Missy: A Novel

by Miriam Coles Harris

Then Missy tried her 'prentice hand on the faithless servants. The faithless servants did not take it kindly. They resented her suggestions, and hated her.

Then she faintly tried to bring the subject to the notice of the mother. This was done with many misgivings, and with much difficulty, for it was not easy to get the conversation turned on duties and possible failures. Somehow, it was always a very different view the two took of things, when they had their long talks together. It was always of herself that Mrs. Andrews talked—always of her sufferings, her wrongs. When your friend is posturing for a martyr, it is hard to get her into an attitude of penitence without hurting her feelings. When she is bewailing the faults of others, it is embarrassing to turn the office into a confession of her own. Missy entered on her task humbly, knowing that it would be a hard one. She did not realize why it would be so hard. She had a romantic pity for her friend. She would not see her faults. Indeed, any one might have been blinded, who began with a strong admiration. When a woman is too ill to be talked to about her duties even, it is hard to expect her to perform them with rigor. When Missy, baffled and humbled, returned from that unfortunate mission, she acknowledged to herself she had attempted an impossibility. "She cannot see, she never has seen—probably she never will be obliged to see, what neglect her children are suffering from. She is too ill to be able to take in anything outside her sick room. The cross laid on her requires all her strength. It is cruelty to ask her to bear anything more. I am ashamed to have had the thought." So she turned to the poor little children so sadly orphaned, as it seemed to her, and with tenderness, tried to lighten their lot, and shield them from the tyrannies and negligences of their attendants. Little Jay lived at his new friend's house, ate at her table, almost slept in her bosom. He naturally preferred this to the cold slatternliness of his own home, and he was rarely missed or inquired for.

"He might have been in the bay for the past five hours, for all the servants know about it," said Mrs. Varian, to whom all this was an anxiety and depression. "Don't you think, Missy, you give them an excuse in keeping him here so much? They naturally will say, if anything happens, they thought he was with you, and that you take him away for such long drives and walks, they never know where to find him."

"My dear mamma," cried Missy, "don't you think the wretches would find an excuse for whatever they did? Is their duplicity to make it right for me to abandon my poor little man to them?"

"At least always report it at the house when you take him away for half a day."

So after that, Missy was careful to make known her plan at the Andrews' before she took Jay away for any long excursion. She would stop at the door in her little pony-carriage, and lifting out Jay, would send him in to say to a pampered menial at the door, that they need not be uneasy about him if he did not come back till one or two o'clock.

"We won't put on mournin' for ye before three, thin, honey," said the man, on one occasion. Jay didn't understand the meaning of the words, but he understood the cynical tone, and he kicked the fellow on a beloved calf. Then the man, enraged, caught him by the arm and held him off, but he continued to kick and hit from the shoulder with his one poor little unpinioned arm. The man was white with rage, for Jay was unpopular, and Miss Rothermel also, and he hated to be held in check by her presence, and by the puerile fear of losing his place, which her presence created.

Now it happened on this pleasant summer morning that Mr. Andrews had not gone to town, and that he had not gone out on the bay, as was supposed in the household, the wind having proved capricious. Consequently he was just entering from the rear of the house, as this pretty tableau was being presented on the front piazza. When the enraged combatants raised their eyes, they found Mr. Andrews standing in the hall door, and darkly regarding them.

"Papa! kill him!" cried Jay, as the flunky suddenly released him, dashing at the unprotected calves like a fury. "Kill him for me!"

"With pleasure," said his father, calmly, "but you let it alone. Come to the library at ten o'clock, I will see you about this matter," he said to the man, who slunk away, while Jay came to take his father's outstretched hand, very red and dishevelled. By this time Missy, much alarmed, had sprung from the carriage, and ran down the walk, just in time to confront the father. He was beginning to question the boy, but turning around faced the young lady unexpectedly, and took off his hat. Missy looked flushed and as excited as the boy.