Part 10 (1/2)
”You will be the best judge of what it is best to do about telling Mrs. Dobbs what I have written to you; perhaps it will be better to wait until you hear something more conclusive; but the suspense must be terrible for her to bear, and it may be some consolation for her to know there is some one interesting herself for her here.
”I will write just as soon as I hear from Mrs. Benson; and now, my darling, I really have not another moment to spare you.
”Your father sends his usual stock of love, and ever so many messages, which I could not remember if I tried; but they were all very affectionate and so complimentary, that perhaps it is just as well you should not hear them.
”Charlie is asleep, and Fred has not yet come in from baseball; so you must content yourself with a whole heart-full of love from your fond
”MAMMA.”
”Now, Flo, was there ever such a darling mamma as mine? I do think she is just perfection,--going all over Boston, and East Boston too, and never saying she was tired, or anything of the sort. I don't think there are many women that would do that; do you, Flo?”
”No, I don't believe there are many like her; I think she is the loveliest woman I ever knew. But, Marion, I don't see as you have found out much about poor Jemima after all.”
”No, there is not much real, satisfactory information, that's a fact; but I _feel_ just as if that girl was the right one, and I know mamma must feel pretty sure of it too, or she would have waited for the answer to that letter before she wrote me. I shall go up to auntie's as soon as I can; but I'm afraid it won't be before Sat.u.r.day, for you know to-morrow is English composition day, and next day French abstract, and I was so careless about mine last time that I really think I ought to lay myself out this week.”
”Indeed you ought, Marion,” exclaimed Florence; ”it's a shame that a girl who can write such compositions as you can, when you have a mind to, should hand in such a flat, silly thing as your last one was. I'm not complimentary, I know, but it's the truth; you know yourself it was horrible.”
”Yes, I know it was; and that is why I'm particularly anxious to have a good one this time; don't you see?”
”But don't you think you will be able to get up to Aunt Bettie's before Sat.u.r.day?” asked Florence; ”it seems hard to keep her in suspense.”
”I really don't see how I can find time, and then I'm in hopes that if I wait, by that time the answer to that woman's letter will have come, and I shall hear something decisive from mamma.”
”Well, I think after all perhaps it will be better for you to wait until then. But do you know it is after four o'clock, and the girls have all got through practising? We ought to go down and try our duet.”
”Sure enough!” exclaimed Marion, springing up. ”I don't know my part at all; haven't looked at the last two pages, and Mr. Stein comes to-morrow.”
”Oh, you read music so quickly, that you'll play your part better at sight than I shall after I've practised it a week. I wish I could read faster.”
”Don't wish it, Flo; it is very nice sometimes, but I don't think people who read easily ever play readily without their notes. Now for you to know a piece once is to know it always, with or without your notes, while I have to fairly pound it into my head.”
”There is more truth than poetry in that, I know,” replied Florence, as the two went downstairs together, ”for I have heard Aunt Sue complain of the same thing; nevertheless I wish I wasn't so awfully slow.”
But we will leave them to their music, and musical discussions, and hurry on with our story.
CHAPTER X.
MARION'S RIDE.
Marion had no other letter from her mother during the week, and she was so busy the whole time with her studies, music, etc., that it was not until Sat.u.r.day afternoon that she started on her errand.
The weather had been unusually cold, and the previous night there had been quite a heavy fall of snow, which, notwithstanding it was now only the middle of November, still remained on the ground, and the thick, gray sky gave promise that there was yet more to come; indeed before Marion was fairly ready the flakes began to make their appearance, and came lazily down, as if they did not all relish being called out so early.
But Marion did not mind wind or weather, and with her water-proof over her thick sack, the hood drawn up over her head, and her feet encased in rubbers, she set out for her long walk in the most excellent spirits.
Florence went to the door with her and urged her to take an umbrella, but Marion laughed at the idea, saying, ”It was only a little flurry and would be over in a minute;” but before she had reached Aunt Bettie's she wished she had taken Florence's advice, for the snow came down thicker and faster, beating against her face, and almost blinding her, so that it was with great difficulty that she could see her way, and it was at least an hour before she arrived at the farm-house.
She went round to the back of the house, and without knocking lifted the latch of the door, and entered a sort of shed or unplastered room, which in summer was used as a kitchen, but which now served as a wood-shed.
”Aunt Bettie,” cried Marion, ”are you there?” and she stamped her feet, and shook her clothes to get rid of the snow which covered her from head to foot.