Narcissa, or the Road to Rome; In VeronaRichards, Laura Elizabeth Howe
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Narcissa, or the Road to Rome; In Verona
Richards, Laura Elizabeth Howe
Country life -- Fiction; Love stories; Maine -- Social life and customs -- Fiction
A baby! When had the Bute ladies seen a baby as near as this? Miss
Resigned Elizabeth felt a tugging at her heart-strings; she had always
been fond of children. Miss Duty felt--she hardly knew what; but she
saw the tears on her sister's cheek; saw, too, how old and feeble she
had grown, and what a pitiful look there was in her pale blue eyes.
And yet she had a look of Mother, too!
At this moment the baby gave a crow and a kick, and made a grab at
Miss Duty's dress. In the effort, he nearly rolled off his mother's
lap. Instinctively the two sisters bent down to catch him, and as they
did so their heads came together with a smart crack. Miss Resigned
Elizabeth began to cry, she could not tell why, and Miss Duty laughed.
"You ain't fit to live alone, Resigned Eliz!" she said, and she hardly
recognized her own voice.
"Well, I ain't, sister; that's a fact!" responded Miss Resigned
Elizabeth, meekly. "My eyesight ain't what it was. But he _is_ a
lovely child, Betsy; and--and I'm right glad to see you, Betsy, if you
_didn't_ act quite as you should."
"Why, you're as blind as a mole!" cried the elder sister, in high good
humor. "And you ain't had the sense to get glasses fitted." (Miss Duty
could read the very smallest print, as well as she could twenty years
ago) "The idea! And that thin dress ain't fit for you to wear this
cold day." Miss Duty seemed to meditate. "Bije Green!" she said
sharply, turning for the first time to her quondam "help."
"Yes, ma'am!" said Bije, meekly. He had kept silence till now, having
absolute confidence in Betsy's diplomatic powers; but now he stepped
boldly forward, and met Miss Duty's gaze without flinching.
"You behaved scandalous, Bije Green, when you was here before, as well
you know. But I'm willin' to let bygones be bygones, seein' things is
how they is. You go get the wheelbarrow, and bring it here. Resigned
'Liz," she added, turning to her sister, "go on in, and pack up your
things. I s'pose it's fitting I should see to you, from now on. You
come home, and we'll see. Mebbe I used to be a little cuterin',
sometimes--though you did try me."
"I know I did, sister!" Miss Resigned Elizabeth cried. "Most prob'ly
the fault was mine, though I did feel your cuttin' up the hair
bracelet. But there! I've been dretful lonesome sence Betsy went.
I--I'd be real glad to come home, sister!"
"So that's all there is to it," said Miss Duty, in a final manner. "As
for the other house--"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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