Stanford Eveleth - Miss Dexie

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Aunt Jennie was much surprised when she learned the cause of Dexie's
frequent morning visits next door. The evident desire for instruction which
made her niece seek from others what should have been imparted to her at
home, came like a reproach to her heart. She had been reared in a Christian
home, where Bible truths had been imparted to her from her cradle up, so
she now endeavored to supply what was lacking in the religious education of
her young relatives. It was done quietly and without ostentation, but the
last half hour of the day was given to Dexie, and she spent it with her
aunt in the privacy of her chamber, where they studied the Book together.
Dexie tried to persuade Gussie to join these readings, but with no success,
for Gussie, like many others, "cared for none of these things."

CHAPTER III.

When Mr. Sherwood returned from New York, he was accompanied by a Mr.
Plaisted, a gentleman of a speculative turn of mind, who had attached
himself to Mr. Sherwood with a persistency that showed he had "the cheek of
a drummer," and he had invited himself to accompany Mr. Sherwood to his
home in Halifax. Although fond of horses, there was nothing about the
appearance of Mr. Plaisted to suggest the jockey: he was what would have
been termed in a later day a fair specimen of the genus dude. He was of
medium height, and was decidedly foppish in his manner, and with his
elaborate neck-ties and perfumed curls, he was, in his own estimation at
least, quite irresistible. His hands and feet were unusually small for a
man. The latter he was very proud of, always encasing them in boots of the
very latest style; and, no doubt, the "cold cream" and other cosmetics
which he nightly used helped to give his hands and face the fair appearance
that so delighted himself.

His presence in the household seemed to have an opposite effect on the twin
girls. Gussie was delighted with his fine appearance and gallant speeches,
but Dexie seemed to see the ignoble nature behind and kept him at a
distance.

A few evenings after his arrival, when the family were assembled in the
parlor, Mr. Plaisted, who was leaning back in his chair, in an attitude
peculiar to Americans, asked: "Have you a son living in Boston, Sherwood? I
met a young fellow in a broker's office bearing your name. Any relation of
yours?"

"No, neither a son nor a relation; this is my only boy," Mr. Sherwood
replied, reaching for Georgie's ear in a playful manner.

"Ah! that's a pity now! a grown-up son would have been some use to you. If
one of the twins had happened to be a boy, you would have had quite an
assistant by now."

Dexie was sitting behind the window curtain, watching the passers-by. She
resented this speech, and the rude way it was uttered provoked her into
replying:

"One does not need to be born a boy to be of use in this world, allow me
to tell you, Mr. Plaisted! for in all things that he needs help, I am my
father's boy--not ghost!" she laughingly added, as Plaisted, startled by
her sudden appearance, almost overbalanced in his chair.

"Bless me! I didn't notice you were there, Miss Dexie," said he, regaining
his equilibrium with an effort. "Guess you've been studying Shakespeare for
my benefit, eh, Miss Dexie?"

"Oh! that's just like Dexie," said Gussie, with a frown. "She always likes
to make a scene when she can. She will want to go on the stage, I expect,
by and by."

"What nonsense! Gussie," said Dexie, smiling good-naturedly, "when all the
theatrical performances we are allowed to attend are those that take place
up in the attic."

"Oh! come now, Miss Dexie. How often do you slip off to plays with that
young chap next door?" said Plaisted, with a sly wink at Gussie. "I often
see you down street together."

"Your eyesight must be remarkably good, then," was the icy reply, "for I
think no one else can accuse me of 'slipping off' with any person."

"By the way, Miss Dexie, I have been wondering what your name is, ever
since I came. Is it an abbreviation or a nick-name?" said Plaisted, anxious
to turn the conversation. "I have never met with a young lady bearing your
name before."

"And you are not likely to meet one again," was the quick reply, as a flush
of anger covered her face.

Mr. Sherwood looked across at Dexie, knowing full well that Plaisted could
not have broached a more unfortunate subject. Dexie's full name was her
chief annoyance, so he answered in a quiet tone, "Her name is Dexter, but
she would like us all to forget the fact, and call her Dexie instead."

