The heiress of McGregor

by Lucy Ellen Guernsey

"He could not get any one to publish them, and wasted a great deal of money in printing them himself: I don't want to blame him now that he is away, but you can see what a distress and mortification it was to all of us, especially as your poor mother's little portion and earnings were all wasted in such undertakings, and she actually suffered. From what I have learned since, I have very little doubt that the death of Eiley's first child was caused by its mother's want of the common necessaries of life, while its father was refusing work which would have supported his family, to paint pictures and write poems such as these."

"But my mother never would have thought anything of this rubbish," said Marion. "She must have known better."

"Of course she did. That was not one of the least of her many troubles. But if she ever said a word, her husband talked of the trials of genius and bemoaned his hard fate in being yoked to such an uncongenial mate, the doited haverel," said Aunt Baby in sudden impatience. "My dear, I beg your pardon, I ought not to speak so of your father before you. There, let us put the books and pictures away and close the door on them."

"I mean to ask Uncle Alick to burn them all up some time when he is burning a log heap," said Marion.

"That is a very good notion. I never thought of it," said Aunt Baby. "There, don't cry any more. I never meant you should see these things, for I knew they would vex you."

"She is just as good as she can be," said Marion to herself as she went to her room to wash her hands and brush the dust from her dress. "I won't do a single thing to tease her as long as I stay, and I will help her all I can. It was very good of her to give up her new shawl, and it isn't her fault if she doesn't understand me."

And then Marion blushed as she remembered how her father had considered himself a misunderstood genius. "I wonder if I am like him," she thought. "Aunt Baby must have remembered him ever so many times when I talked of being misunderstood. I will never do it again, I know that."

The lesson she had received was not lost upon Marion. She certainly was far more modest and amiable than usual during the remainder of her stay at home. She took her share of the household work without grumbling, and tried to anticipate her aunt and to save her steps. She even made a resolution to forego the society of the heiress of the McGregors, and kept it for at least forty-eight hours. She read her Bible punctually, and spent more time than usual in prayer.

But she did not go to the root of the matter. She had not learned to call by their right names the great faults of her character, her self-consciousness, conceit and habitual contempt for those about her. She did not see these things in the light of sins to be prayed and striven against. She knew that people considered her self-conceited, but that was only because "they did not understand her."

Consequently, it was not long before her day-dreams resumed their sway. She was once more the model daughter and sister who was to bring order out of chaos and elegance and refinement out of vulgarity. Her very religious exercises ministered to her delusion. With her vigorous imagination, it was not difficult for her to work herself up into a state of exalted feeling, and she found pleasure in so doing. She took this feeling as an evidence that she was truly converted. She applied to her daily conduct none of those Scripture tests which seem given especially to guard against such delusions as hers.