Stanford Eveleth - Miss Dexie

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Strange though it may seem, Gussie was the only one who saw no fault to
find in Mr. Plaisted. He was too free with his compliments to be anything
but pleasant company to her. She was willing enough to listen to his soft
speeches, for in her eyes he was a hero of romance, and the warning words
and admonitions of Aunt Jennie only served to exalt him higher in her
estimation.

Dexie treated him with such frigid politeness that he did not care to meet
her cold stare more often than necessary; so, when he sought Gussie's
society, Mr. Sherwood or Aunt Jennie were the only ones likely to interrupt
the _tete-a-tete_.

But things were not always to run so smoothly for Mr. Plaisted, and this
first day of April brought such discomfiture that his fastidious feelings
were very much upset. About noon, when the streets were thronged with
pedestrians returning from work or school to the mid-day meal, Dexie
noticed Mr. Plaisted sauntering toward the house, twirling his light cane
and looking as if he thought himself the pink of perfection. But what was
it that was fluttering in the breeze behind him? Some urchin--exasperated,
no doubt, by Plaisted's immaculate appearance--had fastened to his
coat-tails a bunch of dirty rags, and as Dexie watched him from the window,
she was convulsed with laughter as she saw him lift his hat and bow
profoundly to the two Desbrasy girls on the opposite sidewalk, who
immediately pulled out their handkerchiefs and applied them to their
faces; but he walked on, unconscious of the diversion he was causing to the
passers-by. As he came into the house, Dexie struck an attitude, and
exclaimed, in a tragic voice, "I could a tale unfold!"

Plaisted stood in the doorway, and looked at her in amazement.

"Dexie, don't be a fool," said Gussie, looking up from her wools, and
frowning at her sister's strange behavior.

"No, Gussie; I don't intend even to _try_ and be one, for when Mr. Plaisted
assumes that character, no one else has a possible chance either as court
fool or April fool."

Plaisted was too surprised to speak, and Dexie took no heed to his
darkening brow, but continued, "So _you_ have been studying Shakespeare,
and this is a practical illustration, I presume; or possibly you are posing
as a disciple of Darwin, and, to prove his theory, have unfolded your tail
to the public gaze. I have often wondered what it was you needed to make
you a perfect specimen of what Nature intended you to be." Then, catching
his arm, she turned him about that Gussie might see, adding, "He is quite
complete now, Gussie--see! This is a specimen of the species known as the
'missing link.'"

"For goodness' sake! how long have you been carrying that?" cried Gussie,
quite horrified at the sight.

Plaisted turned his head, and understood at a glance the meaning of Dexie's
words. Then, angrily grasping the cause of offence, he endeavored to remove
it, till an ominous sound of tearing cloth caused him to desist.

"Take it off! take it off! You, Dexter!" he cried, backing around to her.
"Take off that trash, I say!"

But that word "Dexter" sealed all chance of help as far as Dexie was
concerned, for she put her hands behind her back and surveyed him
scornfully.

"Not I! I wouldn't disfigure you for worlds; it quite completes your
appearance. It would be a sin to remove what Nature seems to have forgotten
in your make-up."

"Do take it off for him, Dexie," said Gussie, coaxingly. I would myself,
only I don't want to dirty my hands."

"And do you think that _Dexter_ is going to soil her beautiful hands by
touching the dirty rags? No; Dexter is not! There might be smallpox on them
for all I know; I'm sure they're spotted enough."

Plaisted turned and twisted himself this way and that, in vain endeavors to
reach the back of his coat, but could not manage it; and as he stood for a
minute, his hands held out in front of him, while he looked over his
shoulder at the unwelcome appendage, he did indeed present a woful figure.

"Why don't you take your coat off?" Gussie said at last.

"Oh! confound it; I never thought of that," as he twisted himself out of
his coat.

"Why, of course you didn't think of it," retorted Dexie. "How could you be
expected to? Everybody knows that creatures with tails are not supposed to
think at all."

"Dexie, I'll tell papa if you won't stop; you are impudent," Gussie said,
sharply.

"Do tell papa, Gussie. I only wish he were here to see the sight himself.
He does not know what he is missing by being late for dinner. It is too bad
that he must get the story second-hand, when he might have enjoyed the
edifying sight himself if he had only been on time."

"I'd like to see the wretch that put that trash on my coat," said Plaisted,
as he flung the mass into the grate. "By George! I'd fix him."