"Since Mr. Plaisted is so inquisitive, it would be wise to gratify his
curiosity at once, and have done with it," and Dexie turned sharply around
and faced the rest. "He had better learn the whole of our names, and the
history of them as well, and then, perhaps, he will be kind enough to drop
the subject forever. Here is the story: At the time father was married he
was doing business in Augusta, Maine; but it happened, unfortunately, that
mother was born and brought up in Dexter. For some reason, that I have
never been able to fathom, when we twins appeared we were honored by being
called after those respective places! Gussie was the smartest and
best-looking baby, I suppose, so she was selected to bear the name of the
capital city, while I had to bear the burden of Dexter! It is a wonder how
I managed to survive the christening, for the very name was enough to
finish one! Oh! I have wished a thousand times that the town of Dexter had
been visited by a conflagration, and wiped out of existence, before
mother's people ever went there! But there! I daresay they would have gone
to Skowhegan! Norrigewock! Mattawamkeg! or some other place with an
outlandish name, and, of course, I should have been named after it, just
the same! Dexie is bad enough, but Skowie, think of it!"

A peal of laughter interrupted Dexter's hot-spoken words; but the mention
of her name always touched a tender spot, and she added, in an injured
tone, that made her father smile in spite of himself:

"And there is Louie. Everybody thinks her name is Louisa, so she escapes
the questions of the curious; but her name is Louisiana, after the State
where grandma's old home is. We were there for a long visit when she was a
baby, and she is not likely to forget that fact all her life. Then papa has
a sister in Georgia; so of course we went to see her, too; but her
plantation was so lovely we were all delighted when papa consented to stay
there a year or two and help Uncle Edward set out some new groves, and get
everything in good running order. We were there when Georgie was born, so
he got off comparatively easy; but then! boys always do!"

Plaisted's shouts of laughter forbade further expressions of displeasure,
and Dexie turned her back again and looked out the window, while she
regained her composure. Nothing so aroused her indignation as the mention
of her name consequently few knew what it really was. Louie liked her
name, for by bearing it she became her grandmother's favorite, and Gussie
could look on the matter with indifference.

"I quite sympathize with Dexie," said Mrs. Sherwood, "but her father has a
New Englander's love for novel names, and gives no thought to the
unnecessary burden that it puts upon the children, one which they have to
bear all their lives."

"Oh! well, Gussie can't complain, I'm sure," said Mr. Sherwood. "No one
will become inquisitive over her name," he laughingly added.

"I have no doubt that Miss Gussie feels thankful she secured first choice,"
said Plaisted, "and that her good looks entitled her to it," and he looked
over at Gussie with bold admiration in his glance.

"I don't think looks had anything to do with it," said Mr. Sherwood, "else
this curly pate would have had first choice," reaching over to pass his
hand over the brown rings of hair.

"Seems to me this conversation is much too personal," said Dexie, rising
from her seat. "I think a change would be welcome to one and all," and she
sat down before the piano.

Mr. Sherwood smiled his approval. He was very proud of his daughter's
musical ability, for she could sing and play to suit the taste of any
audience, and could arouse the inner emotions of those who had any feelings
that were capable of being stirred at all. One of her accomplishments,
which she seldom exhibited before strangers, was that of whistling. Few
people have heard the exquisite notes that can be produced by an adept in
the art, but there are whistlers and whistlers, whose notes differ as much
as those of the linnet and the crow. While accompanying herself on the
piano, Dexie could produce such wonderful trills and quavers, with such
purity of tone, that she could almost rival the very birds themselves, and
she never failed to surprise and charm all that heard her. Wishing to
please her father, as well as convince Mr. Plaisted that her name did not
make her a "ninny," she selected some of her best pieces and sang her most
charming songs; then, after a few soft notes, she broke into a bird-song,
whistling the notes so faithfully true that Mr. Plaisted was startled as
well as delighted, and the conversation he had begun with Gussie came to an
abrupt end.

"Well, Miss Dexie, I must confess that you have surprised me," said he, as
Dexie resumed her seat at the window. "I never heard the equal of that from
the boards of any concert-room in New York. No one would object to paying
'dear for his whistle,' if that quality was purchasable. You would make a
fortune on the stage."

"I hope Dexie will never use her whistle as a money-making gift," said her
father; "but I think, myself, it is about as pretty music as one ever
hears."

"You can bet your life, Sherwood, she would create such a furore in musical
circles that she would make something besides money for you. Bring her out,
Sherwood; it will pay you better than speculating with horses."

