Family Pride; Or, Purified by Suffering. Mary Jane Holmes
on a bed-quilt, as I'm alive! What children! It would break my back to lie there, and this Cannon is none the youngest, accordin' to their tell—nigh on to thirty, if not turned. It will make his bones ache, of course. I am glad I know better than to treat visitors that way. The comforter may stay, but I'll be bound I'll make it softer!" and stealing up the stairs, Aunt Betsy brought down a second feather bed, much lighter than the one already on, but still large enough to suggest the thought of smothering. This she had made herself, intending it as a part of Katy's "setting out," should she ever marry, and as things now seemed tending that way, it was only right, she thought, that Mr. Cannon, as she called him, should begin to have the benefit of it. Accordingly, the handiwork of the girls was destroyed, and two beds, instead of one, were placed beneath the comfortable, which Aunt Betsy permitted to remain.
"I'm mighty feared they'll find me out," she said, stroking, and patting, and coaxing the beds to lie down, taking great pains in the making, and succeeding so well that when her task was done there was no perceptible difference between Helen's bed and hers, except that the latter was a few inches higher than the former, and more nearly resembled a pincushion in shape.
Carefully shutting the door, Aunt Betsy hurried away, feeling glad that her nieces were too much engaged in training a vine over a frame to afford them time for discovering what she had done. Katy, she knew, was going to Linwood by and by, after various little things which Mrs. Lennox thought indispensable to the entertaining of so great a man as Wilford Cameron, and which the farmhouse did not possess, and as Helen too would be busy, there was not much danger of detection.
It was late when the last thing was accomplished, and the sun was quite low ere Katy was free to start on her errand, carrying the market basket in which she was to put the articles borrowed of Morris.
He was sitting out on his piazza enjoying the fine prospect he had of the sun shining across the pond, on the Silverton hill, and just gilding the top of the little church nestled in the valley. At sight of Katy he arose and greeted her with the kind, brotherly manner now habitual with him, for since we last looked upon Morris Grant he had fought a fierce battle with his selfishness, coming off conqueror, and learning to listen quite calmly while Katy talked to him, as she often did, of Wilford Cameron, never trying to conceal from him how anxious she was for some word of remembrance, and often asking if he thought Mr. Cameron would ever write to her. It was hard at first for Morris to listen, and harder still to hold back the passionate words of love trembling on his lips, to keep himself from telling her how improbable it was that one like Mr. Cameron should cherish thoughts of her after mingling again with the high-born city belles, and to beg of her to take him in Cameron's stead—him who had loved her so long, ever since he first knew what it was to love, and who would cherish her so tenderly, loving her the more because of the childishness which some men might despise. But Morris had kept silence, and, as weeks went by, there came insensibly into his heart a hope, or rather conviction, that Cameron had forgotten the little girl who might in time turn to him, gladdening his home just as she did every spot where her fairy footsteps trod. Morris did not fully know that he was hugging this fond dream, until he felt the keen pang which cut like a dissector's knife as Katy, turning her bright, eager face up to him, whispered softly: "He's coming to-morrow—he surely is; I have his letter to tell me so."
Morris did not see the sunshine then upon the distant hills, although it lay there just as purple as before Katy came, bringing blackness and pain when heretofore she had only brought him joy and gladness. There was a moment of darkness, in which the hills, the pond, the sun setting, and Katy seemed a great ways off to Morris, trying so hard to be calm, and mentally asking for help to do so. But Katy's hat, which she swung in her hand, had become entangled in the vines encircling one of the pillars of the piazza, and so she did not notice him until all traces of his agitation were past, and he could talk with her concerning Wilford, and then playfully lifting her basket he asked what she had come to get.
This was not the first time the great house had rendered a like service to the little house, and so Katy did not blush when she explained how her mother wanted Morris' forks, and saltcellars, and spoons, and would he be kind enough to bring the castor over himself, and come to dinner to-morrow at two o'clock?—and would he go after Mr. Cameron? The forks, and saltcellars, and spoons, and castor were cheerfully promised, while Morris consented to go for the guest; and then Katy came to the rest of her errand, the part distasteful to her, inasmuch as it might look like throwing disrespect upon Uncle Ephraim—honest, unsophisticated Uncle Ephraim—who would come to the table in his shirt sleeves. This was the burden of her grief—the one thing she dreaded most, inasmuch as she knew by experience how such an act was looked upon by Mr. Cameron, who, never having lived in the country a day in his life, except as he was either guest or traveler, could not make due allowance for these little departures from refinement, so obnoxious to people of his training.
"What is it, Katy?" Morris asked, as he saw how she hesitated, and guessed her errand was not done.
"I hope you will not think me foolish or wicked," Katy began, her eyes filling with tears, as she felt that she might be doing Uncle Ephraim a wrong by even admitting that in any way he could be improved. "I certainly love Uncle Ephraim dearly, and I do not mind his ways, but Mr. Cameron may—that is, oh, Cousin Morris! did you ever notice how Uncle Ephraim will persist in coming to the table in his shirt sleeves."
"Persist is hardly the word to use," Morris replied, smiling comically, as he readily understood Katy's misgivings. "Persist would imply his having been often remonstrated with for that breach of etiquette; whereas I doubt much whether the idea that it was not in strict accordance with politeness was ever suggested to him."
"Maybe not," Katy answered. "It was never necessary till now, and I feel so disturbed, for I want Mr. Cameron to like him, and if he does that I am sure he won't."
"Why do you think so?" Morris asked, and Katy replied: "He is so particular, and was so very angry at a little hotel between Lakes George and Champlain, where we took our dinner before going on the boat. There was a man along—a real good-natured man, too, so kind to everybody—and, as the day was warm, he carried his coat on his arm, and sat down to the table that way, right opposite me. Mr. Cameron was so indignant, and said such harsh things, which the man heard, I am sure, for he put on his coat directly; and I saw him afterward on the boat, sweating like rain, and looking sorry as if he had done something wrong. I am sure, though, he had not?"
This last was spoken interrogatively, and Morris replied: "There is nothing wrong or wicked in going without one's coat. Everything depends upon the circumstances under which it is done. For me to appear at table in my shirt sleeves would be very impolite; but for an old man like Uncle Ephraim, who has done it all his life and who never gave it a thought, would, in my estimation, be a very different thing. Still, Mr. Cameron may see from another standpoint. But I would not distress myself. That love is not worth much which would think the less of you for anything _outré_ which Uncle Ephraim may do. If Mr. Cameron cannot stand the test of seeing your relatives as they are, he is not worth the long face you are wearing," and Morris pinched her cheek playfully.
"Yes, I know," Katy replied; "but if you only could manage Uncle Eph I should be so glad."
Morris had little hope of breaking a habit of years, but he promised to try if an opportunity should occur, and as Mrs. Hull, the housekeeper, had by this time gathered up the articles required for the morrow, Morris himself took the basket in his own hands and went back with Katy across the fields, which had never seemed so desolate as to-night, when he felt how vain were all the hopes he had been cherishing.
"God bless you, Katy, and may Mr. Cameron's visit bring you as much happiness as you anticipate," he said as he set her basket upon the doorstep and turned back without entering the house.
Katy noticed the peculiar tone of his voice, and again there swept over her the same thrill she had felt when Morris first said to her, "And did Katy like this Mr. Cameron?" but so far was she from guessing the truth that she only feared she might have displeased him by what she had said of Uncle Ephraim; and as an unkind word breathed against a dear friend, even to a mutual friend, always leaves a scar, so Katy, though saying nothing ill, still felt that in some way she had wronged her uncle; and the good old man, resting from his hard day's toil, in his