Aunt Jane's Nieces at Work
When she rapped upon the
door, a sweet, quiet voice said:
"Come in."
The girl entered, and gave an involuntary cry of surprise. Standing
before her was the young girl she had seen riding with Mr. Hopkins--the
girl she had declared to be the missing daughter of Mrs. Rogers.
For a moment Beth stood staring, while the new maid regarded her with
composure and a slight smile upon her beautiful face. She was dressed in
the regulation costume of the maids at Elmhurst, a plain black gown with
white apron and cap.
"I--I beg your pardon," said Beth, with a slight gasp; for the likeness
to Mrs. Rogers was something amazing. "Aren't you Lucy Rogers?"
The maid raised her eyebrows with a gesture of genuine surprise. Then
she gave a little laugh, and replied:
"No, Miss Beth. I'm Elizabeth Parsons."
"But it can't be," protested the girl. "How do you know my name, and why
haven't I seen you here before?"
"I'm not a very important person at Elmhurst," replied Eliza, in a
pleasant, even tone. "I obtained the situation only a few days ago. I
attend to the household mending, you know, and care for the linen. But
one can't be here without knowing the names of the young ladies, so I
recognize you as Miss Beth, one of Mr. Forbes's cousins."
"You speak like an educated person," said Beth, wonderingly. "Where is
your home?"
For the first time the maid seemed a little confused, and her gaze
wandered from the face of her visitor.
"Will you excuse my answering that question?" she asked.
"It is very simple and natural," persisted Beth. "Why cannot you answer
it?"
"Excuse me, please. I--I am not well today. I have a headache."
She sat down in a rocking chair, and clasping her hands in her lap,
rocked slowly back and forth.
"I'm sorry," said Beth. "I hoped you would be able to assist me on the
lawn. There are so many people that we can't give them proper
attention."
Eliza Parsons shook her head.
"I am not able," she declared. "I abhor crowds. They--they excite me, in
some way, and I--I can't bear them.
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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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