Ethelyn's Mistake

Meanwhile, John, who was even more shy of Ethelyn than James, had been

made the recipient of the elegantly embroidered slippers, which

presented so marked a contrast to his heavy cowhides, and were three

sizes too small for his mammoth feet. Ethelyn saw the discrepancy at

once, and the effort it was for John to keep from laughing outright, as

he took the dainty things into which he could but little more than

thrust his toes.

"You did not know what a Goliath I was, nor what stogies I wore; but I

thank you all the same," John said, and with burning blushes Ethelyn

turned next to her beautiful Schiller--the exquisite little bust--which

Andy, in his simplicity mistook for a big doll, feeling a little

affronted that Ethelyn should suppose him childish enough to care for

such toys.

But when Richard, who stood looking on, explained to his weak brother

what it was, saying that people of cultivation prized such things as

these, and that some time he would read to him of the great German poet,

Andy felt better, and accepted his big doll with a very good grace.

The coiffure came next, Mrs. Markham saying she was much obliged, and

Eunice asking if it was a half-handkerchief, to be worn about the neck.

Taken individually and collectively, the presents were a failure--all

but the pretty collar and ribbon-bow, which, as an afterthought, Ethelyn

gave to Eunice, whose delight knew no bounds. This was something she

could appreciate, while Ethelyn's gifts to the others had been far

beyond them, and but for the good feeling they manifested might as well

have been withheld. Ethelyn felt this heavily, and it did not tend to

lessen the bitter disappointment which had been gnawing in her heart

ever since she had reached her Western home. Everything was different

from what she had pictured it in her mind--everything but Daisy's face,

which, from its black-walnut frame above her piano, seemed to look so

lovingly down upon her. It was a sweet, refined face, and the soft eyes

of blue were more beautiful than anything Ethelyn had ever seen. She

did not wonder that every member of that family looked upon their lost

Daisy as the household angel, lowering their voices when they spoke of

her, and even retarding their footsteps when they passed near her

picture. She did wonder, however, that they were not more like what

Daisy would have been, judging from the expression of her face and all

Richard had said of her.

Between Mrs. Markham and Ethelyn there was from the first a mutual

feeling of antagonism, and it was in no degree lessened by Aunt

Barbara's letter, which Mrs. Markham read three times on Sunday, and

then on Monday very foolishly talked it up with Eunice, whom she treated

with a degree of familiarity wholly unaccountable to Ethelyn.