"I'd give a lot to see him myself," said Dexie, exultingly, from the other
side of the table; "and he should have at least a quarter for that piece of
work, though I'm sure it was worth a whole dollar to see you strutting up
the street with signals of distress waving in the breeze behind you. Ha,
ha!"

"I believe you did it yourself before I went out," he said, white with
rage.

"Oh! I do wish I had! How I do wish I had thought of it! How proud I should
feel if _I_ had been the one to give the citizens of Halifax such a grand
idea of what the lost species are like; and how generous of you, too, to
give a free exhibition of yourself, in your proper form, when you might
have gone to the dime museum and earned a fortune!"

Plaisted felt too wrathy to reply, but he gave her a look that was meant to
annihilate her; then turning to Gussie, who seemed to sympathize with him,
said,

"I met those Desbrasy girls as I was coming up the street, and I do believe
they saw it. Confound the thing! I remember now that they pulled out their
handkerchiefs directly I bowed. I daresay they were laughing at me!"

"Laughing! not they!" put in Dexie. "They happened to see your feet, and
were weeping with envy because theirs were so much bigger! Don't fret, Mr.
Plaisted, you are not worth looking at without this finishing touch," and
with a scornful laugh she passed out of the room, slamming the door behind
her.

Plaisted drew a sigh of relief when his tormentor vanished.

"Bless my soul! what a tongue that girl has," and he wiped the perspiration
from his brow. "I hope she don't often let her temper loose like that."

"Well, no; but you have only yourself to blame for it, and I was almost
going to say that it serves you right, too."

"Why! how's that?" said Plaisted, in surprise.

"Well, you know very well that you have tormented Dexie about Lancy Gurney
till you have aroused her temper quite often; but you might have escaped if
you had not insulted her just now."

"Insult her! How, pray? I'm sure I did not."

"You called her 'Dexter,' and that is a name she can't stand from anybody.
I believe she would have taken off those rags for you if you had spoken to
her as 'Dexie,' for she really is obliging, you know, though she did enjoy
seeing you made an April fool."

"Bless my soul! I never noticed that I called her Dexter; and so that was
the spark that caused the explosion? Well, I shall not forget it in a
hurry."

"She generally succeeds in paying back, with double interest, anyone who
uses that name to her, as I know to my sorrow," said Gussie, with a shake
of her head. "Yet, after all, I don't blame her much, either; but it is the
one spot in her make-up that seems vulnerable."

"Well, it is a good thing that I am going away so soon. I expect she will
make it hot for me while I am here."

"Oh, no! I guess you are safe, Mr. Plaisted. The storm is over for this
time, unless you care to brew another like it; the one word will do it, you
know," and she looked up with a smile.

"Thanks; I beg to be excused! That one experience is enough to last me for
one while. Ugh! I wonder if there was any disease on those dirty rags,"
looking at his fingers and then on his coat, as if in doubt which would be
the first to break out with it.

As he left the room to smooth out his ruffled plumage, holding his coat at
arm's length before him, the sounds of laughter in the next room greeted
his ears. As he listened a moment he heard Dexie relating the particulars
of the scene in the parlor, and he shook his fist in the direction of the
sound. This relieved his feelings somewhat, and he vowed a hasty vow that,
for the future, he would leave Dexie Sherwood and her doings alone. He
would have spared himself many unpleasant moments if he had kept his vow.

During the time that Mr. Plaisted was staying with the Sherwoods, Gussie
had been very cool to Hugh McNeil. As the former was about to leave the
city, Gussie thought it time to recall her old "stand-by," and was
surprised to find that Hugh was less ready to return to her side than
formerly. A feeling of jealousy arose in her heart when she saw that Hugh's
attentions were transferred to Dexie.

Hugh had not ceased to come in during the evenings, as usual, even though
Gussie was cool and abrupt with him. Not wishing Hugh to feel hurt by the
change in her sister, Dexie had talked to him, and had played and whistled
for his amusement, till the little spark of kindly regard which had
formerly represented his feelings for Dexie was fast being fanned into a
flame of passion by these little attentions, which were bestowed in a
friendly way, and for her sister's sake.

Dexie was not aware of the change in Hugh McNeil until Mr. Plaisted had
left the city, and she was surprised and displeased to see that Hugh now
ignored Gussie's presence almost as much as Gussie had his when Mr.
Plaisted was near, and turned to her instead.

