Miss Theodosias Heartstrings | Page 2

a United States. We're all United States. Mother named her; we've all got beautiful names, except poor Elly. Mother hated to call him Elihu, but there was Grandfather gettin' older an' older all the time, an' she dassen't wait till the next one. She put it off an' off with the other boys, Carruthers an' Gilpatrick--he's dead. She just couldn't name any of 'em Elihu, till Grandfather scared her, gettin' so old. She was afraid there wouldn't be time, an' there wasn't any to spare. Grandfather's dead now--she's thankful enough she didn't wait any longer. He was so pleased. He said be could depart this life easier, leavin' an Elihu Flagg behind him. An', anyway, Mother says Elly can call himself his middle name, if he'd ruther, when he's twenty-one--his middle name's Launcelot."
Elihu Launcelot, at this juncture, toppled over against the little flat breast of his nurse, asleep--or in a swoon; Miss Theodosia had her fears. There seemed sufficient swooning cause.
"Stefana," she prompted again, her interest advancing at a rapid pace, "and mothers--"
"Stefana's our oldest. She's goin' to run us while Mother's away. She's got a job before her! All I can do is 'tend Elly Precious--we're all boys, but us. But, of course, runnin' the family isn't the real trouble--not what made Mother cry."
Miss Theodosia sat forward in her chair.
"What made Mother cry?" she asked. The child shifted her heavy burden the better to turn her head. She regarded the beautiful white lady gloomily.
"You," she stated briefly.
This time Miss Theodosia said it aloud and with a surprising ease, as if of long custom--"Mercy gracious!"
"Oh, I didn't mean you're to blame; you can't help Aunt Sarah tumblin' down the cellar stairs an' Mother not bein' able to do you up."
"Do me--up?"
"Yes'm--white-wash you. Mother was sure you'd let her, an' we were goin' to send Carruthers to a deaf 'n' dumb school after you'd wore white clo'es enough. He isn't dumb, but he's deaf. He can't hear Elly Precious laugh--only yell. Mother heard that you always wore white dresses an' she most hugged herself--she hugged us. She said you'd prob'ly find out what a good white-washer she was an' let her white-wash you. But, now, Aunt Sarah's went an' fell down cellar."
"Whitewash--whitewash?" queried Miss Theodosia.
"Yes'm, you didn't think Mother was a washwoman, did you? Of course she could, but it doesn't pay's well. She only whitewashes--white clo'es, you know, dresses an' shirtwaists. She says it's her talent that the Lord's gave her, an' she's goin' to make it gain ten talents for Carruthers. But Aunt Sarah--"
"Never mind Aunt Sarah. Unless--do you mean your mother has had to go away from home?"
"Yes'm, to see to Aunt Sarah. They were twins when they were babies. Mother cried, because she said of course you'd have to be done up while she was gone, an' so she'd lost you. She said you'd been her bacon light ever since she heard you was comin' home an' wore so many white clo'es."
The garrulous little voice might have run on indefinitely but for the abrupt appearance, here, of a slender girl in an all-enwrapping gingham apron. She came hurrying up Miss Theodosia's front walk.
"Well, Evangeline Flagg, I hope you're blushing crimson scarlet red--helping yourself to folks's doorsteps that's got back from Europe! I hope--" but the newcomer got no further, for, quite suddenly, she found herself blushing crimson scarlet red, in the grip of a disconcerting thought.
"I suppose it's just as bad to help yourself to doorsteps when folks aren't here as when they are," she said slowly, "but you mustn't blame Mother. She'd never've allowed Evangeline and Elly, if we'd had a single sol-i-ta-ry tree. Or been on the shady side. Or had a porch. Elly's been pindly, and Mother felt obliged to save his life. It's been terribly hot. Here, Evangeline Flagg, you give Elly here, an' you run home an' keep the soup-kettle from burning on. Don't you wait until it smells! I've got an errand to do here."
The child, Evangeline, relinquished her burden and turned slowly away. But she halted at the foot of the steps.
"This is Stefana," she introduced politely. "Stefana, you ain't goin' to? You look 'xactly as if you was. Mercy gracious!"
[Illustration: "We've all got beautiful names except poor Elly."]
"Yes," Stefana returned gravely, "I am. Now, you go. Remember the soup!"
Miss Theodosia's interested gaze left the retreating little figure and came back to Stefana and Elly Precious. She was pleasantly aware of her own immaculate daintiness in her crisp white dress. Only Theodosia Baxter would have dreamed of arraying herself in white to unpack and settle. Her friends declared she made a fetich of her white raiment; it was a well-known fact among them that she was extremely "fussy" about its laundering.
"One, two, three," counted the slender girl, over the baby's