Aunt Jane's Nieces
I'm a hair-dresser, you know--and by the way, Aunt Jane, it
puzzles me to find a certain kink in your hair that I thought I'd
invented myself."
"Louise dressed my hair this way," said Miss Merrick, a bit stiffly.
"Your maid?"
"My niece, Louise Merrick."
Patsy whistled, and then clapped her hand over her mouth and looked
grave.
"Is she here?" she asked, a moment later.
"Yes, and your other cousin, Elizabeth De Graf, is here also."
"That's just the trouble," cried Patsy, energetically. "That's why I
didn't want to come, you know."
"I don't understand you, Patricia."
"Why, it's as plain as the nose on your face, even if I hadn't pumped
Mr. Watson until I got the truth out of him. You want us girls here
just to compare us with each other, and pick out the one you like
best."
"Well?"
"The others you'll throw over, and the favorite will get your money."
"Haven't I a right to do that?" asked the invalid, in an amazed tone.
"Perhaps you have. But we may as well understand each other right
now, Aunt Jane. I won't touch a penny of your money, under any
circumstances."
"I don't think you will, Patricia."
The girl laughed, with a joyous, infectious merriment that was hard to
resist.
"Stick to that, aunt, and there's no reason we shouldn't be friends,"
she said, pleasantly. "I don't mind coming to see you, for it will
give me a bit of a rest and the country is beautiful just now. More
than that, I believe I shall like you. You've had your own way a long
time, and you've grown crochetty and harsh and disagreeable; but there
are good lines around your mouth and eyes, and your nature's liable to
soften and get sunny again. I'm sure I hope so. So, if you'd like me
to stay a few days, I'll take off my things and make myself at home.
But I'm out of the race for your money, and I'll pay my way from now
on just as I have always done."
Silas Watson watched Aunt Jane's face during this speech with an
anxious and half-frightened expression upon his own. No one but
himself had ever dared to talk to Jane Merrick as plainly as this
before, and he wondered how she would accept such frankness from a
young girl.
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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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