Kathie's Soldiers Part 16

The child followed. It was not very warm yet, but there was a great crackling, blazing fire upon the hearth, which was a delightful picture in itself.

Sarah stood and viewed her guest wonderingly. The long golden curls, the clear, fine complexion, the neat-fitting dress, the small white hands, and the dainty kid boots, were all marvels to her.

"You're very rich," she said, presently, in a peculiar manner, as if she could almost find it in her heart to envy Kathie and grow discontented with herself. Kathie's fine sense and tact detected it.

She stretched out her hand and took Sarah's,--a little rough, but soft and plump. "My uncle is," she answered; "he is very good to us children.

My father died when I was a tiny little girl."

"Did he?" Sarah knelt down, and began to wind the silken curls over her finger. "But you are so--so different. You don't have to work,--do you?"

"A little," and Kathie smiled.

"What! a lady like you? Don't you keep servants? For Jim said the place was like a palace!"

"We keep one servant only, and a gardener. Mamma thinks it right that every one should learn to be useful."

"But if I was rich I wouldn't do a thing! I actually wouldn't."

"I am afraid you would soon get tired of idleness."

"O, I'd have books, and read, and paint pictures, and a pianny--"

"Piano," corrected Kathie, gravely, as if she had been a teacher with her cla.s.s.

Sarah turned scarlet, then gave a little embarra.s.sed laugh. "I never can get the words all right. They do plague me so; but I haven't been to school for two years. Mother wanted me home, for Martha was so little.

That's why I'd like to be a lady, and know just what was right to do and say. I thought you was so elegant that night!"

"There are a great many 'ladies,' as you call them, much poorer than you; and some rich people who are coa.r.s.e and ignorant."

"There ain't only two or three men in Middleville any richer than father. He owns sights of land and timber, but he thinks that if you can read and write and cipher a little it is enough. I don't suppose I could ever be as nice as you are, though,"--with a sadness in her tone and a longing in her eyes.

"In what respect?" Kathie smiled encouragingly.

"Well--to talk as you do. I thought that night at the Fair that it was just like a story-book or music. I know I'm always makin' mistakes."

"Then you must try to be careful. Does not your teacher correct you?"

"Well, I am learning a little; but it seems to be such hard work. How did you do it?"

"I have always been sent to school, and then my mother has taken a good deal of pains with me. It seems unfortunate that people should fall into such careless habits of p.r.o.nouncing, and oftentimes of spelling."

"Was my letter all right?" Sarah asked, with quick apprehension. "I tried so hard, and wrote it over ever so many times."

"I let my uncle read it, and he said he had seen letters from older women that would hardly bear comparison. There were very few mistakes in it."

Kathie's honesty impelled her to say this, though under some circ.u.mstances she would have uttered no comment.

"Tell me what they were. I think I could do better now."

"Do you really wish me to?"

"Yes, I do," with a good deal of rising color.

"Your p.r.o.noun I, when you speak of yourself, must always be a capital,--never a small i, and dotted."

"But how can you tell?"

"It is a personal p.r.o.noun, and is never used in any other way. A single I must always be a capital."

"Always! I'll be sure to remember that," Sarah answered, with great earnestness; "and what else?"

"Christmas wasn't quite right. That begins with a capital, because it is a proper name, and the first syllable is spelled just like Christ."

"Is it? Why, I never thought! and I've seen it so many times too. What other mistakes were there?"

"I really cannot remember," said Kathie, laughing; and she spoke the truth. "The lichen was so lovely, Uncle Robert put it up in the library.

Where do you find such beautiful specimens?"

"Over in the swamp, about a mile south of here. There are so many pretty things. Do you know Indian pipe?"

"Yes!" exclaimed Kathie, with a touch of enthusiasm.

"Isn't it lovely?--just as if it was cut out of white wax. I like to go rambling round to find all manner of odd things; but I never thought of putting them up anywhere, or making frames. O, come see mine!"

Both girls rose, and Kathie really took her first survey of the parlor.

There was a dull-colored ingrain carpet on the floor, the flowers of which ran all over it; a square, stiff-backed sofa, studded with bra.s.s nails; some rush-bottomed chairs, two old family portraits, and a pair of high bra.s.s candlesticks on the mantelpiece.

But above this Sarah had hung her two pictures, and put up the lichen brackets.

"I couldn't make my frame as pretty as yours," she said; "and I broke ever so many straws."

"But you succeeded very well, I think."

"And I made this. I took the picture out of a book."

It was a moss frame, very neatly manufactured, but the picture was a rather coa.r.s.ely colored fas.h.i.+on-plate.

"I do love pictures so! I wish I had a whole houseful! And if I could only make 'em myself,--them, I mean," coloring, and correcting her speech.

"I have brought you two more--O, they were left in the wagon!--and some books."

Sarah's eyes sparkled. "Would you mind running out? The boys have some rabbits down to the barn, and there's a great swing,--O, and loads of nuts! Do you ever go chestnutting?"

"I have been, but there are not a great many trees around Brookside."

"Here's a shawl; just wrap yourself head and ears in it. We're going down to the barn, mother."

They found Uncle Robert entertaining Jim and Steve, the latter of whom sat in wide-eyed astonishment; but the entrance of the girls broke up the conclave.