Part 17 (1/2)

”Oh, that is a very sweet, pretty name.”

”Yes, sir, so much so that I think I shall always keep it.”

”So all the young ladies say. But it hardly ever proves true with one who owns so pretty a name, and a face prettier still.”

More flattery. She did not hear it. No. She felt it though.

”Well, I am very sure I never shall change my first name. I never shall be called by any other than Athalia.”

She thought so then; I wonder if she ever thought of it in after years?

”But you have not told me what is in that pantry.”

”Oh, no matter; that is where we keep all our dishes and cooking utensils. We have a stove in winter; in summer, a little charcoal furnace behind the fire-board.”

”And is your room warm in winter?”

”Why yes, sir, if we have plenty of work.”

”Does work keep you warm?”

”Oh, no; but work gives us money to buy coal. There was a time last winter, when we were out of work, that----”

”You had no fire?”

”Yes, sir, but only a few days, we had to make up the month's rent, eight dollars for the room, and five for the furniture.”

Walter put his hand in his pocket. What for? He felt how easy it would be to take out a hundred dollars, and tell her, to go and pay for that furniture, and not pay rent for it any longer. Then he thought how ridiculous, to be so affected by the woes and wants of a sewing girl.

How his proud sisters would laugh at him. Pride conquered a heart p.r.o.ne to a good action.

”And so you went without fire, to pay that usurious old miser who owns this furniture, sixty per cent per annum, for the use of it. Sixty, yes, more than a hundred upon what it would sell for at auction. And what did you do for food in the meantime?”

”Well, we did not need much, and should not have suffered any, if Mrs.

Jenkins had paid me for my work. Oh, if she only knew how much we did need it. Jeannette was sick, and what little money I had, I spent for her; I had almost ten dollars due me for work, and could not get one. It is wicked to keep poor girls out of their money; indeed it is, when they are sick and suffering for it.”

”And you suffered, while Mrs. Jenkins, with her thirteen servants, and coach and horses owed you for work?”

”Well, we did not suffer much, except I had to p.a.w.n my black silk dress, the very one too that I needed most when it was cold, and had to do without fire when Jeannette was sick, and should, by all means, have had one. She is a sweet, good girl; I wish she was at home.”

”Wish again, and you will see her.”

Both started as though caught in something they were ashamed of. Why should they be? True he had approached very close to Athalia, as she stood watering her flowers and feeding her bird--both windows were full of flowers, and over each a canary bird; and he was watching all her operations with as much interest as though they were all his own.

”Poor things,” she said, ”they look neglected.”

She loved flowers. So did he. He loved their owner, but he had not said so yet. He hardly knew it; he would not let any one know it; hence he started when Jeannette spoke, for he thought she must have seen it. He blushed and turned round, and then she blushed; there was a trio of blushes. What for? Jeannette did not think it was a stranger. She thought it was Charley Vail. Charley was a sort of beau, yet not a beau.

He was Jeannette's cousin; and though he did not love her exactly, he liked her, and I guess that she liked him; Athalia thought more than liked him. Charley would have loved Athalia if she had given him the least encouragement, but she would not, for she hoped he would love his cousin and marry her. He was a good fellow, always ready to do anything on earth for ”the girls”--in short he was Charley.

Jeannette blushed. She had reason to, for, thinking it was cousin Charley--who else could it be, there in their room alone with Athalia, in the evening--she tripped up behind him and gave him a good hearty slap on the back. He turned around, she almost felt him hugging and kissing her, but he did not. She looked again, the light now shone in his face, and there she stood before a stranger. Is it any wonder she blushed? is it any wonder he blushed? is it any wonder they all blushed?

She played with her bonnet strings; he twirled his hat; Athalia could not play with any thing. She had the lamp in one hand, and the bird cage in the other. But she could laugh, and she burst out in such clear, musical tones, as she said, ”Why, Jeannette, did you think it was Charley?”

That explained the whole. He understood the blow now. Did he also understand what Charley would have done, if it had been him that got the blow. Perhaps he thought, for he said, ”You have struck me, miss. I never take a blow without giving one back. There.”