Aunt Jane's Nieces
However, the gray-whiskered Scotsman was not to be taken by storm,
even by a pretty face. His loyalty to "the boy" induced him to be wary
in associating with these strange "young females" and although he
welcomed them to the stable with glum civility he withheld his opinion
of them until he should know them better.
In their rambles the girls found Kenneth's own stair, and were sitting
upon it when Phibbs came to summon Louise to attend upon Aunt Jane.
She obeyed with alacrity, for she wished to know more of the queer
relative whose guest she had become.
"Sit down," said Aunt Jane, very graciously, as the girl entered.
Louise leaned over the chair, kissed her and patted her cheek
affectionately, and then shook up the pillows to make them more
comfortable.
"I want you to talk to me," announced Aunt Jane, "and to tell me
something of the city and the society in which you live. I've been so
long dead to the world that I've lost track of people and things."
"Let me dress your hair at the same time," said Louise, pleadingly.
"It looks really frowsy, and I can talk while I work."
"I can't lift my left hand," said the invalid, flushing, "and Phibbs
is a stupid ass."
"Never mind, I can make it look beautiful in half a jiffy," said the
girl, standing behind the chair and drawing deftly the hairpins from
Aunt Jane's scanty grey locks, "and you can't imagine how it pleases
me to fuss over anyone."
It was surprising how meekly Aunt Jane submitted to this ordeal, but
she plied the girl with many shrewd questions and Louise, busily
working in a position where the old woman could not see her face,
never hesitated for an answer. She knew all the recent gossip of
fashionable society, and retailed it glibly. She had met this
celebrity at a ball and that one at a reception, and she described
them minutely, realizing that Aunt Jane would never be in a position
to contradict any assertion she might choose to make.
Indeed, Aunt Jane was really startled.
"However did your mother manage to gain an entree into society?
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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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