WELL! Things have come to a pretty pass! Here I've been running up and down, here and there and everywhere, like a chicken with its head cut off, trying to please Aunt Emmeline, and I'm just about as near doing it now as I was when I commenced. It's grumble, grumble, grumble, every minute in the day; and I will not stand it—not a day longer, now!" and Lottie gave the fire a vigorous shake that sent the sparks darting hither and thither, in every direction.
It was hard for her. Lottie conscientiously did all she could for the fretful invalid upstairs. But her efforts were not appreciated. Instead, Mrs. Durand seemed to grow more irritable daily. Nothing Lottie did pleased her; the tea was either too weak or too strong; the toast either too hot or too cold; the beef-tea was too highly seasoned, or not enough. Thus the fault-finding continued, day in and day out.
Heretofore Lottie had succeeded in bearing with her captious patient fairly well, her natural patience and sweetness of disposition being a great help to her. But this day her task seemed a little harder to bear than usual, and a short time before the outburst at the opening of the chapter the climax was reached, when her aunt struck her with the cane she used to aid her in getting about the room, for she was able to go about a very little during the day.
Lottie had been sent for some water, and in her zeal to please her aunt by being quick about it, had spilled a few drops in that good woman's lap, and she, without stopping to think, had given her niece a rap with her stick.
"No, I shall not stand it another minute," muttered Lottie, as she angrily paced the floor of the little room, whither she had rushed from her aunt's presence.
Apparently she had determined to do something, for she went to work energetically to put everything to rights. She put more coal on the fire, and, in fact, did everything she deemed necessary. Then she stole quietly up to her room, packed some things in a bundle, and noiselessly left the house.
Hazeley Family.
[Page 153.]
Where was she going? She did not know. What was she going to do? She only knew that she was going far away from her Aunt Emmeline's, where she had been insulted. The old poplar solemnly waved its long, bare arms over her head, as if wishing her "good-bye." She had a vague idea she would go and find her friend Flora; she would at least advise her what to do, for, after once fairly in the street, the fact that she had no home but the one she was leaving behind, made itself felt very plainly.