The Morgesons | Page 9

row of edibles. She
was going to have waffles, she said, and shortcake; they were all ready
to bake, and she wished to the Lord they would come and have it over
with. With the silver sugar-tongs I slyly nipped lumps of sugar for my
private eating, and surveyed my features in the distorting mirror of the
pot-bellied silver teapot, ordinarily laid up in flannel. When the
company had arrived, Temperance advised me to go in the parlor.
"Sit down, when you get there, and show less," she said. I went in
softly, and stood behind mother's chair, slightly abashed for a moment
in the presence of the party--some eight or ten ladies, dressed in black
levantine, or cinnamon-colored silks, who were seated in
rocking-chairs, all the rocking-chairs in the house having been carried
to the parlor for the occasion. They were knitting, and every one had a
square velvet workbag. Most of them wore lace caps, trimmed with
white satin ribbon. They were larger, more rotund, and older than
mother, whose appearance struck me by contrast. Perhaps it was the

first time I observed her dress; her face I must have studied before, for I
knew all her moods by it. Her long, lusterless, brown hair was twisted
around a high-topped tortoise-shell comb; it was so heavy and so
carelessly twisted that the comb started backward, threatening to fall
out. She had minute rings of filigreed gold in her ears. Her dress was a
gray pongee, simply made and short; I could see her round-toed
morocco shoes, tied with black ribbon. She usually took out her
shoestrings, not liking the trouble of tying them. A ruffle of fine lace
fell around her throat, and the sleeves of her short-waisted dress were
puffed at the shoulders. Her small white hands were folded in her lap,
for she was idle; on the little finger of her left hand twinkled a brilliant
garnet ring, set with diamonds. Her face was colorless, the forehead
extremely low, the nose and mouth finely cut, the eyes of heavenly blue.
Although youth had gone, she was beautiful, with an indescribable air
of individuality. She influenced all who were near her; her atmosphere
enveloped them. She was not aware of it, being too indifferent to the
world to observe what effect she had in it, and only realized that she
was to herself a self-tormentor. Whether she attracted or repelled, the
power was the same. I make no attempt to analyze her character. I
describe her as she appeared, and as my memory now holds her. I never
understood her, and for that reason she attracted my attention. I felt
puzzled now, she seemed so different from anybody else. My
observation was next drawn to Veronica, who, entirely at home, walked
up and down the room in a blue cambric dress. She was twisting in her
fingers a fine gold chain, which hung from her neck. I caught her
cunning glance as she flourished some tansy leaves before her face,
imitating Mrs. Dexter to the life. I laughed, and she came to me.
"See," she said softly, "I have something from heaven." She lifted her
white apron, and I saw under it, pinned to her dress, a splendid black
butterfly, spotted with red and gold.
"It is mine," she said, "you shall not touch it. God blew it in through the
window; but it has not breathed yet."
"Pooh; I have three mice in the kitchen."
"Where is the mother?"

"In the hayrick, I suppose, I left it there."
"I hate you," she said, in an enraged voice. "I would strike you, if it
wasn't for this holy butterfly."
"Cassandra," said Mrs. Dexter, "does look like her pa; the likeness is
ex-tri-ordinary. They say my William resembles me; but parients are no
judges."
A faint murmur rose from the knitters, which signified agreement with
her remark.
"I do think," she continued, "that it is high time Dr. Snell had a
colleague; he has outlived his usefulness. I never could say that I
thought he was the right kind of man for our congregation; his
principals as a man I have nothing to say against; but why don't we
have revivals?"
When Mrs. Dexter wished to be elegant she stepped out of the
vernacular. She was about to speak again when the whole party broke
into a loud talk on the subject she had started, not observing
Temperance, who appeared at the door, and beckoned to mother. I
followed her out.
"The members are goin' it, ain't they?" she said. "Do see if things are
about right, Mis Morgeson." Mother made a few deviations from the
straight lines in which Temperance had ranged the viands, and told her
to put the tea on the tray, and the chairs round the