“Don’t excite yourself so,” I pleaded. “If you could have heard Stephen talk of you when he was here! He begged us to make it as pleasant and take as much interest in you as we could.”
“You have been very kind. I do not want to be ungrateful; but he doesn’t care for me in that way. He thwarts every plan, he refuses every wish, and did not even want me to try for college. He would like to keep me a little boy at school half my life, I do believe.”
I went around pretending to tidy the room a bit; but Mrs. Whitcomb had left it as neat as a pin. I could not bear to have him talk this way against Stephen. Then I espied a book, and asked if I should read to him.
“If you will,” was the rather indifferent answer.
But he was soon quite interested. He turned towards me, and his eyes grew eager, and over his whole face came a peaceful light. It seemed then as if there was quite a resemblance between him and the elder brother, for I remembered that Stephen had a stern way of shutting his mouth. Louis’s eyes were dark, and that gave him a more desperate look when he was angry.
He was very full of whims and wants, but a while after dinner concluded he would take a nap. As baby Edith had gone to peaceful slumbers, and Nelly sat in the nursery, mamma had taken this opportunity to begin cutting Fan’s dress. So I joined the conclave, and helped discuss the momentous question.
Mamma was a born genius. I don’t know which gift or grace was the strongest. I think she must have had a very evenly-balanced head. And yet she used to tell us how really helpless she was at her marriage. She had lived with a great-aunt, who was a whimsical invalid, and did nothing but go to school, and read to, or amuse, her. Still, I suppose, she learned those grand lessons of sweetness and patience which helped so much in her after-life. And when she had to do, she went to work bravely. She could cook equal to anybody in the parish; she could make dresses and bonnets; and when you came to the altering, she was superb. That was why I called her a born genius. Then she had kept up with her music to some extent, and painted a little in water colors. Three of papa’s birthday gifts had been pictures of her painting; and some of the daintiest fruit-pieces in our dining-room were done by her in colored crayons on a tinted background. No wonder we were proud of her.
Now we talked about overskirt and underskirt, basque, and ruffles, and bands, and trimmings of various kinds.
“It is quite a fearful undertaking,” said Fan, with a sigh. “If I had a little more courage, I’d make it perfectly plain; but, then, when I went out and saw other people all furbelows and frills, I am afraid I should be dissatisfied. And no one would believe it was a new dress.”
“It is better to take a little more trouble and be satisfied. But I would not have any ruffles—they are so difficult to iron.”