Miss Dexie | Page 9

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 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