Aunt Madge's Story Part 2

Fel and I were both shocked at the bare hint of such a thing as my marrying Gust. We didn't intend to have any great boys about. If Gust should want to marry me, and ride in our gilt-edged concert-coach, with four white horses, I guessed he'd find he wasn't wanted. I should say "No," just as quick!

The more earnest I grew the more Tempy Ann shook with laughing; and I had some reason to suspect she went and told Madam Allen my objections to marrying her son, which I thought was most unfair of Tempy Ann.

CHAPTER III.

THE BLUE PARASOL.

[Ill.u.s.tration: The Blue Parasol]

As I look back upon those make-believe days, naughty recollections spring up as fast as dust in August.

Ruph.e.l.le seems to me like a little white lily of the valley, all pure and sweet, but I was no more fit to be with her than a p.r.i.c.kly thistle. I loved dearly to tease her. Once she had some bronze shoes, and I wanted some too, but there were none to be had in town, and to console myself, I said to dear little Fel, "I'd twice rather have black shoes, bronzes look so rusty; O, my! If I couldn't have black shoes I'd go barefoot."

Fel did not wish me to see how ashamed this made her feel, but I could not help noticing afterwards that she never wore the bronze shoes to church.

I pined and fretted because I could not have nice things like her.

She had a coral necklace, and a blue silk bonnet, and a white dress, with flowers worked all over it with a needle. Did _my_ best dress have flowers worked over it with a needle? I should think not. And I hadn't a speck of a necklace, nor any bonnet but just straw. I did not know that Squire Allen was one of the wealthiest men in the state, and could afford beautiful things for his little daughter, while my father was poor, or at least not rich, and my mother had to puzzle her brains a good deal to contrive to keep her little romping, heedless, try-patience of a daughter looking respectable.

Once, when I was about six years old, I did a very naughty thing. Why, Fly, what makes your eyes s.h.i.+ne so? Can it be you like to hear naughty stories? Queer, isn't it? Ah, but this story makes me ashamed, even now that I am a grown-up woman. Wait a minute; I must go back a little; it was the parasol that began it.

When Fel and I were going home from school one night, we stopped to take some of our make-believe slides. Not far from our house, near the river-bank, were two sloping mounds, between which a brook had once run. These little mounds were soft and green, and dotted with white innocence flowers; and what fun it was to start at the top of one of them, and roll over and over, down into the valley. Somehow, Fel, being a lady-child, never stained her cape bonnet, while mine was all streaks; and she never tore her skirts off the waist; but what if I did tear mine? They always grew together again, I never stopped to think how.

This time, as we were having a jolly roll, Madam Allen rode along in the carryall, with Tempy Ann driving.

"Stop, and let us see what those children are doing," said she; and Tempy Ann stopped.

Fel and I danced upon our feet, and started to run to the carryall, but of course I tumbled down before I got there. While I was picking my foot out of the hole in my frock, I heard Fel exclaim, joyfully, "O, mamma, is it for me? What a beauty, beauty, beauty!"

"Yes, dear, I bought it for you, but if you are going to be a gypsy child, I suppose you won't want it."

I looked and saw the cunningest little sunshade, with its head tipped on one side, like a great blue morning glory. Never again shall I behold anything so beautiful. Queen Victoria's crown and Empress Eugenie's diamonds wouldn't compare with it for a moment. They say we feel most keenly those joys we never quite grasp; and I know that parasol, swinging round in Fel's little hand, was more bewitching to me than if I had held it myself. O, why wasn't it mine? I thought of Fel's coral necklace, and blue silk bonnet, and the white dress with needlework flowers, and now if she was going to have a parasol too, I might as well die and done with it.

"O, Marjie, Marjie!" cried she, dancing up to me with her sweet little face in a glow, "_do_ you see what I've got?"

I never answered. I just lay there and kicked dirt with my shoe. The carryall was in front of us, and Madam Allen could not see how I behaved.

"Come, little daughter," called she, "jump in and ride home."

But Fel thought she would rather walk with me, for I hadn't noticed her parasol yet. So her mother drove off.

"Isn't it a teenty tonty beauty?" cried she, waving it before me.

I shut my teeth together and kicked.

"You haven't looked, Marjie; see what a teenty tonty beauty!"

She never could quite enjoy her pretty things till I had praised them. I knew that, and took a wicked pleasure in holding my tongue.

"Why, Marjie," said she, in a grieved tone, "why don't you look? It's the teenty tontiest beauty ever you saw."

"There, that's the _threeth_ time you've said so, Fel Allen."

"Well, it's the truly truth, Madge Parlin."

"No, it isn't neither; and you're a little lie-girl," snapped I.

This was an absurd speech, and I did not mean a word of it, for I doubt if Fel had ever told a wrong story in her life. "You're a little lie-girl. _Got a parasol, too!_"

She only looked sorry to see me so cross. She couldn't be very unhappy, standing there stroking those soft silk ta.s.sels.

"I hope your mamma 'll give you one, too," murmured the dear little soul.

I sprang up at that.

"O, do you s'pose she would?" I cried; and by the time I had taken another roll down the bank my spirits rose wonderfully, and I let her put the parasol in my hand, even exclaiming,--

"No, I never did see anything so nice!" But I secretly hoped my own would be nicer still.

"Come home to my house," said I, "and ask my mamma if I can have a parasol too."

We were very near the house, and she went in with me. Mother was in the kitchen, stewing apple-sauce for supper. I remember what a tired look she had on her face, and how wearily she stirred the apple-sauce, which was bubbling in the porcelain kettle.

"You speak now," whispered I to Fel. "You speak first."

This was asking a great deal of the dear little friend I had just called a lie-girl. If she hadn't loved me better, much better than I deserved, she would have turned and run away. As it was, she called up all her courage, the timid little thing, and fluttering up to my mother, gently poked the end of the parasol into the bow of her black silk ap.r.o.n.

"Please, O, please, Mrs. Parlin, do look and see how pretty it is."

That was as far as she could get for some time, till mother smiled and kissed her, and asked once or twice, "Well, dear, what is it?"

I ran into the shed and back again, too excited to stand still.

Mother was always so tender of Fel, that I did think she couldn't refuse her. I was sure, at any rate, she would say as much as, "We will see about it, dear;" but instead of that she gave her an extra hug, and answered sorrowfully,--

"I wish I could buy Margaret a parasol; but really it is not to be thought of."

I dropped into the chip-basket, and cried.

"If she knew how to take care of her things perhaps I might, but it is wicked to throw away money."

"O, mamma, _did_ you s'pose I'd let it fall in the _hoss troth_?"

screamed I, remembering the fate of my last week's hat, with the green vine round it. "If you'll only give me a pairsol, mamma, I won't never carry it out to the barn, nor down to the river, nor anywhere 'n this world. I'll keep it in your bandbox, right side o' your bonnet, where there don't any mice come, or any flies, and never touch it, nor ask to see it, nor--"

"There, that'll do," said mother, stopping me at full tide. "I would be glad to please my little girl if I thought it would be right; but I have said No once, and after that, Margaret, you know how foolish it is to tease."