A WEEK of Percy's visit had passed, and yet the "dreadful place" had not come. Percy had thought it just at hand two or three times. Once when Aunt Ackerman left her alone, at a great fancy store, to select wools for a sofa cushion, and to match Flora's dead-leaf greens; and once when she went with Margaret to spend the day at a house where there were two girls of her own age. But the young woman in the worsted shop was very polite and helpful. She assisted Percy in her choice; told her how much of each colour she would need, and, when she had finished, set her a chair and gave her a great heap of patterns to amuse herself with, while she was waiting for her aunt.
Presently Percy gathered courage enough to go to the door and look out for her aunt's carriage; and seeing that it had not come, and that there was a nice bookstore next door, she actually ventured to enter the said bookstore all alone, and there to purchase a book-slate and two pretty note-books, intended as presents for Flora, Blandina, and Jenny; for Miss Devine had given her ten dollars to do what she liked with; and she had already spent it, in her own mind, in presents for everybody she knew.
The other bugbear was rather more alarming. Maria and Alice Ward were only just as old as herself, but their manners and dress made them seem at least four years older. They were young ladies, while Percy had never thought of being anything but a little girl. However, they found a common subject of conversation in comparing their schools; and when Percy heard their stories, she was very thankful that she had been placed at Hansen School, instead of at the grand establishment of Mrs. Flag. Then the girls found out that Percy had lived all her life on the frontier, and they were full of curiosity about army life and Indians; and, altogether, the visit went off very well, and Percy could honestly say, in answer to her aunt's question, that she had passed a pleasant day.
Percy's resolution, which she had faithfully kept so far, not to speak of her terrors and worries, was a very wise one, and it did her a great deal of good. She forgot her troubles much sooner when she did not talk about them, and using self-control in words helped her to use it in her thoughts as well. She did not say a single word even when the carriage became entangled in a jam on Broadway, and made no objection to going up and down in the elevator at Stewart's, though she felt quite sure that they should stick somewhere and never get out.
Percy had not expected any Christmas presents after her beautiful desk and paper; but when she came down on Christmas morning, there was a mysterious pile on her plate, covered by a white napkin.
"Oh, aunt, you give me too many nice things!" she exclaimed, as successive boxes developed a silver napkin ring, a set of Scott's poems with beautiful pictures, a package of dainty little kid gloves (Percy always loved kid gloves), and some unheard-of sugar-plums and dried fruits. "You and Cousin Margaret give me so much and do so much for me, and I can't do anything for you."
"You can do one thing for us, little cousin," said Mrs. Ackerman. "How would you like to give us half of yourself?"
"I don't quite understand, aunt."
"You know Margaret and myself are two very lonely women here," continued Mrs. Ackerman. "Do you think you would be willing to give us half your holidays and half of your heart, and let us be at half the expense of your education?"
"But, but—Aunt Zoe—I don't know what she will say," stammered Percy. "I believe mamma gave me to her, and she has been so good to me. I must do as Aunt Zoe says."