“I’ve just come back from the dêpot,” she began, once the task was well started. “There were a lot of people there to-day.”
“What news did you hear?” asked Mrs. May.
“Oh, nothing much,” Harriot replied. “There was an officer made a speech about birds in cages and freedom and France. He was wounded in the arm, but people didn’t seem to care about what he said. At least they didn’t cheer nearly as much as I’ve heard sometimes.”
“Was it about the fighting?” Mrs. May’s tone was anxious, for she had both a husband and a son in the Confederate army.
“No,” drawled Harriot, “it wasn’t interesting. It was all about old Abe Lincoln and a Proclam—”
“Harriot,” Mrs. May interrupted abruptly, “suppose you run upstairs to April and see if you can’t help her with her hair. She’s to take supper at Pettigrew’s.”
“But mother,” Harriot began, surprised at this unusual request.
“Run along, honey,” her mother insisted. “And send Merry down to me.”
Somewhat puzzled, Harriot left the busy room and ran to the floor above, entering her sister’s chamber without ceremony to find April standing, slight, fair and very beautiful, while her brown maid, Merry, laced her stays. Her wonderful blond hair had already been woven into an intricate crown, and, at sight of it, Harriot flopped into a chair.
“Mother wants Merry,” she announced. “Don’t ask me why, ’cause I don’t know.”