Vesty of the Basins

by Sarah Pratt McLean Greene

There was a small, brilliant-looking woman beside him, with eye-glasses. "O you divine infant!" she exclaimed, regarding the child. "Where is the Madonna?"

Now, I was purposely gathering up the potato peelings very slowly from the doorway, so that the "Madonna" might have time to take down a certain blue sack from the bedpost at hand, and put it on, and give those little finger-touches to the hair that women covet; so I stumbled over the peelings and got mixed up with them, until even Uncle Benny felt called upon to apologize for me.

"He looks some better," he said dubiously, touching his neck: "but," he continued, in a very soft and confidential tone, "Nature has not done so much for him as she has for some, you know."

All the party had the air of having just had a very merry luncheon on board the yacht.

By the side of Notely's bride was one of the handsomest young athletes, almost as handsome as Fluke and Gurdon Rafe.

"What-th—what-th the admithion?" he whispered to Grace, plunging his hand in among the coin in his pockets; "ith—ith there any more of the thame kind inthide?"

"Hush!" said she quickly, for she knew that I had heard. She lifted a hand impulsively toward his mouth: he caught her hand and looked as though he would have held it; she drew it away, blushing sweetly, and sighed, as she had sighed at Notely.

Vesty saw that, as they entered; saw Notely enter with his easy, unobservant swagger, lest the unexpected visit of this fashionable company should embarrass her. He walked across the room, humming an air, to his old violin.

He touched a strain or two. "Do you remember, Vesty," he said airily, drawing nearer, "this?—and this? You have such a beautiful little boy, Vesty! I am so glad!—so glad! And this?—do you remember?" He played as though he could play away the pallor from that tender face upon the pillows; the pitiful, fine little blue sack added to it. I had left the dust-pan loaded with its spoils, the ragged handle, as I now perceived, not quite hidden behind the door: it caught on to the skirts of the brilliant lady with the eye-glasses, and went trailing loudly after her along the floor. As I stooped down to detach it, sheltered behind those fine draperies, I gave Vesty such a side glance that a smile and color came over her face in spite of herself.

"Such power of attraction!" said Notely, turning to the lady his laughing eyes, with that unconscious pathos which a lovely woman never failed to discover in them; "even the dust-pans"—he swept the strings of the violin—"even the dust-pans become attached to you."