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edwindvinas
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“And she _won’t_ take Redfern’s Bitters,” said Cousin Stickles.
“Or _anything_,” said Mrs. Frederick.
“And she’s determined to go to the Presbyterian church,” said Cousin
Stickles—repressing, however, to her credit be it said, the story of
the bannister.
“That proves she’s dippy,” growled Uncle Benjamin. “I noticed something
strange about her the minute she came in today. I noticed it _before_
today.” (Uncle Benjamin was thinking of “m-i-r-a-z-h.”) “Everything she
said today showed an unbalanced mind. That question—‘Was it a vital
part?’ Was there any sense at all in that remark? None whatever! There
never was anything like that in the Stirlings. It must be from the
Wansbarras.”
Poor Mrs. Frederick was too crushed to be indignant.
“I never heard of anything like that in the Wansbarras,” she sobbed.
“Your father was odd enough,” said Uncle Benjamin.
“Poor Pa was—peculiar,” admitted Mrs. Frederick tearfully, “but his
mind was never affected.”
“He talked all his life exactly as Valancy did today,” retorted Uncle
Benjamin. “And he believed he was his own great-great grandfather born
over again. I’ve heard him say it. Don’t tell _me_ that a man who
believed a thing like _that_ was ever in his right senses. Come, come,
Amelia, stop sniffling. Of course Doss has made a terrible exhibition
of herself today, but she’s not responsible. Old maids are apt to fly
off at a tangent like that. If she had been married when she should
have been she wouldn’t have got like this.”
“Nobody wanted to marry her,” said Mrs. Frederick, who felt that,
somehow, Uncle Benjamin was blaming her.
“Well, fortunately there’s no outsider here,” snapped Uncle Benjamin.
“We may keep it in the family yet. I’ll take her over to see Dr. Marsh
tomorrow. _I_ know how to deal with pig-headed people. Won’t that be
best, James?”
“We must have medical advice certainly,” agreed Uncle James.
“Well, that’s settled. In the meantime, Amelia, act as if nothing had
happened and keep an eye on her. Don’t let her be alone. Above all,
don’t let her sleep alone.”
Renewed whimpers from Mrs. Frederick.
“I can’t help it. Night before last I suggested she’d better have
Christine sleep with her. She positively refused—_and locked her door_.
Oh, you don’t know how she’s changed. She won’t work. At least, she
won’t sew. She does her usual housework, of course. But she wouldn’t
sweep the parlour yesterday morning, though we _always_ sweep it on
Thursdays. She said she’d wait till it was dirty. ‘Would you rather
sweep a dirty room than a clean one?’ I asked her. She said, ‘Of
course. I’d see something for my labour then.’ Think of it!”
Uncle Benjamin thought of it.
“The jar of potpourri”—Cousin Stickles pronounced it as spelled—“has
disappeared from her room. I found the pieces in the next lot. She
won’t tell us what happened to it.”
“I should never have dreamed it of Doss,” said Uncle Herbert. “She has
always seemed such a quiet, sensible girl. A bit backward—but
sensible.”
“The only thing you can be sure of in this world is the multiplication
table,” said Uncle James, feeling cleverer than ever.
“Well, let’s cheer up,” suggested Uncle Benjamin. “Why are chorus girls
like fine stock raisers?”
“Why?” asked Cousin Stickles, since it had to be asked and Valancy
wasn’t there to ask it.
“Like to exhibit calves,” chuckled Uncle Benjamin.
Cousin Stickles thought Uncle Benjamin a little indelicate. Before
Olive, too. But then, he was a man.
Uncle Herbert was thinking that things were rather dull now that Doss
had gone.
CHAPTER XII
Valancy hurried home through the faint blue twilight—hurried too fast
perhaps. The attack she had when she thankfully reached the shelter of
her own room was the worst yet. It was really very bad. She might die
in one of those spells. It would be dreadful to die in such pain.
Perhaps—perhaps this was death. Valancy felt pitifully alone. When she
could think at all she wondered what it would be like to have some one
with her who could sympathise—some one who really cared—just to hold