Part 21 (2/2)
[Sidenote: A Play-Actin' Person]
”As I was sayin',” Matilda went on, after an aggravating silence, ”there's company up to Marshs'.”
”Seems to me,” Grandmother grunted, ”that she'd better be payin' up the calls she owes in the neighbourhood than entertainin' strangers.” This shaft pierced a vulnerable spot in Matilda's armour of self-esteem, for she still smarted under Madame Marsh's neglect.
”The milkman says it's a woman. Her name's Mis' Lee. She come a week ago and last Sat.u.r.day she was to the post-office, and up the river-road all the afternoon in that old phaeton with young Marsh.”
Rosemary's heart paused for a moment, then resumed its beat.
”She's a play-actin' person, he says, or at any rate she looks like one, which amounts to the same thing. She's brought four trunks with her--one respectable trunk, same as anybody might have, one big square trunk that looks like a dog-house, and another big trunk that a person could move into if there wasn't no other house handy, and another trunk that was packed so full that it had bulged out on all sides but one, and when Jim and d.i.c.k took it up into the attic there wasn't but one side they could set it on. And whiles they was findin' a place to set it, she and young Marsh was laughin' down in the hall.”
[Sidenote: Servant's Gossip]
”Who is she?” demanded Grandmother. ”Where did she come from? How long is she goin' to stay? Where'd Mis' Marsh get to know her?”
”The milkman's wife was over last Monday,” Matilda continued, ”to help with the was.h.i.+n', and she says she never see such clothes in all her born days nor so many of 'em. They was mostly lace, and she had two white petticoats in the wash. The stocking was all silk, and she said she never see such nightgowns. They was fine enough for best summer dresses, and all lace, and one of 'em had a blue satin bow on it, and what was strangest of all was that there wa'n't no place to get into 'em. They was made just like stockin's with no feet to 'em, and if she wore 'em, she'd have to crawl in, either at the bottom or the top. She said she never see the beat of those nightgowns.”
”Do tell!” e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed Grandmother.
”And her hair looks as if she ain't never combed it since the day she was born. The milkman says it looks about like a hen's nest and is pretty much the same colour. He see her on the porch for a minute, and all he could look at was that hair. And when he pa.s.sed 'em on the river-road after they come from the post-office, he couldn't see her hair at all, cause she had on a big hat tied on with some thin light blue stuff. He reckoned maybe her hair was a wig.”
[Sidenote: Discussing the Stranger]
”I'd know whether 'twas a wig or not, if I saw it once,” Grandmother muttered. ”There ain't n.o.body that can fool me about false hair.”
”I guess you ain't likely to see it,” retorted Matilda, viciously. ”All we'll ever hear about her'll be from the milk folks.”
”Maybe I could see her,” ventured Rosemary, cautiously. ”I could put on my best white dress and go to see Mrs. Marsh, to-morrow or next day, after I get the work done up. I could find out who she was and all about her, and come back and tell you.”
For an instant the stillness was intense, then both women turned to her.
”You!” they said, scornfully, in the same breath.
”Yes,” said Grandmother, after an impressive pause, ”I reckon you'll be puttin' on your best dress and goin' up to Marshs' to see a play-actin'
woman.”
”You'd have lots to do,” continued Aunt Matilda, ”goin' to see a woman what ain't seen fit to return a call your Aunt made on her more'n five years ago.”
”Humph!” Grandmother snorted.
”The very idea,” exclaimed Aunt Matilda.
What had seemed to Rosemary like an open path had merely led to an insurmountable stone wall. She shrugged her shoulders good-humouredly.
”Very well,” she said, ”I'm sure I don't care. Suit yourselves.”
[Sidenote: One Step Forward]
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