Before Susan could reply, little William pushed forward, and answered, “Yes, ma’am, it is my sister Susan that keeps everything neat; and she always comes to school for us, too, which was what caused her to be so late.”
“Because as how,” continued John, “she was loth to refuse us the hearing a blind man play on the harp. It was we kept her, and we hopes, ma’am, as you are—as you seem so good, you won’t take it amiss.”
Miss Somers and her sister smiled at the affectionate simplicity with which Susan’s little brothers undertook her defence, and they were, from this slight circumstance, disposed to think yet more favourably of a family which seemed so well united. They took Susan along with them through the village. Many neighbours came to their doors, and far from envying, they all secretly wished Susan well as she passed.
“I fancy we shall find what we want here,” said Miss Somers, stopping before a shop, where unfolded sheets of pins and glass buttons glistened in the window, and where rolls of many coloured ribbons appeared ranged in tempting order. She went in, and was rejoiced to see the shelves at the back of the counter well-furnished with glossy tiers of stuffs, and gay, neat printed linens and calicoes.
“Now, Susan, choose yourself a gown,” said Miss Somers; “you set an example of industry and good conduct, of which we wish to take public notice, for the benefit of others.”
The shopkeeper, who was father to Susan’s friend Rose, looked much satisfied by this speech, and as if a compliment had been paid to himself, bowed low to Miss Somers, and then with alertness, which a London linen-draper might have admired, produced piece after piece of his best goods to his young customer—unrolled, unfolded, held the bright stuffs and calendered calicoes in various lights. Now stretched his arm to the highest shelves, and brought down in a trice what seemed to be beyond the reach of any but a giant’s arm; now dived into some hidden recess beneath the counter, and brought to light fresh beauties and fresh temptations.
Susan looked on with more indifference than most of the spectators. She was thinking much of her lamb, and more of her father.
Miss Somers had put a bright guinea into her hand, and had bid her pay for her own gown; but Susan, as she looked at the guinea, thought it was a great deal of money to lay out upon herself, and she wished, but did know like to ask, that she might keep it for a better purpose.
Some people are wholly inattentive to the lesser feelings, and incapable of reading the countenances of those on whom they bestow their bounty. Miss Somers and her sister were not of this roughly charitable class.
“She does not like any of these things,” whispered Miss Somers to her sister. Her sister observed, that Susan looked as if her thoughts were far distant from gowns.