A Modern Cinderella; Or, The Little Old Shoe, and Other StoriesAlcott, Louisa May
General
A Modern Cinderella; Or, The Little Old Shoe, and Other Stories
Alcott, Louisa May
Fiction; Short stories
Mrs. Carroll had retired to her bed with a nervous headache, leaving
Debby to the watch and ward of friendly Mrs. Earle, who performed her
office finely by letting her charge entirely alone. In her dreams Aunt
Pen was just imbibing a copious draught of champagne at the
wedding-breakfast of her niece, "Mrs. Joseph Leavenworth," when she was
roused by the bride elect, who passed through the room with a lamp and
a shawl in her hand.
"What time is it, and where are you going, dear?" she asked, dozily
wondering if the carriage for the wedding-tour was at the door so soon.
"It's only nine, and I am going for a sail, Aunt Pen."
As Debby spoke, the light flashed full into her face, and a sudden
thought into Mrs. Carroll's mind. She rose up from her pillow, looking
as stately in her night-cap as Maria Theresa is said to have done in
like unassuming head-gear.
"Something has happened, Dora! What have you done? What have you
said? I insist upon knowing immediately," she demanded, with somewhat
startling brevity.
"I have said 'No' to Mr. Leavenworth and 'Yes' to Mr. Evan; and I
should like to go home to-morrow, if you please," was the equally
concise reply.
Mrs. Carroll fell flat in her bed, and lay there stiff and rigid as
Morlena Kenwigs. Debby gently drew the curtains, and stole away
leaving Aunt Pen's wrath to effervesce before morning.
The moon was hanging luminous and large on the horizon's edge, sending
shafts of light before her till the melancholy ocean seemed to smile,
and along that shining pathway happy Debby and her lover floated into
that new world where all things seem divine.
THE BROTHERS.
Doctor Franck came in as I sat sewing up the rents in an old shirt,
that Tom might go tidily to his grave. New shirts were needed for the
living, and there was no wife or mother to "dress him handsome when he
went to meet the Lord," as one woman said, describing the fine funeral
she had pinched herself to give her son.
"Miss Dane, I'm in a quandary," began the Doctor, with that expression
of countenance which says as plainly as words, "I want to ask a favor,
but I wish you'd save me the trouble."
"Can I help you out of it?
"Faith! I don't like to propose it, but you certainly can, if you
please."
"Then give it a name, I beg."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account