It was hard to define her true feelings, but when she understood that Hugh
had mistaken her friendliness, her whole being seemed to rise up in a
vigorous protest. As it is "an ill wind that blows nobody good," Lancy was
made happy again by Dexie's presence. She no longer sought to evade him,
and her soft, rippling laughter, mingling with the low tones of Lancy's
voice, was again heard as they lingered over the piano together.

This made Hugh mad with jealousy, and the fact became so plain to Dexie
that her manner was even more gracious to Lancy when Hugh was by to observe
it.

But Hugh's sturdy Scotch nature came to the front, and he made a mental
resolve to win her in spite of everything; even his master's son should not
take Dexie from him. He would wait, but would not vex her by pressing his
suit at present when it seemed so distasteful to her; she might smile on
someone else instead of Lancy, then he could watch her less easily. He
would not meddle with the existing state of things.

Yet he had one bit of comfort given him. He it was who hastily appeared in
the Sherwood household one morning with the startling intelligence of the
assassination of President Lincoln.

The events "at home" were closely watched by all the family, and this
unexpected calamity, just at this time, was as much of a blow to them as to
those nearer the scene of strife.

Hugh had always been "Mr. McNeil" to Dexie. She had never used the more
familiar name, as the rest of the family were in the habit of doing; but
when she heard him tell his news, she caught his arm, and exclaimed:

"Oh, Hugh! do you think it is true, or only a report? Tell us, quickly!"
and she looked eagerly into his face, as if to read the truth there.

Hugh longed to clasp the hand that rested on his arm for a moment, for
during all their intercourse she had never called him "Hugh," and it
thrilled his heart as it fell from her lips. He wished that he might be the
bearer of any news, however unwelcome, if it would cause her to forget her
reserve and repeat again that little word "Hugh."

But nothing happened, and matters went on about the same during the weeks
that followed.

Mr. Sherwood did not return home for some time, for, after selling his
horses, he made a lengthy visit to his mother, who was not in the best of
spirits at this time. She was alarmed at his boldness in coming to see her,
though he assured her he had taken all precaution, her old enemies need not
hear of his presence. His visit so cheered her that he saw she needed
something to take her thoughts away from herself, and from the conflict
that engaged her mind.

Having expressed a desire to have one of her granddaughters come and live
with her for a season, and having a preference for Louie, who seemed to be
a part of the dear old southern home whose name she bore, it was decided
that Mr. Sherwood should bring her to the old homestead for a long visit.

Dinah had been sorely missed by her mistress, though she was slow to
acknowledge it; but, at Mr. Sherwood's suggestion, it was decided to bring
her back with Louie, that the faithful old nurse might spend her last days
with those she had known and loved all her life.

CHAPTER XI.

The influence which a family like the Gurneys unconsciously exert over
those brought in contact with them, was not without effect on the lives of
their next door neighbors. As Dexie was so intimate with the family, and
spent so much of her time amongst them, she was the first to feel it, and
the controlling power which governed the Gurney household was finding root
in her heart also. She did not realize this herself, but the signs were
apparent to those accustomed to look below the surface for the motive that
governs all actions.

Aunt Jennie saw more of Dexie's inner life than did her own parents. To
them she seemed the same good-natured, light-hearted girl, growing,
perhaps, a little more thoughtful and attentive than they could have
expected, considering her active nature; yet, if they had thought to
compare even the Sunday life of the household with what it had been when
they first came to Halifax, they would have been surprised at the change in
themselves.

Formerly it was the custom to spend the greater part of the Sabbath morning
in bed, and, after a late breakfast, Mr. Sherwood read the American papers
until dinner was served. In the evening a walk was indulged in, or, if a
popular preacher was announced to appear in any of the churches, he would
attend, taking some member of the family with him; but it was seldom that
Mrs. Sherwood attended public worship. As the head of the house passed the
Sabbaths in this careless fashion, the rest of the household felt free to
spend it as it pleased themselves also.

No one seemed to hold the day any more sacred than the other six, except
Aunt Jennie; but as Dexie came to note the difference in the Sunday life of
her next-door neighbors, and mentally compared it with how the day was
spent at home, she inwardly resented the feelings that would intrude
themselves, for they pointed out the fact quite plainly that there was
something needed in their lives at home which was engrafted in the
household next door; and, though she scarcely knew what to do to remedy a
difference she did not care to define even to herself, yet she silently
resolved that an outward form at least, similar to what she saw next door,
should yet be practised at home, for she could not bear the silent reproach
any longer.

