Read Online Miss Grief and Other Stories by Constance Fenimore Woolson - Free Book Online Page A

the space, and over it hung a few tins, and a clock whose pendulum swung outside; a table, a settle, and some stools completed the furniture; but on the plastered walls were two rude brackets, one holding a cup and saucer of figured china, and the other surmounted by a large bunch of autumn leaves, so beautiful in themselves and so exquisitely arranged that we crossed the room to admire them.
    â€œSol fixed ’em, he did,” said the sulphur-woman; “he seen me setting things to rights, and he would do it. I told him they was trash, but he made me promise to leave ’em alone in case you should call again.”
    â€œMadam Bangs, they would adorn a palace,” said Ermine, severely.
    â€œThe cup is pretty too,” I observed, seeing the woman’s eyes turn that way.
    â€œIt’s the last of my chany,” she answered, with pathos in her voice,—“the very last piece.”
    As we took our places on the settle we noticed the brave attire of our hostess. The delaine was there; but how altered! Flounces it had, skimped, but still flounces, and at the top was a collar of crochet cotton reaching nearly to the shoulders; the hair, too, was braided in imitation of Ermine’s sunny coronet, and the Roman scarf did duty as a belt around the large flat waist.
    â€œYou see she tries to improve,” I whispered, as Mrs. Bangs went into the hall to get some sulphur-water for us.
    â€œVanity,” answered Ermine.
    We drank our dose slowly, and our hostess talked on and on. Even I, her champion, began to weary of her complainings. “How dark it is!” said Ermine at last, rising and drawing aside the curtain. “See, Dora, a storm is close upon us.”
    We hurried to the door, but one look at the black cloud was enough to convince us that we could not reach the Community hotel before it would break, and somewhat drearily we returned to the keeping-room, which grew darker and darker, until our hostess was obliged to light a candle. “Reckon you’ll have to stay all night; I’d like to have you, ladies,” she said. “The Community ain’t got nothing covered to send after you, except the old king’s coach, and I misdoubt they won’t let that out in such a storm, steps and all. When it begins to rain in this valley, it do rain, I can tell you; and from the way it’s begun, ’t won’t stop ’fore morning. You just let me send the Roarer over to the mine, he’ll tell Sol; Sol can tell the Community folks, so they’ll know where you be.”
    I looked somewhat aghast at this proposal, but Ermine listened to the rain upon the roof a moment, and then quietly accepted; she remembered the long hills of tenacious red clay, and her kid boots were dear to her.
    â€œThe Roarer, I presume, is some faithful kobold who bears your message to and from the mine,” she said, making herself as comfortable as the wooden settle would allow.
    The sulphur-woman stared. “Roarer’s Sol’s old dog,” she answered, opening the door; “perhaps one of you will write a bit of a note for him to carry in his basket.—Roarer, Roarer!”
    The melancholy dog came slowly in, and stood still while she tied a small covered basket around his neck.
    Ermine took a leaf from her tablets and wrote a line or two with the gold pencil attached to her watch-chain.
    â€œWell now, you do have everything handy, I do declare,” said the woman, admiringly.
    I glanced at the paper.
    â€œM R . S OLOMON B ANGS : My cousin Theodora Wentworth and myself have accepted the hospitality of your house for the night. Will you be so good as to send tidings of our safety to the Community, and oblige,
    â€œE RMINIA S TUART .”
    The Roarer started obediently out into the rain-storm with his little basket; he did not run, but walked slowly, as if the storm was nothing compared to his settled melancholy.
    â€œWhat a note to send to a