Aunt Jane's Nieces
"
"Perhaps two," returned Mrs. Merrick; "for her youngest sister, who
was named Violet, married a vagabond Irishman and had a daughter
about a year younger than you. The mother died, but whether the child
survived her or not I have never learned."
"What was her name?" asked Louise.
"I cannot remember. But it is unimportant. You are the only Merrick of
them all, and that is doubtless the reason Jane has sent for you."
The girl shook her blonde head.
"I don't like it," she observed.
"Don't like what?"
"All this string of relations. It complicates matters."
Mrs. Merrick seemed annoyed.
"If you fear your own persuasive powers," she said, with almost a
sneer in her tones, "you'd better not go to Elmhurst. One or the
other of your country cousins might supplant you in your dear aunt's
affections."
The girl yawned and took up her neglected novel.
"Nevertheless, mater dear," she said briefly, "I shall go."
CHAPTER III.
PATSY.
"Now, Major, stand up straight and behave yourself! How do you expect
me to sponge your vest when you're wriggling around in that way?"
"Patsy, dear, you're so sweet this evening, I just had to kiss your
lips."
"Don't do it again, sir," replied Patricia, severely, as she scrubbed
the big man's waistcoat with a damp cloth. "And tell me, Major, how
you ever happened to get into such a disgraceful condition."
"The soup just shpilled," said the Major, meekly.
Patricia laughed merrily. She was a tiny thing, appearing to be no
more than twelve years old, although in reality she was sixteen. Her
hair was a decided red--not a beautiful "auburn," but really red--and
her round face was badly freckled. Her nose was too small and her
mouth too wide to be beautiful, but the girl's wonderful blue eyes
fully redeemed these faults and led the observer to forget all else
but their fascinations. They could really dance, these eyes, and send
out magnetic, scintillating sparks of joy and laughter that were
potent to draw a smile from the sourest visage they smiled upon.
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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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