Miss Theodosias Heartstrings | Page 3

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 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