Halting at the door of that small cottage, Edward Sylvester reasoned with himself.
“She may be just such another fresh-looking, round-faced, mischievous-eyed school-girl. Spiritual children do not always make earnest-souled women. Let me beware what hopes I build on a foundation so unsubstantial.” Yet when in a moment later the door opened and a weazen-faced dapper, little woman appeared, all smiles and welcome, he owned to a sensation of dismay that sufficiently convinced him what a hold this hope of meeting with something exceptionally sweet and high, had taken upon his hitherto careless and worldly spirit.
“Mr. Sylvester I am sure! I thought Ona would remember us after a while. Come in sir, do, my sister will be home in a few moments.” And with a deprecatory flutter comical enough in a woman at least seventy odd years old, she led her distinguished guest into a large unused room where in spite of his remonstrances she at once proceeded to build a fire.
“It is a pleasure sir,” she said to every utterance of regret on his part at the trouble he was causing. And though her vocabulary was thus made to appear somewhat small, her sincerity was undoubted. “We have counted the days, Belinda and I, since we sent the last letter. It may seem foolish to you, sir; but Paula is growing so fast and Belinda says is so uncommon smart for her age that we did think that it was time Ona knew just what a straight we were in. Do you want to see Paula?”
“Very much,” he returned, shocked and embarrassed at the position in which he found himself put by the reticence of his wife on the subject of her relations. “They think I have come in reply to a letter,” he mused, “and I did not even know my wife had received one.”
“You will be surprised,” she exclaimed with a complacent nod as the fire blazed up brightly; “every one is surprised who sees her for the first time. Is my niece well?” And thus it was he learned the relation between his wife of ten years and these simple inhabitants of the little cottage in Grotewell.
He replied as in duty bound, and presently by the use of a few dexterous questions succeeded in eliciting from this simple-minded old lady, the few facts necessary to a proper understanding of the situation. Miss Abby and Miss Belinda were two maiden ladies, sisters of Mrs. Fairchild and Ona’s mother, who on the death of the former took up their abode in the little cottage for the purpose of bringing up the orphan Paula. They had succeeded in this by dint of the utmost industry, but Paula was not a common child, and Belinda, who was evidently the autocrat of the house, had decided that she ought to have other advantages. She had therefore written to Mrs. Sylvester concerning the child, in the hopes that that lady would take enough interest in her pretty little cousin to send her to boarding-school; but they had received no reply till now, all of which was perfectly right of course, Mrs. Sylvester being undoubtedly occupied and Mr. Sylvester himself being better than any letter.
“And does Paula herself know what efforts you have been making in her behalf,” asked Mr. Sylvester upon the receipt of this information.
The little lady shook her head with vivacity. “Belinda advised me to say nothing,” she remarked. “The child is contented with her home and we did not like to raise her expectations. You will never regret anything you may do for her,” she went on in a hurried way with a peep now and then towards the door as if while enjoying a momentary freedom of speech, she feared an intrusion that would cut that pleasure short. “Paula is a grateful child and never has given us a moment of concern from the time she began to put pieces of patchwork together. But there is Belinda,” she suddenly exclaimed, rising with the little dip and jerk of her left shoulder that was habitual to her whenever she was amused or excited. “Belinda,” she cried, going to the door and speaking with great impressiveness, “Mr. Sylvester is in the parlor.” And almost instantly a tall middle aged lady entered, whose plain but powerful countenance and dignified demeanor, stamped her at once as belonging to a very different type of woman from her sister.
“I am very glad to see you sir,” she exclaimed in a slow determined voice as dissimilar as possible from the piping tones of Miss Abby. “Is not Mrs. Sylvester with you?”