquisitive over her name," he laughingly added.
"I have no doubt that Miss Gussie feels thankful she secured first choice," said Plaisted, "and that her good looks entitled her to it," and he looked over at Gussie with bold admiration in his glance.
"I don't think looks had anything to do with it," said Mr. Sherwood, "else this curly pate would have had first choice," reaching over to pass his hand over the brown rings of hair.
"Seems to me this conversation is much too personal," said Dexie, rising from her seat. "I think a change would be welcome to one and all," and she sat down before the piano.
Mr. Sherwood smiled his approval. He was very proud of his daughter's musical ability, for she could sing and play to suit the taste of any audience, and could arouse the inner emotions of those who had any feelings that were capable of being stirred at all. One of her accomplishments, which she seldom exhibited before strangers, was that of whistling. Few people have heard the exquisite notes that can be produced by an adept in the art, but there are whistlers and whistlers, whose notes differ as much as those of the linnet and the crow. While accompanying herself on the piano, Dexie could produce such wonderful trills and quavers, with such purity of tone, that she could almost rival the very birds themselves, and she never failed to surprise and charm all that heard her. Wishing to please her father, as well as convince Mr. Plaisted that her name did not make her a "ninny," she selected some of her best pieces and sang her most charming songs; then, after a few soft notes, she broke into a bird-song, whistling the notes so faithfully true that Mr. Plaisted was startled as well as delighted, and the conversation he had begun with Gussie came to an abrupt end.
"Well, Miss Dexie, I must confess that you have surprised me," said he, as Dexie resumed her seat at the window. "I never heard the equal of that from the boards of any concert-room in New York. No one would object to paying 'dear for his whistle,' if that quality was purchasable. You would make a fortune on the stage."
"I hope Dexie will never use her whistle as a money-making gift," said her father; "but I think, myself, it is about as pretty music as one ever hears."
"You can bet your life, Sherwood, she would create