Domestic fiction; Families -- Juvenile fiction; Historical fiction; New York (N.Y.) -- Juvenile fiction; Sisters -- Juvenile fiction
“There, there, Miss Dulcie, don’t take on so,” soothed Bridget.
“Nothing so very bad has happened. Lizzie always makes a fuss over
things. She don’t know what she’s saying.”
“I don’t, don’t I?” retorted the indignant Lizzie, “and who should
know better, I’d like to ask? Didn’t I have one myself, and isn’t that
the reason I ran away from home at sixteen, and have been working for
my living ever since? I guess if anybody in this world knows about
stepmothers I do.”
“Stepmothers!” repeated Dulcie, lifting her face, from which the color
had suddenly faded. “Lizzie, is somebody going to have a stepmother?”
“You are, my lamb,” sobbed Lizzie, and the words were accompanied by a
convulsive hug. “Your papa is bringing her home to you. He was married
in California last week. Your grandma’s known it was going to happen
ever since last winter, but it was your papa’s wish you shouldn’t be
told till he came home and told you himself. Oh, my poor baby, don’t
cry so, don’t now. It’s an awful thing, I know, and my heart’s just
breaking for you all, but it can’t be helped, and you’ve got to make
the best of it.”
CHAPTER XV
DULCIE TAKES THE HELM
“Daisy, are you asleep?”
“No,” said Daisy, in a smothered voice, lifting a flushed, tear-wet
face from the pillow. “I’ve tried and tried, but my eyes won’t stay
shut. I thought you might be asleep, though, so I kept as quiet as I
could.”
Dulcie sighed, and slipped an arm round her sister.
“I can’t go to sleep either,” she whispered; “I don’t believe I’ve been
asleep at all. I’ve been thinking and thinking, till it seemed as if
my head would just burst. I’m so glad you’re awake, for I must talk to
somebody. We must whisper, though, so as not to wake Molly and Maud.”
“I think it must be the middle of the night,” whispered Daisy. “It
seems ages since I heard Grandma lock her door. Oh, Dulcie, hasn’t it
been a dreadful day? I’ve been thinking about stepmothers ever since I
went to bed. Do you suppose real ones are all as dreadful as the ones
in books?”
“I’m afraid they are,” sighed Dulcie. “They may not all be wicked.
Grandma isn’t wicked, but I don’t believe she ever made Papa very
happy when he was a little boy. I don’t believe Papa would marry a
lady who was really cruel, but even if she isn’t, she won’t want us.
We shall be the same bother to her we’ve been to Grandma. That’s the
dreadful part of it. Oh, how could Papa have done it? He knew we would
always stay with him, and take care of him.” Dulcie’s voice broke in a
sudden sob.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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