Aunt Jane's Nieces
Then
an old man came slowly around the corner of the house. His bare
head was quite bald. He wore a short canvas apron and carried
pruning-shears in one hand. Without a word of greeting to his mistress
or scarce a glance at her half recumbent form, he mounted the steps of
the piazza and assisted Phibbs to lift the chair to the ground.
"How are the roses coming on, James?"
"Poorly, Miss," he answered, and turning his back returned to his work
around the corner. If he was surly, Miss Jane seemed not to mind it.
Her glance even softened a moment as she followed his retreating form.
But now she was revelling amongst the flowers, which she seemed to
love passionately. Phibbs wheeled her slowly along the narrow paths
between the beds, and she stopped frequently to fondle a blossom or
pull away a dead leaf or twig from a bush. The roses were magnificent,
in spite of the old gardener's croaking, and the sun was warm and
grateful and the hum of the bees musical and sweet.
"It's hard to die and leave all this, Phibbs," said the old woman, a
catch in her voice. "But it's got to be done."
"Not for a while yet, I hope, Miss Jane."
"It won't be long, Phibbs. But I must try to live until my nieces
come, and I can decide which of them is most worthy to care for the
old place when I am gone."
"Yes, Miss."
"I've heard from two of them, already. They jumped at the bait I held
out quickly enough; but that's only natural. And the letters are very
sensible ones, too. Elizabeth DeGraf says she will be glad to come,
and thanks me for inviting her. Louise Merrick is glad to come, also,
but hopes I am deceived about my health and that she will make me more
than one visit after we become friends. A very proper feeling; but I'm
not deceived, Phibbs. My end's in plain sight."
"Yes, Miss Jane."
"And somebody's got to have my money and dear Elmhurst when I'm
through with them. Who will it be, Phibbs?"
"I'm sure I don't know, Miss."
"Nor do I. The money's mine, and I can do what I please with it; and
I'm under no obligation to anyone.
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There was once an honest journeyman tailor, by name Labakan, who learned his trade with an excellent master in Alexandria. It could not be said that Labakan was unhandy with the needle; on the contrary, he could make excellent work: moreover, one would have done him injustice to have called him lazy. Nevertheless, his companions knew not what to make of him, for he would often sew for hours together so rapidly that the needle would glow in his hand, and the thread smoke, and that none could equal him.
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