Ethelyn's Mistake

As Ethelyn's toilet had occupied some time, it was five when she made

her appearance in the parlor, consequently she had not long to wait ere

the announcement of supper broke up the tediousness she endured from

that first call, or visit. The waffles and the gingerbread were all they

had promised to be, and the supper passed off quietly, with the

exception of a mishap of poor, awkward Andy, who tipped his plate of hot

cakes and honey into his lap, and then in his sudden spring backward,

threw a part of the plate's contents upon Ethelyn's shining silk. This

was the direst calamity of all, and sent poor Andy from the table so

heart-broken and disconsolate that he did not return again, and Eunice

found him sitting on the wood-house steps, wiping away with his

coat-sleeve the great tears which rolled down his womanish face.

"Ethelyn never would like him again," he said, calling himself "a great

blundering fool, who never ought to eat at the same table with

civilized folks."

But when Ethelyn, who heard from Eunice of Andy's distress, went out to

see him, assuring him that but little damage had been done, that soft

water and magnesia would make the dress all right again, he brightened

up, and was ready to hold Mr. Harrington's horse when, after dark, that

gentleman drove over from Olney with his wife and sister to call on Mrs.

Richard. It would almost seem that Ethelyn held a reception that

evening, for more than the Harringtons knocked at the front door, and

were admitted by the smiling Eunice. It was rather early to call, the

Olneyites knew, but there on the prairie they were not hampered with

many of Mrs. Grundy's rules, and so curious to see the "Boston lady,"

several of the young people had agreed together between the Sunday

services to call at Mrs. Markham's the following night. They were

well-meaning, kind-hearted people, and would any one of them gone far

out of their way to serve either Richard or his young wife; but they

were not Eastern bred, and feeling somewhat awed by Ethelyn's cold,

frigid manner, they appeared shy and awkward--all except Will Parsons,

the young M.D. of Olney, who joked, and talked and laughed so loudly,

that even Richard wondered he had never before observed how noisy Dr.

Parsons was, while Andy, who was learning to read Ethelyn's face, tried

once or twice, by pulling the doctor's coat-skirts and giving him a

warning glance, to quiet him down a little. But the doctor took no

hints, and kept on with his fun, finding a splendid coadjutor in the

"terrible Tim Jones," who himself came over to call on Dick and

his woman.

Tim was rigged out in his best, with a bright red cravat tied around his

neck, and instead of his muddy boots with his pants tucked in the tops,

he wore coarse shoes tied with strings and flirted his yellow silk

handkerchief for the entire evening. It was dreadful to Ethelyn, for she

could see nothing agreeable in Richard's friends; indeed, their presence

was scarcely bearable, and the proud look on her face was so apparent

that the guests felt more or less ill at ease, while Richard was nearer

being angry with Ethelyn than he had ever been. Will Parsons and Tim

Jones seemed exceptions to the rest of the company, especially the

latter, who, if he noticed Ethelyn's evident contempt, was determined

to ignore it, and make himself excessively familiar.