Meanwhile, John, who was even more shy of Ethelyn than James, had been
made the recipient of the elegantly embroidered slippers, which
presented so marked a contrast to his heavy cowhides, and were three
sizes too small for his mammoth feet. Ethelyn saw the discrepancy at
once, and the effort it was for John to keep from laughing outright, as
he took the dainty things into which he could but little more than
thrust his toes.
"You did not know what a Goliath I was, nor what stogies I wore; but I
thank you all the same," John said, and with burning blushes Ethelyn
turned next to her beautiful Schiller--the exquisite little bust--which
Andy, in his simplicity mistook for a big doll, feeling a little
affronted that Ethelyn should suppose him childish enough to care for
such toys.
But when Richard, who stood looking on, explained to his weak brother
what it was, saying that people of cultivation prized such things as
these, and that some time he would read to him of the great German poet,
Andy felt better, and accepted his big doll with a very good grace.
The coiffure came next, Mrs. Markham saying she was much obliged, and
Eunice asking if it was a half-handkerchief, to be worn about the neck.
Taken individually and collectively, the presents were a failure--all
but the pretty collar and ribbon-bow, which, as an afterthought, Ethelyn
gave to Eunice, whose delight knew no bounds. This was something she
could appreciate, while Ethelyn's gifts to the others had been far
beyond them, and but for the good feeling they manifested might as well
have been withheld. Ethelyn felt this heavily, and it did not tend to
lessen the bitter disappointment which had been gnawing in her heart
ever since she had reached her Western home. Everything was different
from what she had pictured it in her mind--everything but Daisy's face,
which, from its black-walnut frame above her piano, seemed to look so
lovingly down upon her. It was a sweet, refined face, and the soft eyes
of blue were more beautiful than anything Ethelyn had ever seen. She
did not wonder that every member of that family looked upon their lost
Daisy as the household angel, lowering their voices when they spoke of
her, and even retarding their footsteps when they passed near her
picture. She did wonder, however, that they were not more like what
Daisy would have been, judging from the expression of her face and all
Richard had said of her.
Between Mrs. Markham and Ethelyn there was from the first a mutual
feeling of antagonism, and it was in no degree lessened by Aunt
Barbara's letter, which Mrs. Markham read three times on Sunday, and
then on Monday very foolishly talked it up with Eunice, whom she treated
with a degree of familiarity wholly unaccountable to Ethelyn.