Aunt Jane's Nieces
"There was a time, years ago," she began in a low voice, "when you
were very rich and your sister Violet, my mother, was very poor. Her
health was bad, and she had me to care for, while my father was very
ill with a fever. She was proud, too, and for herself she would never
have begged a penny of anyone; but for my sake she asked her rich
sister to loan her a little money to tide her over her period of want.
What did you do, Jane Merrick, you who lived in a beautiful mansion,
and had more money than you could use? You insulted her, telling her
she belonged to a family of beggars, and that none of them could
wheedle your money away from you!"
"It was true," retorted the elder woman, stubbornly. "They were after
me like a drove of wolves--every Merrick of them all--and they would
have ruined me if I had let them bleed me as they wished."
"So far as my mother is concerned, that's a lie," said Patsy, quietly.
"She never appealed to you but that once, but worked as bravely as she
could to earn money in her own poor way. The result was that she died,
and I was left to the care of strangers until my father was well
enough to support me."
She paused, and again the room seemed unnaturally still.
"I'm sorry, girl," said Aunt Jane, at last, in trembling tones. "I was
wrong. I see it now, and I am sorry I refused Violet."
"Then I forgive you!" said Patsy, impulsively. "I forgive you all,
Aunt Jane; for through your own selfishness you cut yourself off from
all your family--from all who might have loved you--and you have lived
all these years a solitary and loveless life. There'll be no grudge
of mine to follow you to the grave, Aunt Jane. But," her voice
hardening, "I'll never touch a penny of the money that was denied my
poor dead mother. Thank God the old Dad and I are independent, and can
earn our own living."
Uncle John came to where Patsy stood and put both arms around her,
pressing her--crutches and all--close to his breast. Then he released
her, and without a word stalked from the room.
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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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