When Dexie opened her heart to Aunt Jennie about it, she found that the
same thing had troubled her quiet auntie for a long time; so together they
laid plans that eventually brought about a different Sunday life from that
the family had hitherto known. Yet the change began in a very commonplace
way, too; for instead of enjoying the extra sleep that the family usually
indulged in, they were aroused one Sunday morning by repeated calls to
breakfast--calls which were hard to resist when the opened doors let in
such appetizing odors from the kitchen, where Aunt Jennie was
superintending the morning meal. And if their olfactories were closed to
this appeal, their ears were not so easily shut to the sounds that Dexie
was bringing forth from the piano, as hymns, anthems and psalms followed in
succession, and made further sleep impossible.

"What has got into you all this morning? Have you forgotten it is Sunday?"
said Mr. Sherwood, appearing at last. "How can anyone sleep with all this
racket going on, Dexie?" he added, stepping into the parlor. "What on earth
made you rout us out of bed at this hour? Why, it is not nine o'clock yet!"

"Oh! you slept long enough papa. I am sure we don't need more sleep on
Sunday morning than we do any other day. You'll not be sorry you got up
when once you have tasted some of the good things auntie has made for
breakfast," and she raised her mouth for a kiss, then led him to the table.

Gussie made her appearance in time to sit down with the rest, but she
looked cross at Dexie for having disturbed her.

"This is the first Sunday morning we have all met at the breakfast table
for months, I do believe," said Mr. Sherwood, leaning back in his chair, as
he finished the meal. "But where are the papers this morning? What! still
in the office? However am I going to pass the day without my papers?
Strange that no one thought of going for them last night."

Someone had thought of it, but had purposely forgotten again, hoping that
he might be induced to attend some place of worship in the morning, if for
no better reason than to pass the time away.

The Gurneys were members of the Episcopal Church and attended at St.
Paul's. Dexie had often accompanied them on Sundays, and had grown familiar
with the service that was, in after-life, so dear to her; but, knowing that
her father disliked that form of worship, she intended to persuade him to
attend St. Matthew's (Presbyterian), as she knew he had a great respect for
the officiating clergyman.

"Well, papa, since the time will seem long to you with nothing particular
to do, why not come with Gussie and I to hear Dr. Grant? They have a fine
choir at St. Matthew's; so we will be sure to enjoy either the sermon or
the singing, if not both."

"Oh, I'm not going out this morning, Dexie, so speak for yourself," said
Gussie. "It is a horrid bother to dress up so early in the day. I have a
nice book to read, so, if you want to go out, you can go with the Gurneys,
as usual."

"But I would rather go some place with papa," said Dexie; "and it will be
nicer to make a family party of it. Besides, I want to hear what the new
singer is like, and of course I can't go alone. You remember Cora Beverly
was talking about her, and says she has the sweetest voice she ever heard.
You will come with us, won't you, papa?" she asked, coaxingly, as she went
behind his chair and stroked his hair.

"Well, I'll see, by and by," Mr. Sherwood replied. "I may go with you this
evening, though."

"Now, papa, what will prevent you from coming this morning? I do think you
will be most unkind if you refuse, for I have set my heart on hearing that
singer. Now, do say 'yes,' papa."

"Well, you little torment, yes, then! Now, leave my hair alone, or you'll
have my head as bald as the back of my hand," holding her away at
arm's-length.

Dexie bent over and gave him a final kiss; then, turning to Gussie, said:

"Did you see how nicely I have done up your frills and laces, Gussie? That
pretty cream lace will look lovely with your new dress, if you frill it
around the neck."

"New dress, indeed! Old made over thing, you'd better call it!" was the
scornful answer.

"Well, it is too bad that it was not made up to suit you at first. Now that
it has been altered, it looks quite stylish, and becomes you splendidly,
and this is just the day to wear your new hat."

This bit of flattery had the desired effect. Gussie decided that it really
was too fine to stay indoors, so she rose from the table to begin her
preparations for church.

"Seems to me you have taken to psalm-singing very suddenly," said Gussie,
as Dexie accompanied her preparations with some song of David that was
unfamiliar to Gussie's ears.

