Hilda's Mascot Part 10

The moment the door opened Jerusha, erect, neat, and with perfectly fitting walking dress, stepped in, her eyes like black beads and her cheeks flushed from her mile walk in the clear morning air.

"Where is my pay to come from?" she asked sharply, when Mrs. Lattinger made the situation known. "There is no charge for making a burial dress for a neighbor, and I cannot afford to lose my day."

"The doctor feels it inc.u.mbent to send someone, having promised Diana. I suppose there is money in the house; if not, we will see that you are paid for it."

"That settles it!" responded Miss Flint, promptly, and, turning abruptly, she left the house and walked with her usual dispatch down the road, looking neither to the right nor to the left until she reached the cottage.

Diana was still alone, with the exception of Hilda, who was taking her breakfast, and her face clouded at sight of Miss Flint.

"Mrs. Courtney is sick and could not come," explained Jerusha, reading Diana's face like an open book, "and Mrs. Lattinger took it upon herself to ask me to come, so I am that accommodating individual known as 'Jack-in-a-Pinch'; what's to be done now that I am here?"

"I don't know; that is why I wished someone to come."

"Has no patient that you have nursed died until now?"

"Yes, but there were always plenty of relatives and friends to make arrangements; my duty was done and I went home."

"Well, the first thing I will do is to lay aside my hat and cape, seeing the lady of the house is not polite enough to ask me."

"Oh, please excuse me!" said Diana, reddening; "I really forgot it."

"No harm done," said Miss Flint, as she shook her cape with a vigorous snap, folded it and placed it on the pillow of the lounge and laid her hat upon it. "Had she no relatives?"

Miss Flint had nodded toward the other room while smoothing her raven hair with the palms of her hands until it shone like satin, and Diana had no difficulty in understanding.

"Yes, she has a brother and sister in Ohio. Her sister, Mrs. Warfield, has been written to twice, but has not answered either letter. They were opposed to her marrying Mr. Ashley; she told me so herself, last evening, poor dear;" and Diana's eyes filled at the remembrance.

"No wonder they were opposed," commented Miss Flint as she glanced about the neat but simply furnished room. "If she had possessed the common sense that a woman of her appearance should have had, she would have been opposed, too."

"It may be that they won't pay any attention to her, or it may be that Mrs. Warfield is on her way here," resumed Diana. "I do hope she is, for I want to get away. I feel it such a responsibility."

"What is to be done with her?" asked Miss Flint, nodding toward Hilda.

"She will be in our way."

"I might stop the miller's children on their way to school and ask them to take Hilda home with them, or ask one of them to come here for company for her; their mother will, I am sure, oblige in a case like this."

"Let her go there, for mercy's sake!" responded Jerusha sharply. "We will have two to bother with if one of them comes here."

"There they come now!" said Diana. "I will run out and ask them."

Fortune favored; one of the children was glad to return home and take Hilda with her, and Miss Flint was gratified to hear that the miller's family would keep her until after the funeral; and the way was now clear for business.

"Now if Mrs. Warfield would come, how thankful I would be!" sighed Diana as she set aside the remains of the breakfast.

"But we cannot wait for that. What is to be done about a burial dress?"

"I don't know," responded Diana anxiously. "Do you take the lead and I will help you all I can."

"What I want to know is, will it be made here, or bought ready made in Baltimore?" questioned Miss Flint sharply.

"I really cannot decide. Which do you advise?"

"That depends upon circ.u.mstances. What is there in the house?"

"Do you mean money?"

"Yes, money or clothes, or material to make a burial dress of," snapped Miss Jerusha impatiently.

"There is a bureau in her room with her clothing in two of the drawers; the third one is locked; I don't know what is in it."

"Where is the key?"

"In the upper drawer in a little box."

"We can soon see; come!"

"I really cannot; not while she is in there," said Diana, shrinkingly.

"Why, there is where she will have to be until taken to the grave; you certainly are not thinking of having her brought out here?"

"Oh, no; but it seems so hard to go in and unlock her bureau when she is unable to prevent us."

"We don't want to be prevented. Somebody must attend to this; come along and give me the key."

They went, Diana shading her eyes from the still form on the bed. The drawer was unlocked and a white cashmere burial robe was found, covered by a sheet of white tissue paper.

"Just as I expected the moment you told me that the lower drawer was locked," remarked Miss Flint. "She was exactly the woman to prepare for this in order to be independent of her neighbors. Well, it saves a day's work, so I am not the one to complain."

Sustained by the self-reliance of her companion, Diana became of "some use," as Miss Flint expressed it, and did as directed with many a longing to be away from it all.

The beautiful form of Mrs. Ashley was neatly arrayed in the robe and Diana waited for further orders.

"Give me a pair of scissors and I will cut off a lock of her hair; her sister may want it. But stop, you need not go! I have mine with me."

"I don't see how you can bear to cut off her hair," said Diana nervously, as the snip, snip of the scissors fell upon her ear.

"It is lovely," commented Miss Flint as she held up a glossy tress, "and it curls naturally."

"Yes, many a rich woman would give half she possesses for such a splendid head of hair, and could envy her in many ways. Mrs. Lattinger said she was a lovely young creature when she came as a bride to Dorton, and has changed very little since. Now she looks like one of the beautiful marble statues in the Peabody Inst.i.tute, if it were not for the long, dark lashes resting upon her cheeks."

"She was a beauty and no mistake, but as proud as Lucifer. Pride and poverty killed that woman, or my name is not Jerusha Flint."

"She was always kind and gentle and polite to me," responded Diana tearfully.

"Polite, oh certainly! But she made you know your place, I'll warrant. I wonder that one as proud as she was would marry a poor artist. Now you can fix her hair the way she wore it, and while you are doing it I will watch at the gate for someone who can be trusted to send the undertaker."

"Oh, please don't leave me!" exclaimed Diana, dropping the comb. "Do you stay here and let me watch at the gate."

"Well, you are the poorest creature I ever did see. You are not afraid of her, are you?" asked Jerusha derisively.