62
G I L L I A N .
kneading-tray, cut off a mass of dough, and went to work with wonderful vigor, rolling, pinching, and smoothing the shapeless substance into as dainty a loaf as ever dexterous hands moulded.
‘‘There!” she exclaimed, smiling, as she laid the first white globe in its pan, ‘‘if they want a handsomer loaf than that, let them knead it, I say. Dear me, aunt Hetty, how your hands shake! Do call old Nancy to roll out the cake, and go fix up a little. Put ona black silk apron and a nice cap: that'll make a lady uf you in no time!”
‘*Yes!” answered aunt Hetty, in a low, hoarse voice, wringing her hands together with passion- ate violence, rather than from an effort to divest themselves of the clinging flour, ‘‘yes! niece, I am almost tired out,” and with these words trem- bling on her lips, the little woman opened a door and glided up a flight of back stairs to her own room.
When once there, she flung up the sash, looked wildly down the road; then creeping back toa far corner of the room, sat down, moaning softly, like a wounded kid.
At each new rattle of the wheels, she gave a start, and looked piteously around, as if seeking some covert; and when Hannah came in, dusting her hands, all rosy and smiling with excitement, the little woman darted to her bureau, and began &@ vague search after something, while a timid apology for not being ready trembled unuttered on her white lips.
‘Here, aunt! what on earth possesses you? That’s my bureau, and here’s your cap. Let me put it on for you. Why, how you shiver, and this poor little face is as white as curd; wait a minute, this’ll never do. Let me hunt up the pink bows, and pin them on; with all this white you look like a ghost!”
Aunt Hetty sat down, both hands dropping helplessly to her lap, and she resigned herself to the busy hands of her niece, with a frightened look, growing paler and paler, spite of the pink ribbons, as the wagon drew near the house.
‘‘Here,” said Hannah, taking the old lady’s face between her hands, and kissing her cold lips, ‘‘you are neat as a new pin: only do chirp up a little! What always frightens you so when com- pany comes? Now I'll fix up a trifle myself, and go down. Where on earth is my brown dress? Dear me, this hook never will fasten!’’
Uttering these broken ejaculations, Hannah Hart arrayed her pretty figure in a dress of dark merino, put on a neat muslin collar with cuffs to match, and hurried down to receive the coming guests. She had so long been the leading spirit of the household, that it seemed the most natural
thing in the world for her to go out on the front
‘porch, where the flour bags still lay in a heap, ‘and wait for the visitors to descend from their ‘homely conveyance; for, though a mere girl, in all essentials, she was far more mistress of the house than aunt Hetty, its nominal head.
Still, with all her brightness and sweet ways, as her father called them, Hannah was a little shy, and really modest. The presence of strangers made her cheeks glow like a peach, while her large, brown eyes cast timid glances from under the long fringes, that would have provoked admiration from an artist, and which sent John Downs’ heart into his mouth the mo- ment he set his eyes on her.
Daniel Hart went out to the wagon as it drew up, and before Mr. Bentley could dismount, took Gillian in his arms, holding her close to his bosom a moment, while he looked in her face.
Gillian was surprised to feel his great heart swell against her side, and to see his massive fentures quivering like those of an infant. When he set her upon the ground his eyes were full of tears, so full, that he could not see his daughter through the mist. She drew close to her father, whispering softly,
‘‘Did he love my mother very much, papa?”
But Mr. Bentley did not answer. His feelings were not so warmly impulsive as those he wit- nessed: contact with society had driven them deeper into his nature. While the farmer’s heart heaved, his only stood still.
‘‘And this,” he said, approaching Hannah, ‘‘ig my niece; no doubt, Gillian, she should be about your own age.”
The two girls looked at each other shyly at first, but after a moment Gillian ran up the steps with a bright smile on her face and one hand ex- tended, for she saw, by the blushes that came and went on Hannah’s face, a thousand unspoken welcomes that went to her heart at once.
‘So you are my cousin; I am so glad!” she exclaimed. ‘Why, it seems like home already !”
“This is your home,” said Daniel Hart, com- ing up the steps, with a spirit of self-abnegation breaking from every feature. ‘The house, the land, from the hill top to the town pike, is all your father’s; as for us, we do not own @ foot.”
‘Indeed! well, that’s of no sort of conse- quence I fancy!” cried Gillian, looking around; ‘coh! there is the orchard, and here is the great walnut. I remember it all—all but the— the-——”
Gillian broke off suddenly, shocked by her own thoughtlessness. She saw at once that it was the memory of her mother that had made her
