Mildred at Roselands

by Martha Finley

  Chapter Second.

  "'Tis you alone can save, or give my doom." --Ovid.

  Celestia Ann had come to stay if wanted, of which in her secret soulshe had no doubt; want of self-appreciation not being one of herfailings--she knew her own value quite as well as did any one else.

  "If you've got a girl, and don't want me," she remarked, uponannouncing her errand, "it don't make no difference; I'm not perticlerabout workin' out this fall; if I was there's places enough; though Iam free to own I feel a leetle more at home here than anywheres else,and set great store by you all."

  "We have a girl," said Mrs. Keith, "but she leaves us in another week,and in the meanwhile, I shall be glad to have two, as Mildred and Iwill be very busy with the preparations for her journey."

  "Journey! is she goin' off? 'taint on her weddin' trip, is it? I heerdthere was talk of her gettin' married, and I said then I was bound tohave a finger in that pie--makin' the weddin' cake."

  "Oh, no, she's quite too young for that yet," Mrs. Keith said, with aslight smile, "she's only going South on a visit to some relations."

  "And I want you to promise to stay and take care of mother till I comeback, Celestia Ann," added Mildred.

  "Well, you've got to promise first that you'll not stay forever,"prudently stipulated Miss Hunsinger. "When do you 'low to come back?"

  "Next spring."

  "H'm! well, I don't mind engagin' for that length of time, provided myfolks at home keeps well, so's I'm not needed there."

  "Then it's a bargain?" queried Mildred joyously.

  "Yes, I reckon."

  And Celestia Ann hung up her sun-bonnet behind the kitchen door,and set to work at once with her wonted energy, while Mrs. Keithand Mildred withdrew to the bedroom of the latter to examine intothe condition of her wardrobe, and consult as to needed repairs andadditions.

  They quickly decided that no new dresses should be purchased, and verylittle shopping of any kind done until her arrival in Philadelphia, asshe could of course buy to much better advantage there, and learn whatwere the prevailing fashions, before having the goods made up.

  Mrs. Keith had never made dress a matter of primary importance withherself or with her children, yet thought it well enough to conform tothe fashions sufficiently to avoid being conspicuous for singularity ofattire.

  "We must give thought enough to the matter to decide how our clothesare to be made," she said, "and it is easier to follow the prevailingstyle than to contrive something different for ourselves; provided itbe pretty and becoming; for I think it a duty we owe our friends tolook as well as we can."

  And on this principle she was desirous that Mildred's dress should beentirely suitable to her age and station, handsome and fashionableenough to ensure her against being an eyesore and annoyance to Mrs.Dinsmore, whose guest she was to be.

  "The fashions are so slow in reaching these western towns that I knowwe must be at least a year or two behind," she remarked in a livelytone, as she turned over and examined Mildred's best dress--a prettyblue black silk, almost as good as new. "That doesn't trouble me solong as we are at home; but I don't want you to look outre to ourrelations and their friends, because that would be a mortification tothem as well as to yourself. So though this is perfectly good, I thinkit will be best to try to match it and have it remodeled."

  "Mother," said Mildred, "when it comes to buying dresses for myself howI shall miss you! I'm afraid I shall make some sad mistakes."

  The young girl looked really troubled and anxious as she spoke and hermother answered in a kindly reassuring tone,

  "I am not afraid to trust to your taste or judgment, so you need notbe."

  "But I shall not know where to go to find what I want, or whether theprice asked is a fair one."

  "Well, my dear child, even these trifling cares and anxieties we maycarry to our kind heavenly Father, feeling sure that so a way will beprovided out of the difficulty. Probably your aunt or uncle, or someother friend, will go with you."

  The mother's tone was so cheerful and confident that Mildred caught herspirit and grew gay and light-hearted over her preparations.

  Although the dressmaking was deferred, there was still enough to bedone in the few days of the allotted time, to keep both mother anddaughter very busy; which was just as well, as it left them no leisureto grieve over the approaching separation.

  The news that she was going so far away and to be absent so long,created some consternation in the little coterie to which Mildredbelonged.

  Claudina Chetwood and Lu Grange declared themselves almostinconsolable, while Wallace Ormsby was privately of the opinion thattheir loss was as nothing compared to his.

  Months ago he had decided that life would be a desert without Mildredto share it with him; but he had never found courage to tell her so,for he feared the feeling was not reciprocated--that she had only afriendly liking for him.

  He had hoped to win her heart in time, but now the opportunity was tobe taken from him and given to others. It was not a cheerful prospect;and Mildred was so busy there seemed no chance of getting a word alonewith her.

  "My mother tells me you are going away, Mildred, on a long journeyand for a lengthened stay?" Mr. Lord remarked inquiringly, and witha regretful tone in his voice, as he shook hands with her after theweekly evening service.

  He had been absent from town for a week or two.

  "Yes," she returned gayly, putting aside with determination the thoughtof the partings that must wrench her heart at the last. "I am allready, trunk packed and everything, and expect to start to-morrowmorning."

  "Ah, it's unfortunate. We shall miss you sadly. May I--"

  But some one called to him from the other side of the room; he wasobliged to turn away without finishing his sentence, and Wallace Ormsbyseized the opportunity to step up and offer his arm to Mildred.

  She accepted it and they walked on in silence till they were quite outof earshot of the rest of the congregation.

  Then Wallace opened his lips to speak, but the words he wanted wouldnot come; he could only stammer out a trite remark about the weather.

  "Yes; it's beautiful," said Mildred. "I do hope it will last so, atleast till we reach the Wabash. However, we go in a covered vehicle,and I suppose will not get wet even if it should rain."

  "I wish you weren't going!" cried Wallace impetuously. "No, not thateither; for I think, I hope, the journey will do you good: but--OMildred, I cannot bear the thought that you may--that somebody elsewill win you away from me. I--I don't presume to say that I have anyright, but I love you dearly, and always shall, and I do think I couldmake you happy if you only could return it," he went on speaking fast,now that he had found his tongue: "O Mildred, do you think you could?"

  "I don't know, Wallace," she said, her voice trembling a little; "Ihave a very great respect and esteem for you, affection too," she addedwith some hesitation, and feeling the hot blood surge over her face atthe words, "but I don't think it's quite the sort you want."

  "You love somebody else?" he whispered hoarsely.

  "No, no: there is no one I like better than I do you. But we are bothvery young and--"

  "Perhaps you might learn to like me in time?" he queried eagerly,tremulously, as one hoping even against hope.

  "Yes: though I do _like_ you now: but it ought to be somethingstronger, you know, and I couldn't make any promises now, and neithermust you."

  "I should be glad to," he said, "for I am perfectly certain I shouldnever repent."

  He bade her good night at the gate, saying he would not make itgood-bye if he might come to see her off in the morning.

  "Certainly, Wallace," she said: "you are like one of the family; youhave seemed that to all of us ever since your great kindness to us lastsummer."

  "Don't speak of it," he answered hastily, "you conferred a greatobligation in allowing me, for it was the greatest pleasure in life tobe permitted to share your burdens."