Aunt Jane's Nieces
It must be done,
in one way or another; but how? How could she out-wit this unknown
cousin, and inspire the love of Aunt Jane?
"If there's any stuff of the right sort in my nature," decided the
girl, as she entered her pretty bedchamber and threw herself into a
chair, "I'll find a way to win out. One thing is certain--I'll never
again have another chance at so fine a fortune, and if I fail to get
it I shall deserve to live in poverty forever afterward."
Suddenly she noticed the old housekeeper standing before her and
regarding her with a kindly interest. In an instant she sprang up,
threw her arms around Misery and kissed her furrowed cheek.
"Thank you for being so kind," said she. "I've never been away from
home before and you must be a mother to me while I'm at Elmhurst."
Old Misery smiled and stroked the girl's glossy head.
"Bless the child!" she said, delightedly; "of course I'll be a mother
to you. You'll need a bit of comforting now and then, my dear, if
you're going to live with Jane Merrick."
"Is she cross?" asked Beth, softly.
"At times she's a fiend," confided the old housekeeper, in almost a
whisper. "But don't you mind her tantrums, or lay 'em to heart, and
you'll get along with her all right."
"Thank you," said the girl. "I'll try not to mind."
"Do you need anything else, deary?" asked Misery, with a glance around
the room.
"Nothing at all, thank you."
The housekeeper nodded and softly withdrew.
"That was one brilliant move, at any rate," said Beth to herself, as
she laid aside her hat and prepared to unstrap her small trunk. "I've
made a friend at Elmhurst who will be of use to me; and I shall make
more before long. Come as soon as you like, Cousin Louise! You'll have
to be more clever than I am, if you hope to win Elmhurst."
CHAPTER VIII.
THE DIPLOMAT.
Aunt Jane was in her garden, enjoying the flowers. This was her
especial garden, surrounded by a high-box hedge, and quite distinct
from the vast expanse of shrubbery and flower-beds which lent so much
to the beauty of the grounds at Elmhurst.
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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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