Ethelyn's Mistake

These were also days of triumph for Melinda, for it was soon known that

she was to be the lady of the governor's mansion, and the knowledge gave

her a fresh accession of dignity among her friends. It was human that

Melinda should feel her good fortune a little, and perhaps she did. Andy

thought so, and prayed silently against the pomps and vanities of the

world, especially after her new purple silk was sent home, with the

handsome velvet cloak and crimson morning gown. These had been made in

Camden, a thing which gave mortal offense to Miss Henry, the Olney

dressmaker, who wondered "what Melinda Jones was that she should put on

such airs, and try to imitate Mrs. Richard Markham." They had expected

such things from Ethelyn, and thought it perfectly right. She was born

to it, they said; but for Melinda, whom all remembered as wearing a red

woolen gown when a little girl, "for her to set up so steep was another

matter." But when Melinda ordered a blue merino, and a flannel wrapper,

and a blue silk, and a white cloak for baby, made at Miss Henry's, and

told that functionary just how her purple was trimmed, and even offered

to show it to her, the lady changed her mind, and quoted "Mrs. James

Markham's" wardrobe for months afterward.

Richard, and James, and Melinda, and baby, and Eunice Plympton as baby's

nurse, all went to Des Moines, and left the house so lonely that Andy

lay flat upon the floor and cried, and his mother's face wore the look

of one who had just returned from burying their dead. It was something,

however, to be the mother and brother of a governor, and a comfort to

get letters from the absent ones, to hear of Richard's immense

popularity, and the very graceful manner in which Melinda discharged her

duties. But to see their names in print, to find something about

Governor Markham in almost every paper--that was best of all, and Andy

spent half his time in cutting out and saving every little scrap

pertaining to the "governor's family," and what they did at Des Moines.

Andy was laid up with rheumatism toward spring; but Tim Jones used to

bring him the papers, rolling his quid of tobacco rapidly from side to

side as he pointed to the paragraphs so interesting to both. Tim hardly

knew whether himself, or Richard, or Melinda, was the governor. On the

whole, he gave the preference to "Melind," after the governor's levee,

at which she had appeared in "royal purple, with ostrich feathers in her

hair," and was described in the Camden _Leader_ as the "elegant and

accomplished Mrs. James Markham, who had received the guests with so

much dignity and grace."

"Ain't Melind a brick? and only to think how she used to milk the cows,

and I once chased her with a garter snake," Tim said, reading the

article aloud to Andy, who, while assenting that she was a brick, and

according all due credit to her for what she was, and what she did,

never for a moment forgot Ethelyn.