"Heaven forbid!" replied Mr. Sherwood, extremely annoyed at the way
Plaisted spoke of his favorite daughter. "I fancy I can make a comfortable
living for my family, without turning my daughter into a public character."

"Thank you, papa," came the clear-cut tones from the window; "but pray do
not waste any more sentiment on Mr. Plaisted. He happens to be one of that
kind of men who would sell their own mothers for profit! But he can't help
it, poor man, he was born that way!" and before Plaisted could recover from
his surprise, Dexie had left the room.

"That was a pretty good slap, and no mistake," exclaimed Plaisted as he
drew out his handkerchief to wipe his hot face. "I meant no offence,
Sherwood, 'pon honor."

"Well, as my daughter did not take it so, be kind enough to be more guarded
in your remarks in the future. However, in a battle of words, I fancy she
is able to hold her own, and come off victor every time, too."

The matter was dismissed with a laugh, though memory lingered long over the
plain-spoken words; but in his secret heart Mr. Sherwood was glad that
Dexie had so answered this New York gentleman. Dexie had won her position
in her father's heart by her prompt and willing service. She it was who
could be depended on to do the numberless little tasks, insignificant in
themselves, perhaps, but of the greatest moment when taken together, for
the joy and comfort of home-life very largely depends on the way these
little things are attended to. Her sister, Gussie, was too fond of pleasing
herself to be of much service to others; but Dexie was quick to see
another's need, and she found it a pleasure to wait on her dear papa, who,
however active and energetic he might be when about his business, dearly
loved to be waited on when once he was inside his own home. He always found
Dexie willing and ready to give all her time for his pleasure. She had even
changed the style of her handwriting so as to help her father with his
correspondence, and she proved herself such an able assistant that, on
giving her verbal instructions, she could write out his letters quite as
clearly and business-like as if his own hand held the pen. Once, in Dexie's
absence, he had pressed Gussie into service, but Mr. Sherwood never
repeated the request, for Gussie's writing resembled the "sprawls of a
many-legged spider that had fallen into the ink bottle, and then wiped his
legs on the writing-paper," according to Mr. Sherwood's description of it.

But Gussie was pretty if she was not useful. She was a perfect blonde, with
a wealth of yellow hair, which she twisted round her head like a golden
coronet. Her eyes were as blue as fresh spring violets, and her slight,
willowy figure gave promise of much grace when fully developed. Her twin
sister, Dexie, was much unlike her in every way, having dark brown eyes,
while a mass of short, light-brown curls covered the well-poised head,
giving her something of a boyish air. She had a clear complexion, but was
not so fair as Gussie, and her figure was shorter and more rounded. She was
quick and alert in all her movements, and laughed when Gussie called her a
tomboy, but she was only thoroughly wide-awake, and enjoyed life with a
zest that was but natural in a girl of her years. She scorned the languid
air that Gussie affected, and looked with disdain on the one-legged storks
that her sister delighted to transfer to canvas, and she wondered how it
was possible for anyone to sit for hours over a bit of fancywork the
usefulness of which was doubtful; but this was the only kind of _work_ that
Gussie ever cared to do.

Since Aunt Jennie had taken up her abode in the family, Dexie had found
great delight in solving some of the mysteries of cookery, and the
toothsome articles she evolved, under her aunt's direction, were exhibited
with as much pride as Gussie felt when she adorned the new sofa pillow with
such gorgeous butterflies that no one dared use it thereafter. But Dexie
was at her best when seated before the piano; then her face glowed with a
beauty far exceeding that of her sister's, for the soul shone in her face,
and she would make the instrument respond to her feelings like a human
being. However ruffled her state of mind might be--for, be it known, Dexie
was not blessed with a very even temper--she could pour out her troubles to
her beloved instrument, as she would to a dear friend, and she always found
peace and consolation there.

CHAPTER IV.

One evening, when Mr. Plaisted was still in Halifax, there was a small
party held at Mrs. Gurney's, to which the Sherwoods were invited. Although
the party was only for "grown-ups," as Elsie Gurney said, invitations were
given to Gussie and Dexie, as company for the young members of the party.
Among those present was Major Gurney, and several of his brother officers,
whose gaily-attired figures added much to the beauty of the rooms.

