Mildred Keith

"Ah, Aunt Wealthy, good morning!" he said in a cheery tone, sitting down beside her, putting Fan on one knee, and lifting the babe, who was laughing and crowing with delight at sight of him, to the other. "I suppose you have heard the news?"

"That you are going to Indiana, Stuart! Yes. You are not contented to let well enough alone?"

"Can't consider it well enough to be barely making the two ends meet while a growing family must be constantly increasing my expenses."

"How is this removal to help you? It will cost a good deal."

"'Nothing venture, nothing have.' I'm going to a new country where land is cheap. I shall invest something in that and hope to see it increase largely in value as the town grows.

"Then lawyers are not so plenty there but that some more will be needed as people move in, and I hope by being on the spot in good season, to secure extensive practice.

"It will cost the sundering of some very tender ties," he continued, his face growing grave almost to sadness, "but we are willing to bear that for our children's sake. Is it not so; wife?" and he turned to her with a smile that spoke volumes of love and confidence.

"Yes indeed, Stuart," she answered with cheerful heartiness. "I shouldn't have hesitated for a moment if I had been quite sure it would be the best thing for them; but, as you know, I'm afraid we can not give them as good an education there as we might here. However we have now decided to go, and I can only hope for the best.

"And do you know," she went on with a smile directed to the corner where Miss Stanhope sat, "that since you left us this morning something has happened that takes away more than half the pain of the thought of leaving Lansdale?"

"No; what may that be?"

"Oh, I know!" shouted Cyril, turning a somersault on the carpet. "Aunt Wealthy's goin' along! Aunt Wealthy's goin' along!"

And then such raptures of delight as were indulged in by those who had not heard the news before!

These were interrupted by a summons to the dinner-table; but when the blessing had been asked and the plates filled, the talk went on again, though in a somewhat more subdued fashion.

"Is there absolutely no danger from the Indians, Stuart?" asked Miss Stanhope.

"None whatever; most of the tribes have been removed to the far west; all but one, I think, and that will probably be taken soon."

"What tribe is it? the Wottapottamies?"

"Pottawottamies; yes."

"Father, will we have to live in wigwams and dress in skins?" asked Ada, anxiously.

"No; we'll have a house; if it is only a log-cabin, and we'll carry plenty of clothes along."

"P'raps dey might det losted on the way," suggested Fan.

"Well, pussy, I think we'll find some stores out there; and if everything else fails we can always fall back on deerskins."

Lansdale was but a small town; everybody in it knew the Keiths or knew of them, and by the next day after their removal had been decided upon, everybody knew that.

Many regrets were expressed and there were some offers of assistance with their preparations; but these were declined with thanks: "with Aunt Wealthy's good help, and that of the seamstress already engaged," Mrs. Keith said "she and Mildred would be able to do all that was necessary."

They were very busy cutting, fitting and sewing, day after day, from morning to night with occasional interruptions from the little ones who were too young to go to school but old enough to roam over house and grounds; and being adventurous spirits, full of life and energy, were constantly getting into mischief, thus furnishing, gratis, a change of works to mother and eldest sister, who, spite of a hearty affection for the young rogues, was often sorely tried by their pranks.

"Have you any cord, Mrs. Keith?" asked the seamstress, one morning.

"Yes," turning to her work-basket. "Why, what has become of it? I had two or three pieces here. And that paper of needles has disappeared! Mildred did you – "

"The children were here half an hour ago, mother, and I remember seeing Donald peeping into your basket."

"Run out and see what they have done with them."

Going into the hall, Mildred stood a moment listening for some sound to tell her where the children were. Little voices were prattling in the garden near at hand. Stepping to the door she saw the two boys seated on the grass busied with a kite Rupert had made for them.

"What are you doing?" she asked, going nearer.

"Makin' a longer tail."

"Where did you get that piece of string?"

No answer; only a guilty look on the two chubby faces.

"Oh, I know! it's some cord you took from mother's work-basket. And now it's wanted; but you've spoilt it entirely; why did you cut and knot it so?"

"Why," said Cyril, "you see Don was my crazy man and I had to tie him; and then I had to cut the string to get it off, 'cause I couldn't untie the knots."

"Oh, you mischievous fellows. Another time don't you take things without leave. Did you take a paper of needles too?"

"No, we didn't; maybe Fan did."

Mildred went in search of Fan, and found her digging and planting in her little garden, the empty needle paper lying near.

"Fan," said Mildred, picking it up, "What have you done with the needles that were in this?"

"Sowed 'em in dis bed; and when dey drows up we'll have lots an' lots for mother an' you."

"You silly, provoking little puss! needles don't grow. Show me where you put them."

"Tan't dey's all round and round in de gwond."

Mildred took up a bit of stick and poked about in the fresh earth for a minute or two, then remarking to herself that it was as bootless as hunting in a haystack, went into the house with the report of the hapless fate of the missing articles.

The boys were there before her, penitently exhibiting the ruined cord and promising to do so no more.

"We didn't fink, mother," pleaded Don, looking up in her face with such a droll mixture of fun and entreaty in his roguish blue eyes, that she could not refrain from giving him a kiss and a smile as she answered, "Ah, my boys must learn to think and not take mother's things without leave. Now run away to your plays and try to be good children."

"Mother, I do think you're a little too easy with them," Mildred said in a slightly vexed tone.

"Perhaps; but if I make a mistake, is it not far better to do so on the side of mercy than of severity?"

"I suppose so; I shouldn't like to see them whipped."

Then laughingly she told the story of Fan's doings, and as needles and cord must be replaced, put on her bonnet and sallied forth upon the errand.

Mildred as one of the prettiest, most accomplished, graceful, and fascinating young ladies of the place, and belonging to one of the first families, was a good deal admired, and never lacked attention at a party, picnic or any sort of gathering of the young people of the town.