Mistress and Maid | Page 3

Elizabeth visibly started.
Miss Hilary rose from her knees, crossed the kitchen, took from the
girl's unresisting hands the old black bonnet and shawl, and hung them
up carefully on a nail behind the great eight-day clock. It was a simple
action, done quite without intention, and accepted without
acknowledgment, except one quick glance of that keen, yet soft grey
eye; but years and years after Elizabeth reminded Hilary of it.
And now Elizabeth stood forth in her own proper likeness, unconcealed
by bonnet or shawl, or maternal protection. The pinafore scarcely
covered her gaunt neck and long arms; that tremendous head of rough,
dusky hair was evidently for the first time gathered into a comb.
Thence elf locks escaped in all directions, and were forever being
pushed behind her ears, or rubbed (not smoothed; there was nothing
smooth about her) back from her forehead, which, Hilary noticed, was
low, broad, and full. The rest of her face, except the before-mentioned
eyes was absolutely and undeniably plain. Her figure, so far as the
pinafore exhibited it, was undeveloped and ungainly, the chest being
contracted and the shoulders rounded, as if with carrying children or
other weights while still a growing girl. In fact, nature and
circumstances had apparently united in dealing unkindly with Elizabeth
Hand.
Still here she was; and what was to be done with her?
Having sent her with the small burden, which was apparently all her

luggage, to the little room--formerly a box-closet--where she was to
sleep, the Misses Leaf--or as facetious neighbors called them, the Miss
Leaves--took serious counsel together over their tea.
Tea itself suggested the first difficulty. They were always in the habit
of taking that meal, and indeed every other, in the kitchen. It saved time,
trouble, and fire, besides leaving the parlor always tidy for callers,
chiefly pupils' parents, and preventing these latter from discovering that
the three orphan daughters of Henry Leaf, Esq., solicitor, and sisters of
Henry Leaf, Junior, Esq., also solicitor, but whose sole mission in life
seemed to have been to spend every thing, make every body miserably,
marry, and die, that these three ladies did always wait upon themselves
at meal-time, and did sometimes breakfast without butter, and dine
without meat. Now this system would not do any longer.
"Besides, there is no need for it," said Hilary, cheerfully. "I am sure we
can well afford both to keep and to feed a servant, and to have a fire in
the parlor every day. Why not take our meals there, and sit there
regularly of evenings?"
"We must," added Selina, decidedly. "For my part, I couldn't eat, or
sew, or do any thing with that great hulking girl sitting starting opposite,
or standing; for how could we ask her to sit with us? Already, what
must she have thought of us--people who take tea in the kitchen?"
"I do not think that matters," said the eldest sister, gently, after a
moment's silence. "Every body in the town knows who and what we are,
or might, if they chose to inquire. We cannot conceal our poverty if we
tried; and I don't think any body looks down upon us for it. Not even
since we began to keep school, which you thought was such a terrible
thing, Selina."
"And it was. I have never reconciled myself to teaching the baker's two
boys and the grocer's little girl. You were wrong, Johanna, you ought to
have drawn the line somewhere, and it ought to have excluded
trades-people."
"Beggars can not be choosers," began Hilary.

"Beggars!" echoed Selina.
"No, my dear, we were never that," said Miss Leaf, interposing against
one of the sudden storms that were often breaking out between these
two. "You know well we have never begged or borrowed from any
body, and hardly ever been indebted to any body, except for the extra
lessons that Mr. Lyon would insist upon giving to Ascott at home."
Here Johanna suddenly stopped, and Hilary, with a slight color rising in
her face, said--
"I think, sisters, we are forgetting that the staircase is quite open, and
though I am sure she has an honest look and not that of a listener, still
Elizabeth might hear. Shall I call her down stairs, and tell her to light a
fire in the parlor?"
While she is doing it, and in spite of Selina's forebodings to the
contrary, the small maiden did it quickly and well, especially after a
hint or two from Hilary--let me take the opportunity of making a little
picture of this same Hilary.
Little it should be, for she was a decidedly little woman: small
altogether, hands, feet, and figure being in satisfactory proportion. Her
movements, like those of most little women, were light and quick
rather than elegant; yet