Aunt Jane's Nieces
"Why have I never heard of her before?" enquired the girl, with a
slight accession of interest in her tones.
"That I cannot well explain. I had supposed you knew of your poor
father's sister Jane, although you were so young when he died that it
is possible he never mentioned her name in your presence."
"They were not on friendly terms, you know. Jane was rich, having
inherited a fortune and a handsome country place from a young man whom
she was engaged to marry, but who died on the eve of his wedding day."
"How romantic!" exclaimed Louise.
"It does seem romantic, related in this way," replied her mother. "But
with the inheritance all romance disappeared from your aunt's life.
She became a crabbed, disagreeable woman, old before her time and
friendless because she suspected everyone of trying to rob her of her
money. Your poor father applied to her in vain for assistance, and I
believe her refusal positively shortened his life. When he died, after
struggling bravely to succeed in his business, he left nothing but his
life-insurance."
"Thank heaven he left that!" sighed Louise.
"Yes; we would have been beggared, indeed, without it," agreed Mrs.
Merrick. "Yet I often wonder, Louise, how we managed to live upon the
interest of that money for so many years."
"We didn't live--we existed," corrected the girl, yawning. "We
scrimped and pinched, and denied ourselves everything but bare
necessities. And had it not been for your brilliant idea, mater dear,
we would still be struggling in the depths of poverty."
Mrs. Merrick frowned, and leaned back in her chair.
"I sometimes doubt if the idea was so brilliant, after all," she
returned, with a certain grimness of expression. "We're plunging,
Louise; and it may be into a bottomless pit."
"Don't worry, dear," said the girl, biting into a bonbon. "We are
only on the verge of our great adventure, and there's no reason to
be discouraged yet, I assure you. Brilliant! Of course the idea
was brilliant, mamma. The income of that insurance money was
insignificant, but the capital is a very respectable sum.
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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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