During the evening music was introduced, and it need hardly be said that
most of the songs sung were thoroughly English, and of course much
applauded; but Dexie, in her loyalty to the land she called _home_, though
living out of its borders, could scarcely conceal her annoyance, and
turning to a table near, she picked up a book of views in order to hide her
vexation. Presently she became aware that the book before her was composed
of views that were unmistakably English; and no sooner was their
nationality noted than she dropped the book as if it had burnt her fingers.

"The idea of that little spot on the earth lording it over all creation!"
she said to herself, and her lip curled in scorn.

Just then the young man at the piano struck up the notes of "Rule
Britannia," which was caught up at once by all the red-coated gentlemen
present, as if the very words were a sweet morsel under their tongues. It
ended at last with a crash, and Dexie gave a sigh of relief when she saw
the piano stool vacant.

But Mr. Gurney was making his way towards her, and, bending over her, said
in a low voice:

"Will you favor the company with some music, Miss Dexie? I have often
listened to some very enchanting strains from your fingers."

"Well, I think I can play something that will be quite as enchanting as
that we have just listened to," Dexie replied. "I don't believe that piece
was ever meant to be sung inside four walls, and those officers shout as if
they intended to raise the roof. I am afraid my playing will seem very tame
after all that bluster," she laughingly added.

"No fear of that," said Mr. Gurney, smiling. "Try and see if you cannot
beat them at their own game."

Dexie looked up quickly, and caught his meaning, and as she crossed the
room her thoughts were flying through her brain, trying to bring to mind
some song that would answer those "red-coated braggarts." A smile came to
her lips, as memory served her. Yes, she could sing something that was
quite as musical as "Rule Britannia," anyway, and echo the praise of her
own land as well. So when she passed her father she whispered:

"Give me the help of your best bass in the chorus;" and bending over
Gussie, who was listening to the remarks of a many-striped officer, who was
standing near her chair, she said in a low tone: "Give me your help this
once, Gussie, and let your alto be heard clear to the citadel."

Seating herself at the piano, she struck a few chords, and then her rich,
ringing voice, with every word clear and distinct, sounded through the
room:

"Of all the mighty nations in the east or in the west,
Our glorious Yankee nation is the brightest and the best;
We have room for all creation, and our banner is unfurled
With a cordial invitation to the people of the world.
So, come along, come along; make no delay;
Come from every nation; come from every way.
The land it is broad enough; you need not be alarmed,
For Uncle Sam has land enough to give you all a farm."

An amused look passed over the faces of those present as the sentiments of
the singer reached their ears, and Plaisted said, half aloud:

"Good for you, Miss Dexie; I back you there!" and when the chorus was
reached, his fine tenor was equal to any that had been heard during the
evening, his "Come along" ringing out like a bold challenge.

"Hurrah for the Stars and Stripes!" cried Lieutenant Layton, as he joined
in the applause that arose as soon as the song had ended. "Your nationality
is quite apparent, Miss Sherwood. That's right; don't let your own broad
country be sung down."

Dexie found herself immediately surrounded, and was overwhelmed with
entreaties to sing again, for the "back slap" had been as diverting as it
was unexpected, and she found it impossible to leave the piano without
singing again. But she thought that one song in that strain was enough,
though Mr. Gurney came over to her side, saying:

"Give us another like the last, Miss Dexie. It is good for these red-coated
fellows to remember that they have not conquered all the people on the face
of the earth."

"I am afraid it will offend someone," said Dexie, softly. "I couldn't
resist the temptation of letting them know that _I_ don't think England is
supreme. I am a loyal American, even if I do reside in Halifax."

"Oh! there is no danger of offending," Mr. Gurney replied. "The lion has
roared quite enough for one evening, so let the starry flag play awhile in
the breeze."

But Dexie did not like to flaunt the flag too near the lion's face, and in
his own den, as it were; so remembering some of the beautiful, pathetic
songs, that had been inspired by the war, she thought they would be quite
as much enjoyed.

Lancy Gurney was seldom far from the piano, and as Dexie finished her song
she motioned him to her side. A few whispered words passed between them,
then Lancy sat down beside her, when there rang out a symphony that
delighted every ear.

In a few minutes, Dexie took advantage of the movement she had brought
about on purpose to relieve herself, and rose from the piano, leaving Lancy
seated at the instrument.

This musical treat brought Dexie into social prominence, as there were
several members of the "Song and Glee Club" present, and she was much
surprised to receive invitations for herself and sister to join the club.