"Oh, no! they sing psalms every Sunday at the Episcopal Church," and Dexie
hummed away with a light heart.

"But not to such tunes as that! They go hopping along on one note, like a
hen with a sore foot, and then end up altogether differently from what you
expect. Chanting is not singing, and I think it sounds ridiculous."

"Well, a hen with a sore foot would sing a mournful song, I fear; but if
you would come to St. Paul's some morning and hear them sing the _Te Deum_,
you would not think there was anything mournful about it. It sounds just
glorious! Everyone might not think so," she added, noting her sister's
scornful look; "but everyone does not admire psalm-singing after the
Presbyterian style, either. However, chant, psalm or hymn, it's all one to
me so long as I know the tunes, for I hate to stand as dumb as a post when
I go to a place of worship. Some people are content to have nothing more to
do in the service than say 'Amen' at the close of the benediction, but I
think a responsive service claims the attention of careless churchgoers,
and gives people something else to think of besides the style of the
garments of those around them."

"Well, I enjoy looking at the styles when I go to church, and I hope people
will think my hat is becoming," said outspoken Gussie; "I believe other
people put on their fine feathers on Sunday with the same object. However,
I do believe that an ugly hat is as conspicuous as a handsome one."

"Well, I suppose it is! I wonder if there is such a thing as a 'happy
medium' in trimming a hat. Dear me! what a lot of things a person has to
think of in this world!" and with a sigh she followed her sister
downstairs.

Aunt Jennie watched them depart with a prayer in her heart that some
message might reach the heart of her careless brother-in-law, and she
seemed to have had her prayer answered, for he was willing enough to attend
the same church the following Sunday.

But Gussie was not attracted either by the sermon or the singing. Something
else had to be the attraction to draw her out of a Sunday morning, unless
she was urged with a persistency that would have moved a mule in the
tantrums.

But when Mrs. Sherwood announced, one Sunday morning, that she would
accompany the rest to church, Dexie felt that her happiness was complete.
She knew it was owing to Aunt Jennie's influence that her mother had put
forth this extra exertion, and though it was Sunday, Dexie felt like
dancing a jig around the floor, for her mother had become even more
indifferent than her easy-going father in matters pertaining to religion.

In the Gurney household there was no day in the week so gladly welcomed as
the Sabbath, and of a family containing so many young children this is no
light thing to say.

In the first place, the little ones were so anxious not to lose any of the
many extra treats that this glad day afforded them, that they put on their
best behavior with their Sunday garments--and where is the person, little
or big, that does not feel more important in his best clothes, and act
accordingly.

Then instead of having breakfast in the nursery, with nurse at the head of
the table, the family met around the one table, below stairs; and to the
little ones this was a treat indeed. Having the children around him only
one day in seven made it quite a change for Mr. Gurney also, though it
wearied while it delighted him; and each succeeding Sunday he more fully
realized the blessing he possessed in his good wife, for he had none of
that patience and tact that is required to keep such a family in order.

Then on fine Sundays all the children went to church, except the two
youngest, and the advent of a new member in the family was hailed with
delight by one of the family at least; for of course a baby, however new,
counted one, and it was warmly welcomed by the one who was thus raised to
the dignity of a church-goer.

We must not forget the treat that was reserved for Sunday afternoons, for
directly after Sunday-school there was sure to be in readiness for each
member of the family a plate containing what the children called "goodies."
This was a mixture of confectionery, dates or figs, apples, nuts, pears or
oranges, or other fruits as the season might be. As Dexie Sherwood was
expected to spend this part of the day with the family, her plate was
regularly prepared with the rest; and until the time that Lancy had made
known his feelings for her, Dexie had enjoyed the _tete-a-tete_ which he
always managed to arrange in some quiet corner. Even now she was not always
able to avoid it, without being positively rude, for she could not make
Elsie see that her presence was necessary when Lancy managed to give his
sister the impression that it was otherwise; it was quite clear that Mother
Gurney saw nothing amiss in Lancy's desire to take Dexie "somewhere out of
the noise," for the little ones made much of their Sunday freedom.

It was during one of these Sunday afternoon chats that a better
understanding was arrived at between Lancy and Dexie. They were sitting in
the parlor, with a screen drawn between them and any chance observer, their
plates on a small table near them, when Dexie playfully tossed over a piece
of confectionery bearing the words, "You look unhappy."

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