Aunt Jane's Nieces
"Well, what do you think of me?" demanded Aunt Jane, as if embarrassed
at the scrutiny she received.
"Surely, it is too early to ask me that," replied Beth, gently. "I am
going to try to like you, and my first sight of my new aunt leads me
to hope I shall succeed."
"Why shouldn't you like me?" cried the old woman. "Why must you try to
like your mother's sister?"
Beth flushed. She had promised herself not to become angry or
discomposed, whatever her aunt might say or do; but before she could
control herself an indignant expression flashed across her face and
Jane Merrick saw it.
"There are reasons," said Beth, slowly, "why your name is seldom
mentioned in my father's family. Until your letter came I scarcely
knew I possessed an aunt. It was your desire we should become better
acquainted, and I am here for that purpose. I hope we shall become
friends, Aunt Jane, but until then, it is better we should not discuss
the past."
The woman frowned. It was not difficult for her to read the character
of the child before her, and she knew intuitively that Beth was
strongly prejudiced against her, but was honestly trying not to allow
that prejudice to influence her. She decided to postpone further
interrogations until another time.
"Your journey has tired you," she said abruptly. "I'll have Misery
show you to your room."
She touched a bell beside her.
"I'm not tired, but I'll go to my room, if you please," answered Beth,
who realized that she had in some way failed to make as favorable an
impression as she had hoped. "When may I see you again?"
"When I send for you," snapped Aunt Jane, as the housekeeper entered.
"I suppose you know I am a paralytic, and liable to die at any time?"
"I am very sorry," said Beth, hesitatingly. "You do not seem very
ill."
"I'm on my last legs. I may not live an hour. But that's none of your
business, I suppose. By the way, I expect your cousin on the afternoon
train."
Beth gave a start of surprise.
"My cousin?" she asked.
"Yes, Louise Merrick.
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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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