Missy: A Novel

by Miriam Coles Harris

"He didn't! there's affection for you," said the father, carelessly, with both hands now holding the boy, who chose to walk up him.

"He said—" and now Missy began to tremble. "He said he wouldn't go away from Missy."

"Thank you, Jay," said Missy, looking at the boy with a bright smile, and some relief. "They'd better let you stay with me if that's the way you feel."

"O no," cried the little viper, "we couldn't spare Jay. You could do like Alphonsine said you wanted to do, come to our house and live with us, and have things all your own way. You know she said that was what you were working for. Don't you remember, Missy? Just before Moses started up the horses."

Jay had made the ascent of his father and stood in triumph on his shoulder. Mr. Andrews with a rapid movement put him on the ground, made a step forward and brought his hand with force on Gabrielle's cheek, a hard stinging blow that made the child scream with pain and amazement, for he had never struck her before.

"Never repeat to me the words of servants," he said, in a voice terrible to her, and severe enough in the ears of others, especially little Jay, who looked awe-struck. There was a seat outside the greenhouse door, and on this Missy had sunk down, trembling all over. She opened her lips and tried to speak, but literally she could not, the sudden agitation had taken away her voice. Meanwhile Gabrielle had found hers, and was crying passionately, very angry at the blow, and very sure too, that crying was the way to get the better of her father. But this time she was mistaken. He took her hand almost roughly.

"Come with me," he said. "I have something more to teach you."

His voice was rather unsteady from anger, his face flushed, and his eye stern. No wonder Gabrielle's cry sank into a frightened whimper, as she followed, or was half dragged away by her father. Jay ran up to Missy, and tried to climb into her lap. With an impulse that the poor little fellow could not understand, of course, she pushed him away. It was the first repulse he had ever had from her: though he was still in petticoats, his pride and wounded affection were strong; he would not wait for a second rebuff. He started down the path, crying, Papa. Missy saw him overtake his father as he crossed the lawn, and cling to his hand, hardly able to keep up with his rapid walk. And so, with a child in each hand, he passed out of the gate and disappeared from Missy's sight.

She sat still for a few minutes, and tried to collect her thoughts. She felt as if some one had given her a blow on her ear, and sent all the blood tingling to her brain. Finally she got up, picked up Jay's hat, which he had left on the field, and the scissors, and the basket, which had been overturned in the mêlée. She put the flowers back into it, angry and ashamed to see how her hand shook, and shutting the greenhouse door, slowly went out of the garden. Where should she go to get away from every one, and be by herself for a little while? If she went to the beach, hither the children might come in a few moments. If to the lawn, she was a fair mark for visitors and servants, and the walk through the cedars would bring all back—the interview there three days ago, whence all her troubles dated. Her own room was the best place for her.

She put down the flowers in the hall, and went up stairs under a running fire from Goneril, Aunt Harriet and her mother, dispersed about the lower rooms and hall.