Part 24 (1/2)
”I dreaded the effect of a child's high animal spirits and thoughtless bustle upon her mother's health”--the shadow thickening into trouble.
”The next best thing to having her with me is to know that she is kindly and lovingly looked after by my married sister, of whom she is very fond. Florence is merrier, if not always happier, with her young cousins than if she were condemned to the repression and joyless routine of a house where the care of the sick is the most engrossing business to all.”
The more Mrs. Sutton meditated upon this conversation, the more enigmatical it appeared that the mother never spoke of missing her only living child--never pined for the sound of her vivacious talk and the sight of her winning ways. Curiosity--her strong love for all children, and a lively interest in Florence and Florence's father, the two who a.s.suredly did feel the separation--got the ascendency over discretion that night, when Rosa, too nervous to sleep, begged her to talk, ”to scare away the horrors that were sitting, a blue-black brood, upon her pillow.”
”Your little daughter would be an endless source of entertainment to you if she were here,” said downright Aunt Rachel, with no show of circ.u.mlocution. ”I am surprised you do not send for her.”
”Children of that age are a nuisance!” returned Rosa, peevishly. ”And of all tiresome ones that I ever saw, Florence is the most trying. She doesn't talk after I bid her hold her tongue, but her big, solemn eyes see and her ears hear all that pa.s.ses. If there is one thing that pushes me nearer to the verge of distraction than another it is to have my own words quoted to me when I have forgotten that I ever uttered them. And she--literal little bore!--is always pretending to take all that I say in earnest. If I were to tell her to go to Guinea, it is my belief she would put on her bonnet, cloak, and gloves, pocket a biscuit for luncheon and a story-book to read by the way, and set out forthwith, asking the first decent-looking man she met in the street at what wharf she would find a vessel bound for Africa.”
Mrs. Sutton was obliged to laugh.
”She must be a truthful, sincere little thing!”
”Didn't I tell you she is TOO outrageously literal and unimaginative?
Just let me give you an example of how she tires and vexes me. One day, about a fortnight before I left home, she set her heart upon spending the whole of Sat.u.r.day afternoon with me. Her father objected, for he understands, if he does not sympathize with me, what a trial she is to flesh and spirit. But I was moderately comfortable, and my nerves were less unruly than usual, so I said we would try and get on together.
”No sooner had he gone than the catechism commenced:
”'Now, mamma, what can I do to amuse you?'
”She talks like a woman of fifty.
”'What should you propose if I were to leave it to you?' I asked.
”'I suppose,' said my Lady Cutshort, 'that it would excite you too much to talk, so I had better read aloud. What book do you prefer?'
”I named one--a novel I had not finished--and resigned myself to martyrdom. She reads fluently--her father says prettily; but the piping voice rasped my auriculars to the quick, and I soon stopped the exhibition. Then we essayed conversation, but our range of themes was limited, and a dismal silence succeeded to a short dialogue. By and by I told her that I was sleepy, hoping she would take the hint and leave my room.
”'Then, mamma, I will just get my work-basket, and sit here, as still as a mouse, and prevent all disturbance.'
”With that, she gets out her miniature thimble and scissors, and falls to work upon a pair of slippers she was embroidering for her father's birthday present, sitting up, starched and prim as an old maid, her lips pursed, and her forehead gravely consequential. I could not close my eyes without seeing her still, like an undersized nightmare, her hair smooth to the least hair, her dress neat to the smallest fold, st.i.tching, st.i.tching, the affected, conceited marmoset!
”At last I said:
”'Put down your sewing, Florence, and look out of the window at the people going by. You must be very tired.'
”'Not in the least, mamma, dear,' answered Miss Pert. 'I like to work, and there is nothing interesting going on outside.'
”I tossed and sighed, and she was by me in a second.
”'Darling mamma! my poor, sweet little mother!' in her reed-like chirp; 'can I do nothing to make you feel better?' putting her hands upon my head and stroking my face until my flesh crawled.
”'Yes,' said I, out of all patience. 'Take yourself off, and don't let me see you again until to-morrow morning! You kill me with your teasing.'
”And would you believe it? she just put up her sewing in the basket and went directly out, without a tear or a murmur, and when her father came home he could not prevail upon her, by commands or persuasions, to accompany him further than the door of my chamber. So he, who won't admit that she can do anything wrong, instead of whipping her for her obstinacy, as he ought to have done, guessed she 'had some reason' for her disobedience which she did not like to tell, and interrogated poor, persecuted me. When he had heard my version of the manner in which we had spent the afternoon, he only said, 'I should have foreseen this. But the child--she is only a child, Rosa!--did her best!' and he looked so mournful that I, knowing he blamed me for his bantling's freak of temper, told him plainly that he cared a thousand times more for this diminutive bundle of hypocrisy than he ever did for me, and that his absurd favoritism was fast begetting in me a positive dislike for her. I couldn't endure the sight of the sulky little mischief-maker for a week after her complaint of barbarity had brought the look into his face I knew so well.”
”O Rosa, she is your own flesh and blood! and, as her father said, a mere baby yet! You said, too, that she refused to a.s.sign any cause to him for her singular conduct.”
”She might better have made open outcry than have left upon his mind the impression that I had banished her cruelly and unnecessarily. But I despair of giving you an idea of how provoking she can be. She is a Chilton, through and through, in feature, manner, and disposition--one of those 'goody' children, you know! a cla.s.s of animals that are simply intolerable to me. She is too precocious and unbaby-like to be in the least interesting. You should have seen my little Violet to understand what a constant disappointment Florence is. She was myself in miniature, and moreover the most witching, prankish, peppery elf that was ever made. The best trait in Florence's character was her love for her baby-sister. She gave up everything to her while she was alive, and they told me that she would not eat, and scarcely slept, for days after her death. Her father will have it that she is singularly sensitive, and has marvellous depths of feeling; but if this be so, it is queer I never found it out. n.o.body could help adoring Violet--my sweet, lost, beautiful angel!”