"But for all that Ridgeley is a lonely, desolate place to me," said
Mrs. Sutton, one early spring morning to her niece and crony, Mrs.
William Sutton. "A house without children is worse than a last
year's bird's nest. It is a riddle to me how Clara Aylett contrives
to occupy her time."
"She should have some of these socks to darn, if it hangs upon her
hands," replied Mrs. William, humorously, running her five fingers
through the toe of one she had just picked up from the great willow
basket set between the two upon the porch-floor.
"The Lord isn't very apt to make mothers out of that sort of
material," said the elder lady. "Nor fathers out of Winston Ayletts.
They are so wrapped up in their self-consequence as to have no
thought for others."
"Yet they say Mr. Aylett regrets that he has no heir. It is a great
pity Mabel lost her only child as she did. The family will become
extinct in another generation. It is such a noble estate, too!"
"Large families were never the rule among the Ayletts," responded
Aunt Rachel. "But I did hope my dear Mabel would be an exception to
the rest in this respect. She would adopt a little girl, but her
husband will not consent. Those Dorrances are a cold-hearted race.
He, too, is heaping up riches, without knowing who shall gather
them. Heigh-ho!"
Her darning-needle quilted the yawning heel of Tommy Sutton's sock
with precision and celerity, and she ruminated silently upon the
vicissitudes and failures of mortal life until she was interrupted
by Mrs. William's exclamation: "There is Mrs. Tazewell's carriage at the gate, and the driver has a
letter in his hand. I hope the old lady is not worse!"
Aunt Rachel met the man at the steps, with neighborly anxiety.
"How is your mistress, Jack?"
"'Bout the same, ma'am. But Miss Rosa--she came last night very
unexpected, and it kinder worsted Mistis to see her so poorly. This
note is from Miss Rosa, ma'am, and I am to take back an answer."
Mrs. Sutton read it standing in the porch--the scented leaflet that
had a look of the writer all over it, from the scarlet monogram at
the top of the sheet and upon the envelope, to the flourish of the
signature--"Rosa T. C."--the curl of the C carried around the rest
like a medallion frame: "DEAR, GOOD AUNT RACHEL,--I have come to Old Virginia to try and
shake off an uncomfortable cough which has haunted me all winter.
The Northern quacks can do nothing for me. One ray of this delicious
sunshine is worth all their nostrums. I was not prepared to find
mamma helpless, or I should not have descended upon her so
unceremoniously. Being here, I cannot retreat in good order or with
safety to my health, nor without wounding her. Frederic must return
to Philadelphia next week, by which time I hope to be quite
invigorated. Now for my audacious proposal. Can you come over and
tell me how to get well in the quickest and least troublesome way?
Dear Auntie! you loved me once. When you see what a poor, spiritless
shadow I have grown--or lessened--to be, you will care a little bit
for me again, for the sake of lang syne."