The Harvest of Years | Page 9

which seemed just to fit; then
came the delicate lace and the lemon bow. Taking my hand she led me
to the glass, surveyed me from head to foot, clapped her hands like a
glad child, and cried,
"A perfect fit, but I was afraid."
"Why, Clara," I said, "how, what?"
"Never, never mind, you like it, I did it myself, and I wore it first only
to see how it struck you. 'Tis yours, my dear, go and put it away."
I did not say thank you even, for she would not let me. I just kissed her
and went to my room, to my little room with its high-post bedstead,
three wooden chairs and shabby hair-cloth trunk, and dressed in that

beautiful blue dress with that new silk bow. I could not help taking the
old one out of the drawer to contrast it with the new, and although it did
look soiled and shabby, I thought I was almost wicked to have felt so
troubled at my little adornments, and then resolved to keep that little
old faded lemon ribbon as long as I should live, and I have it now.
Carefully I unpinned that new bow, laying it, with the first real lace
collars I had ever owned, in a mahogany box, as tenderly as though
they were pearls, and hung the blue Foulard in my closet between my
best much-worn alpaca and my afternoon gingham.
That night I dreamed that when father went to feed the chickens in the
barn yard, a beautiful bird with silky wings of blue fluttered down
among them to be fed. How impressible my artless brain! As great an
event was this to me, as the inauguration of our highest potentate to the
people.
Next morning I opened the closet door before dressing, and looked at
the new dress. The more I thought about it the more I wondered when
or where I should ever wear it, and not until a traveling suit, the
fac-simile of Clara's, was dropped upon me did I realize how the blue
Foulard was fitted to my shoulders. In her own sweet way she told me,
that though we were to remain only a few days at her home in the city,
yet her friends would surely call, and I must take the Foulard to wear in
the afternoons. Dear little soul, how tender she was of everybody's
feelings, and with what true womanly tact she turned, as far as possible,
every one into a pleasant path! Quick to notice needs, she always
applied her gifts with the greatest grace and tact, and without making
any one feel under obligation to her.
The morning of August thirteenth dawned upon us not altogether
smiling, since the sky looked as if inclined to weep. We started,
however, on our intended journey, and more than once the old
stage-driver looked around to catch a glimpse of my darling friend,
who was quite a wonderment to the country folk. Inaccurate rumors of
Clara and her fortune had been talked about among them--yet none
knew just how it all was, except our family, and we would betray no
secrets that she wished kept. I hardly recognized myself when at last we

arrived at our journey's end, and I was in Clara's home. Never before
had I seen myself reflected in a long pier-glass, and never on earth did I
seem so homely; my hands were too large and awkward, and I sat so
uncomfortably on the luxurious chairs.
Clara noticed my discomfort and kept me changing from one position
to another, until I was so vexed with myself I insisted on sitting in a
corner and persuaded Clara that my head ached. The compassionate
soul believed it and was bathing my temples, when a light step aroused
us both, and a moment later she was in the arms of her beloved son,
whom she proudly introduced to me.
I was surprised at his appearance--I thought him a boy, and so he was
in years, but if Clara had not told me his age, I should have guessed
him to be twenty-five. He had large dark eyes, a glorious head, perfect
in its shape, an intellectual forehead, and the most finely chiselled
mouth, most expressive of all his feelings; his lips parted in such loving
admiration of his mother and closed so lovingly upon her own. After a
profound bow to myself and a hearty grasp of the hand, he drew her to
the crimson cushions of a tête-à-tête standing near, and passing his arm
around her held her closely to him, as if afraid he would lose her. I
envied her, and any heart might well envy the passionate devotion of a
son like Louis Robert Desmonde.
I wanted to leave them