Christian life -- Fiction; Conduct of life -- Fiction; Young women -- Fiction
At last the supper was all set out in the hall so that it could very
easily be brought into the parlour when the time came; the waiter with
the best cups and saucers, which always stood covered with a napkin on
the table in the front room, was carried away; the great pile of wood in
the parlour fireplace, built ever since morning, was kindled; all was in
apple-pie order, and nothing was left but to sweep up the shavings that
Mr. Van Brunt had made. This was done; and then Nancy seized hold of
Ellen.
"Come along," said she, pulling her to the window--"come along, and let
us watch the folks come in."
"But it isn't time for them to be here yet," said Ellen; "the fire is
only just burning."
"Fiddle-de-dee! they won't wait for the fire to burn, I can tell you.
They'll be along directly, some of them. I wonder what Miss Fortune is
thinking of--that fire had ought to have been burning this long time
ago, but they won't set to work till they all get here, that's one
thing. Do you know what's going to be for supper?"
"No."
"Not a bit?"
"No."
"Ain't that funny! Then I'm better off than you. I say, Ellen, any one
would think _I_ was Miss Fortune's niece and you was somebody else,
wouldn't they? Goodness! I'm glad I ain't. I am going to make part of
the supper myself--what do you think of that? Miss Fortune always has
grand suppers--when she has 'em at all; 'tain't very often, that's one
thing. I wish she'd have a bee every week, I know, and let me come and
help. Hark!--didn't I tell you? there's somebody coming this minute;
don't you hear the sleigh-bells? I'll tell you who it is now; it's the
Lawsons; you see if it ain't. It's good it's such a bright night--we can
see 'em first-rate. There--here they come--just as I told you--here's
Mimy Lawson, the first one--if there's anybody I do despise it's Mimy
Lawson."
"Hush!" said Ellen. The door opened and the lady herself walked in,
followed by three others--large, tall women, muffled from head to foot
against the cold. The quiet kitchen was speedily changed into a scene of
bustle. Loud talking and laughing--a vast deal of unrobing--pushing back
and pulling up chairs on the hearth--and Nancy and Ellen running in and
out of the room with countless wrappers, cloaks, shawls, comforters,
hoods, mittens, and moccasins.
"What a precious muss it will be to get 'em all their own things when
they come to go away again," said Nancy. "Throw 'em all down there,
Ellen, in that heap. Now, come quick--somebody else'll be here
directly."
"Which is Miss Mimy?" said Ellen.
"That big ugly woman in a purple frock. The one next her is Kitty--the
black-haired one is Mary, and t'other is Fanny. Ugh! don't look at 'em;
I can't bear 'em."
"Why?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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