"What did that Miss Bigelow take her for that she must ask her to be
kind to Ethelyn? Of course she should do her duty, and she guessed her
ways were not so very different from other people's, either," and the
good woman gave an extra twist to the tablecloth she was wringing, and
shaking it out rather fiercely, tossed it into the huge clothes-basket
standing near.
The wash was unusually large that day and as the unpacking of the box
had taken up some time, the clock was striking two just as the last
clothespin was fastened in its place, and the last brown towel hung upon
the currant bushes. It was Mrs. Markham's weakness that her wash should
be fluttering in the wind before that of Mrs. Jones, which could be
plainly seen from her kitchen window. But to-day Mrs. Jones was ahead,
and Melinda's pink sun-bonnet was visible in the little back-yard as
early as eleven, at which time the Markham garments had just commenced
to boil. The bride had brought with her a great deal of extra work, and
what with waiting breakfast for her until the coffee was cold and the
baked potatoes "all soggy," and then cleaning up the litter of "that
box," Mrs. Markham was dreadfully behind with her Monday's work. And it
did not tend to improve her temper to know that the cause of all her
discomposure was "playing lady" in a handsome cashmere morning gown,
with heavy tassels knotted at her side, while she was bending over the
washtub in a faded calico pinned about her waist, and disclosing the
quilt patched with many colors, and the black yarn stockings footed with
coarse white. Not that Mrs. Markham cared especially for the difference
between her dress and Ethelyn's--neither did she expect Ethelyn to
"help" that day--but she might at least have offered to wipe the dinner
dishes, she thought. It would have shown her good will at all events.
But instead of that she had returned to her room the moment dinner was
over, and Eunice, who went to hunt for a missing sock of Richard's,
reported that she was lying on the lounge with a story book in her hand.
"Shiffless," was the word Mrs. Markham wanted to use, but she repressed
it, for she would not talk openly against Richard's wife so soon after
her arrival, though she did make some invidious remarks concerning the
handsome underclothes, wondering "what folks were thinking of to put so
much work where it was never seen. Puffs, and embroidery, and lace, and,
I vum, if the ruffles ain't tucked too," she continued, in a despairing
voice, hoping Ethelyn knew "how to iron such filagree herself, for the
mercy knew she didn't."
Now these same puffs, and embroidery, and ruffles, and tucks had excited
Eunice's liveliest admiration, and her fingers fairly itched to see how
they would look hanging on the clothes bars after passing through her
hands. That Ethelyn could touch them she never once dreamed. Her
instincts were truer than Mrs. Markham's and it struck her as perfectly
proper that one like Ethelyn should sit still while others served, and
to her mistress' remarks as to the ironing, she hastened to reply: "I'd
a heap sight rather do them up than to iron the boys' coarse shirts and
pantaloons. Don't you mind the summer I was at Camden working for Miss
Avery, who lived next door to Miss Judge Miller, from New York? She had
just such things as these, and I used to go in sometimes and watch Katy
iron 'em, so I b'lieve I can do it myself. Anyways, I want to try."