Aunt Jane's Nieces
There was nothing more to
say, and as Uncle John showed no intention of abandoning the arbored
seat, it was evident they must go themselves. Louise was about to rise
when the man remarked:
"Jane won't last long".
"You think not?" she asked.
"She says she's half dead a'ready, and I believe it. It's about time,
you know. She's let her temper and restless disposition wear her out.
Pretty soon she'll blow out, like a candle. All that worries her is to
keep alive until she can decide who to leave her money to. That's why
you're here, I s'pose, my dears. How do you like being on exhibition,
an' goin' through your paces, like a bunch o' trotting hosses, to see
which is worth the most?"
"Uncle John," said Beth, "I had hoped I would like you. But if you are
going to be so very disagreeable, I'll have nothing more to do with
you!"
With this she arose and marched up the path, vastly indignant, and
Louise marched beside her. At the bend in the walk they glanced back,
and saw Uncle John sitting upon the bench all doubled up and shaking
with silent laughter.
"He's a queer old man," said Beth, flushing; "but he's impudent and
half a fool."
"Don't judge hastily, Beth," replied Louise, reflectively. "I can't
make up my mind, just yet, whether Uncle John is a fool or not."
"Anyhow," snapped Beth, "he's laughing at us."
"And that," said her cousin, softly, "is the strongest evidence of his
sanity. Beth, my love, Aunt Jane has placed us in a most ridiculous
position."
That evening at dinner they met Uncle John again, seated opposite Aunt
Jane in the great dining hall. The mistress of Elmhurst always dressed
for this meal and tonight she wore a rich black silk and had her
invalid chair wheeled to her place at the head of the table. Uncle
John had simply changed his old black necktie for a soiled white one.
Otherwise his apparel was the same as before, and his stubby gray hair
was in a sad state of disarray. But his round face wore a cheerful
smile, nevertheless, and Aunt Jane seemed not to observe anything
_outre_ in her brother's appearance.
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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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