This club contained some of the best singers in the city, but had no
members so young as those now invited to join them. The invitation was
never regretted, however, for they soon acknowledged that the "Sherwood
twins" were quite an acquisition.

The pleasant evening was over at last, and the twins had received
compliments enough to turn older heads than theirs; but Dexie did not dwell
on the flattering remarks as Gussie did. Her singing and playing came as
natural to her as it did to talk, and she was not puffed up by the praise
bestowed on her for it. But Gussie was always vain of her good looks, and
she magnified the remarks that her pretty face had elicited, and when they
were about to retire Gussie had quite the air of a society belle as she
said:

"I have made quite an impression on Lieutenant Morton. I feel quite sure he
is almost in love with me already." But, receiving no answer to this
remark, she added:

"I hope you are not jealous, Dexie, because I received so many compliments
from those fine-looking officers?"

"Pooh! you silly thing! Jealous! Well, that's rich, I must say," replied
Dexie, in a tone of scorn. "You seem to think it is a fine thing to be
complimented by soldiers, but not so I. Why, didn't Mrs. Gurney tell us
one time that it was not considered respectable to be seen talking to
soldiers on the street, and I can't see how it makes so much difference if
you talk to them behind closed doors."

"Oh, but there was not one soldier invited to Mrs. Gurney's party; they
were all officers, every one of them," was Gussie's reply.

"Pshaw! what difference do a few ornaments on a man's coat make to the man
inside of it, I'd like to know? I expect that half of them, at least, were
common soldiers once themselves, and were bossed around like the very
meanest of them. I declare, I'd rather be a black on auntie's plantation
than be under some of those bawling officers we met to-night."

But Gussie did not care to discuss the matter further, as it required some
time to think the matter out seriously, if she would discover why an
officer should be less open to objection than a common soldier, for it was
true enough that many who wore the stripes had stepped up from the ranks;
yet how few of the better class care to make friends with the common
soldier, be he ever so respectable as a private individual. Was it likely
that a cloak of uncommon respectability was put on with the officer's
uniform? Hardly; else some of them lost the cloak very shortly after it was
put on.

CHAPTER V.

Mr. Sherwood, accompanied by Mr. Plaisted, made a trip to Prince Edward
Island before the winter set in, and though they did not make a very
extensive purchase, they travelled through the country and learned its
resources, visiting many farms where salable horses could be secured in the
spring. They took the horses they purchased direct to New York, where they
were disposed of to good advantage, after which Mr. Sherwood returned to
Halifax and settled down for the winter.

Mr. Plaisted remained in New York, but promised to be in Halifax early in
the spring, and be ready for the first boat that crossed to the Island.

The first winter in Halifax passed very pleasantly to the Sherwoods. The
winter sports were new, and keenly enjoyed, and the "Sherwood twins" soon
became as good skaters as those who had practised the art for years. Yet no
one must imagine that everything ran as smoothly as clockwork in the
Sherwood household, for there are few families who can boast of such
perfect regulations that there is _never_ a jar.

Mrs. Sherwood had been only too willing to throw off all responsibility and
place her duties on Aunt Jennie's shoulders, but there were many things
that must of necessity be left to Mrs. Sherwood herself, and when such
things were put off indefinitely they were apt to prove annoying;
consequently, when "patience ceased to be a virtue," the domestic
atmosphere was sometimes cleared by a small-sized storm.

There are also times when domestic helps are apt to be exasperating in the
extreme, and a word of rebuke or remonstrance is like a match to a can of
gunpowder; the powder is apt to go off, and the girl just as likely, and
both leave an unpleasantness behind them. Queer, too, that both are apt to
go off at the most unexpected and inconvenient moment; but so it is.

The Sherwood family were not exempt from this experience, for Biddy raised
a storm because Dinah seemed to be made more of than she was herself. No
explanations or smooth words would bridge over the difficulty. She refused
to stay in a house where "a big nager could stay in the room wid the missus
and hould the baby as long as she plased;" so she left the house, and quite
suddenly, too.

This disarranged household matters somewhat for awhile, as it was some time
before a capable servant could be found, and Mrs. Sherwood was obliged to
exert herself a little and attend to the wants of the baby, while Dinah
filled the vacant place in the kitchen.

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