Aunt Jane's Nieces
Comedy was her forte, rather than tragedy. If
tragedy entered her life she would probably turn it into ridicule.
Wholly without care, whimsical and generous to a degree, if it suited
her mood, Louise Merrick possessed a nature capable of great things,
either for good or ill.
It was no wonder her unsophisticated country cousin failed to
comprehend her, although Beth's intuition was not greatly at fault.
Six o'clock found Beth wide awake, as usual; so she quietly dressed
and, taking her book under her arm, started to make her way into the
gardens. Despite Louise's cynicism she had no intention of abandoning
her studies. She had decided to fit herself for a teacher before Aunt
Jane's invitation had come to her, and this ambition would render it
necessary for her to study hard during vacations.
If she became an heiress she would not need to teach, but she was not
at all confident of her prospects, and the girl's practical nature
prompted her to carry out her plans until she was sure of the future.
In the hall she met Phibbs, shuffling along as if in pain.
"Good morning, miss," said the old servant.
Beth looked at her thoughtfully. This was Aunt Jane's special and
confidential attendant.
"Do your feet hurt you?" she asked.
"Yes, miss; in the mornin' they's awful bad. It's being on 'em all the
day, 'tendin' to Miss Jane, you know. But after a time I gets more
used to the pain, and don't feel it. The mornin's always the worst."
She was passing on, but Beth stopped her.
"Come into my room," she said, and led the way.
Martha Phibbs followed reluctantly. Miss Jane might already be awake
and demanding her services, and she could not imagine what the young
lady wanted her for.
But she entered the room, and Beth went to a box and brought out a
bottle of lotion.
"Mother has the same trouble that you complain of," she said,
practically, "and here is a remedy that always gives her relief. I
brought it with me in case I should take long tramps, and get sore
feet."
She gently pushed the old woman into a chair, and then, to Phibbs'
utter amazement, knelt down and unfastened her shoes and drew off her
stockings.
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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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