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Authors: Grace Livingston Hill
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two tears slipped out and rolled down her cheeks. She did so love tennis, and now there would be no more until next summer. Of course, she could not play alone.
But once in the house there was plenty to be done, and no one else there seemed to have time to think of yesterday.
“ Katharine , I wish you would wash the dishes as soon as possible, and then make a cake. Mrs. Whiting is coming down to tea tonight and go to prayer meeting, and there isn’t a bit of cake in the house. Make the easiest, quickest kind, and get through as soon as possible. There is a great deal to be done, and I shall need your help this morning.” Her mother said this as she entered the door.
Yesterday, when Katharine had been playing tennis, Frank Warner, her partner, had watched her several times. He had thought what a pleasant expression she always had, and what an exceedingly nice girl she was, for a girl who had been brought up in a small village, and whose father had never been able to give her many advantages. But he would scarcely have known her if he could have seen her now as she took off her hat and jacket, with an almost sullen expression on her face, and her brows drawn together in an inartistic scowl.
There was no time for her to examine the package that the girls had given to her at parting, and which she had not had the heart to open before, so she laid it on the table to wait until a leisure moment should come.
It seemed to her as though the task of washing all those sticky, ugly looking dishes was an impossible one, and likely to prove interminable. She made it all the harder for herself by continually envisioning pleasant things that had happened the days before, and discontentedly wishing those days back once more.
The work of getting the dinner fell mostly upon her shoulders that day, and it was performed very reluctantly. She scowled at everything, and sighed until her brother John told her she sounded like a steam engine. She told him in reply that he was a saucy, unbrotherly fellow. Then she went to work to make a pudding for dinner which she knew he did not like; just because it took less time than others which he did like; and things did not mat ter to her much, anyway, that da y. Her heart was all in the past summer, mourning for it and its joys as one does for a dead friend.
Dinner was over at last, and the dishes washed, but there was no rest nor leisure yet for Katharine . Indeed, she had so prolonged her work by glooming over it, that it was quite late in the afternoon before she went up to her little room and began slowly to smooth her hair. Her mother’s voice called from the sewing room where she had been all day with the dressmaker. “ Katharine , Mrs. Whiting has just turned the corner, and is coming this way. She has come down very early. You will have to go downstairs and receive and entertain her for a while, until I can come. I am sorry, but I cannot possibly leave this work just now. Do the best you can, dear.”
That was all, and then the door of the sewing room shut quickly, and the hurried mother went back to her work, while Katharine scowled harder than ever, and went slowly, crossly, down to the door to welcome old Mrs. Whiting. Her greeting was by no means cordial; and her mode of entertaining her was so stiff and disagreeable that the poor lady felt quite ill at ease, until at last the gentle mother came down, and Katharine was set free to attend to the supper.
“I shall not be able to go to prayer meeting tonight, daughter; I feel one of my nervous headaches coming on, and shall have to go to bed. You can go to the meeting with Mrs. Whiting, dear, can’t you?”
This sentence, spoken at the tea table, with old Mrs. Whiting sitting opposite to her and listening, seemed to Katharine the climax of the ugly day. Of course there was nothing to be said but “Yes,” when she was asked before everyone. She thought to herself as she went for her hat and jacket, “Is all the winter to be like
But once in the house there was plenty to be done, and no one else there seemed to have time to think of yesterday.
“ Katharine , I wish you would wash the dishes as soon as possible, and then make a cake. Mrs. Whiting is coming down to tea tonight and go to prayer meeting, and there isn’t a bit of cake in the house. Make the easiest, quickest kind, and get through as soon as possible. There is a great deal to be done, and I shall need your help this morning.” Her mother said this as she entered the door.
Yesterday, when Katharine had been playing tennis, Frank Warner, her partner, had watched her several times. He had thought what a pleasant expression she always had, and what an exceedingly nice girl she was, for a girl who had been brought up in a small village, and whose father had never been able to give her many advantages. But he would scarcely have known her if he could have seen her now as she took off her hat and jacket, with an almost sullen expression on her face, and her brows drawn together in an inartistic scowl.
There was no time for her to examine the package that the girls had given to her at parting, and which she had not had the heart to open before, so she laid it on the table to wait until a leisure moment should come.
It seemed to her as though the task of washing all those sticky, ugly looking dishes was an impossible one, and likely to prove interminable. She made it all the harder for herself by continually envisioning pleasant things that had happened the days before, and discontentedly wishing those days back once more.
The work of getting the dinner fell mostly upon her shoulders that day, and it was performed very reluctantly. She scowled at everything, and sighed until her brother John told her she sounded like a steam engine. She told him in reply that he was a saucy, unbrotherly fellow. Then she went to work to make a pudding for dinner which she knew he did not like; just because it took less time than others which he did like; and things did not mat ter to her much, anyway, that da y. Her heart was all in the past summer, mourning for it and its joys as one does for a dead friend.
Dinner was over at last, and the dishes washed, but there was no rest nor leisure yet for Katharine . Indeed, she had so prolonged her work by glooming over it, that it was quite late in the afternoon before she went up to her little room and began slowly to smooth her hair. Her mother’s voice called from the sewing room where she had been all day with the dressmaker. “ Katharine , Mrs. Whiting has just turned the corner, and is coming this way. She has come down very early. You will have to go downstairs and receive and entertain her for a while, until I can come. I am sorry, but I cannot possibly leave this work just now. Do the best you can, dear.”
That was all, and then the door of the sewing room shut quickly, and the hurried mother went back to her work, while Katharine scowled harder than ever, and went slowly, crossly, down to the door to welcome old Mrs. Whiting. Her greeting was by no means cordial; and her mode of entertaining her was so stiff and disagreeable that the poor lady felt quite ill at ease, until at last the gentle mother came down, and Katharine was set free to attend to the supper.
“I shall not be able to go to prayer meeting tonight, daughter; I feel one of my nervous headaches coming on, and shall have to go to bed. You can go to the meeting with Mrs. Whiting, dear, can’t you?”
This sentence, spoken at the tea table, with old Mrs. Whiting sitting opposite to her and listening, seemed to Katharine the climax of the ugly day. Of course there was nothing to be said but “Yes,” when she was asked before everyone. She thought to herself as she went for her hat and jacket, “Is all the winter to be like
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