Miss Theodosias Heartstrings | Page 3

bald little head, "only three tucks, an' the lace not terribly full on the edges. I'm thankful there aren't any ruffles, but, there, I suppose there are on some o' the others, aren't there? I'll have to manage the ruffles. I mean, if--oh, I mean, won't you please let me do you up? Just till Aunt Sarah's bone knits--so to save you for Mother? I'll try so hard! If I don't, Charlotte Lovell will--she's the only other one. She's a beautiful washer and ironer, but none of her children are deaf, and she hasn't any, anyway. I didn't dare to come over and ask you, but I kept thinking of poor Mother and how she's been 'lotting on earning all that money. There, I've asked you--please don't answer till I've counted ten. When we were little, Mother always said for us to; it was safer. One, two, three--" she counted rapidly, then swung about facing Miss Theodosia. "You can say 'no,' now," she said, with a difficult little smile.
Miss Theodosia had been, in a way, counting ten herself. She had had time to remember her very strict injunctions to those to whom she entrusted her beloved white gowns--to pull out the lace with careful fingers, not to iron it; to iron embroidered portions over many thicknesses of flannel, and never, never, never on the right side; to starch the dresses just enough and not too much. All these thoughts flashed through her mind while Stefana counted ten. But it was without accompaniment of injunctions that Miss Theodosia answered on that wistful little stroke of ten. In her soul she felt the futility of injunctions.
"Yes," answered Miss Theodosia.
Stefana whirled, at the risk of Elihu Launcelot.
"Oh--oh, what? You mean I can do you up, honest? Starch you, and iron you, too--of course, I could wash you. Oh, if I could drop Elly Precious I'd get right up and dance!"
"Give Elly Precious to me, and go ahead, my dear," said the White Lady with a smile.
But Stefana shook her head. She was covertly studying the white dress once more. It was very white--she could detect no promising spots or creases, and she drew a sigh even in the midst of her rejoicing. If a person only sat on porches, in chairs, how often did white dresses need doing up? Miss Theodosia interpreted the sigh and look.
"Oh, I've three of them rolled up in my trunk; aren't three enough to begin on? And shirtwaists--I'm sure I don't know how many of those. I'll go and get them now."
In the hall she stopped at the mirror, jibing at the image confronting her. "You've done it this time, Theodosia Baxter! When you can't bear a wrinkle! But, there, don't look so scared--daughters inherit their mothers' talents, plenty of times. And you need only try it once, of course."
After Stefana had gone away, doubly laden with clothes and bulky baby, Miss Theodosia remained on her porch. She found herself leaning over and parting her porch-vines, to get a glimpse of the little house next door. She had always loathed that little house with its barefaced poverties and uglinesses, and it had been a great relief to her to have it stand vacant in past years. She had left it vacant when she started upon her last globe-trotting. Now here it was teeming with life, and here she was aiding and abetting it! What new manner of Theodosia Baxter was this?
"You'd better get up and globe-trot again, Woman, and not unpack," she uttered, with a lone woman's habit of talking to herself. "You were never made to live in a house like other people--to sit on porches and rock. And certainly, Theodosia Baxter, you were never made to live next to that little dry-goods box. It will turn you gray, poor thing." She felt a gentle pity for herself, then gentle wrath seized her. Why had she come home, anyway? Already she was lonely and restless. Why--could anybody tell her why--had she weakly yielded to two small girls? Her dear-beloved white dresses! And she could not go back on her promise--not on a Baxter promise! There was, indeed, the release of going away again, back to her globe-trotting--
"I might write to Cornelia Dunlap," Miss Theodosia thought. "Maybe she is sorry she came home, too."
Cornelia Dunlap had been her recent comrade of the road. They had traveled to many far places together. What would Cornelia say to that little conference of three--and a baby--on the front porch?
"My dear," wrote Miss Theodosia, "you will think I have been swapped in my cradle since I left you! 'That is no fellow tramp of mine,' you will say, 'That woman being victimized by children in knee-high dresses! Theodosia Baxter nothing!'"--for Cornelia Dunlap in moments of surprise resorted sometimes to slang, which she