Mistress and Maid | Page 4

every thing she did was done with a neatness
and delicacy which gave an involuntary sense of grace and harmony.
She was, in brief, one of those people who are best described by the
word "harmonious;" people who never set your teeth on edge, or rub
you up the wrong way, as very excellent people occasionally do. Yet
she was not over-meek or unpleasantly amiable; there was a liveliness
and even briskness about her, as if the every day wine of her life had a
spice of Champagniness, not frothiness but natural effervescence of
spirit, meant to "cheer but not inebriate" a household.
And in her own household this gift was most displayed. No centre of a
brilliant, admiring circle could be more charming, more witty, more
irresistibly amusing than was Hilary sitting by the kitchen fire, with the
cat on her knee, between her two sisters, and the school-boy Ascott

Leaf, their nephew--which four individuals, the cat being not the least
important of them, constituted the family.
In the family, Hilary shone supreme. All recognized her as the light of
the house, and so she had been, ever since she was born, ever since her
"Dying mother mild, Said, with accents undefiled, 'Child, be mother to
this child.'"
It was said to Johanna Leaf--who was not Mrs. Leaf's own child. But
the good step-mother, who had once taken the little motherless girl to
her bosom, and never since made the slightest difference between her
and her own children, knew well whom she was trusting.
From that solemn hour, in the middle of the night, when she lifted the
hour-old baby out of its dead mother's bed into her own, it became
Johanna's one object in life. Through a sickly infancy, for it was a child
born amidst trouble, her sole hands washed, dressed, fed it; night and
day it "lay in her bosom, and was unto her as a daughter."
She was then just thirty: not too old to look forward to woman's natural
destiny, a husband and children of her own. But years slipped by, and
she was Miss Leaf still. What matter! Hilary was her daughter.
Johanna's pride in her knew no bounds. Not that she showed it much;
indeed she deemed it a sacred duty not to show it; but to make believe
her "child" was just like other children. But she was not. Nobody ever
thought she was--even in externals.--Fate gave her all those gifts which
are sometimes sent to make up for the lack of worldly prosperity. Her
brown eyes were as soft a doves' eyes, yet could dance with fun and
mischief if they chose; her hair, brown also, with a dark-red shade in it,
crisped itself in two wavy lines over her forehead, and then turn bled
down in two glorious masses, which Johanna, ignorant, alas! of art,
called very "untidy," and labored in vain to quell under combs, or to
arrange in proper, regular curls Her features--well, they too, were good;
better than those unartistic people had any idea of--better even than
Selina's, who in her youth had been the belle of the town. But whether
artistically correct or not, Johanna, though she would on no account

have acknowledged it, believed solemnly that there was not such a face
in the whole world as little Hillary's.
Possibly a similar idea dawned upon the apparently dull mind of
Elizabeth Hand, for she watched her youngest mistress intently, from
kitchen to parlor, and from parlor back to kitchen; and once when Miss
Hilary stood giving information as to the proper abode of broom,
bellows, etc., the little maid gazed at her with such admiring
observation that the scuttle she carried was titled, and the coals were
strewn all over the kitchen floor. At which catastrophe Miss Leaf
looked miserable. Miss Selina spoke crossly, and Ascott, who just then
came in to his tea, late as usual, burst into a shut of laughter.
It was as much as Hilary could do to help laughing herself, she being
too near her nephew's own age always to maintain a dignified aunt-like
attitude, but nevertheless, when, having disposed of her sisters in the
parlor, she coaxed Ascott into the school-room, and insisted upon his
Latin being done--she helping him, Aunt Hilary scolded him well, and
bound him over to keep the peace toward the new servant.
"But she is such a queer one. Exactly like a South Sea Islander. When
she stood with her grim, stolid countenance, contemplating the coals oh,
Aunt Hilary, how killing she was!"
And the regular, rollicking, irresistible boy-laugh broke out again.
"She will be great fun. Is she really to stay?"
"I hope so," said Hilary, trying to be grave. "I hope never again to see
Aunt Johanna cleaning the stairs, and getting up