Ethel thought her aunt had not mended matters much by her apology, as she had no business to think so. But she was already sensible that she had spoken unbecomingly, and her mother's often repeated words recurred to her mind:
"Aunt Sally is a very old woman, and you must have patience with her."
So she conquered the rising storm so far as to allow herself to be kissed by her aunt and even to eat a piece of plum-cake, though she felt all the time as if it would choke her. She was glad when they were once more in the street, where she could speak her mind freely.
"Hateful old thing!" she said, more to herself than to her companion. "She may keep her cake and sweetmeats to herself. I will never go there again, if I can help it."
"Then you will be the loser," remarked Abby. "You know she can leave her fortune to whom she pleases."
"I don't care for her fortune," interrupted Ethel, more angry than ever. "She may leave it to whom she likes, for all I care. I should be ashamed to coax and flatter her for her money, or her presents either. To go and call my father a fool—" and here Ethel paused, partly for want of breath, and partly because she felt herself in imminent danger of crying.
"Well, well," said Abby soothingly, "you must not be angry with me, Ethel. I am sure I only spoke for your good. You know Aunt Sally says when she is in a good-humor, that she shall leave her money to whom she likes best; and after all, she is very good to us generally, though she does say vexatious things. But really, Ethel, I don't see into it—why you should be poor, I mean. A good many people failed in the fall besides your father. There was my father, and Mr. Peet, and Mr. Larkins, and the Mr. Wileys; and none of them were much the poorer for it that I could see, only the Wileys, and my father said they managed badly. But here is my turning-off place, so good-bye. Be sure and get your money to-night, and I will call for you to-morrow."
Ethel bade her cousin good-by, and walked on, pondering deeply, and feeling very unhappy and dissatisfied—first with herself for having been so much out of humor, and speaking unbecomingly, and then with her circumstances. She did not understand the matter any better than Abby. Her father had been for many years a manufacturer in very prosperous circumstances. The tastes and habits of Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher did not lead them to launch out into the foolish extravagance of dress and equipage which characterized so many people at the time of our story; but they were persons of very elegant tastes, fond of literature and art, and Mr. Fletcher prided himself upon his superb collection of engravings and books, to which he was constantly making additions.
Ethel was the only daughter, but there were two boys much younger than herself. Without being at all spoiled, she was very much indulged, and while she was expected to give some account of what she spent, she hardly knew what it was to ask for money without having it. Especially at Christmastime was her father liberal. The Fletchers were very strict Church people, and always "kept Christmas," with a good deal of care and expense. Mince-pies were made; the most elegant sweetmeats were reserved for this occasion; the children had new clothes, and the house was beautifully decorated with evergreens and flowers. The children hung up their stockings upon Christmas Eve, sure of finding them well filled; the whole family went to Church, and in the evening, a beautiful Christmas tree was lighted up for the benefit of Mr. and Mrs. Fletcher's Sunday-school classes, consisting of poor children, each of whom received a present, and as much cake as he could eat, besides a surplus to carry home.
Such was the state of the family at the commencement of the year, but the end of it found them in circumstances sadly changed. The financial crisis affected Mr. Fletcher as well as his neighbors; unpaid himself, he was unable to meet his liabilities, and after two or three weeks of miserable suspense, he was obliged to declare a failure, like his cousin, Mr. Coles, who had gone among the first. Unlike Mr. Coles, however, his failure was a perfectly honest one. The beautiful house and grounds went into the hands of one of the banks; the library and collections were sent to New York for sale; and all the handsome furniture, even to baby's swinging crib, and Mrs. Fletcher's china and silver, were sent to auction. They reserved only furniture enough of the plainest sort to furnish a small house which had been left to Mrs. Fletcher by her mother, and to this they removed, to begin life anew, after they supposed they had provided for their old age, and for their children after them.