Chapter Three

by Kate J. Neily
Edited and Revised by Amber Moeller

Meanwhile, Nelly Morgan, as she walked home from school, was arranging a very artful plan in her own mind for the carrying out of her wished-for project. She knew that her mother would not consent, any more than Maggie's, for her to run the risk of taking a serious cold by making such a decided change in her dress in midwinter; but yet she was quite determined in some way, by fair means if possible, if not, by foul, to fulfill her purpose, and enjoy the triumph of dazzling the whole school by her brilliant toilet, and proving to the older girls. whose ranks she ardently desired to join, that, if she did only belong to the second class, she was quite as much of a young lady as the tallest of them.

How fortunate it was, she thought, as she went slowly along by herself, not joining any of the groups of merry chattering girls, nor stopping to look in at any of the bright shop windows, so tempting just now in the glory of their Christmas adornment, -- how fortunate that her little baby brother was only a week old, and so her mother could not be present at the reception, nor even leave her room to superintend Nelly's dressing in the morning!

"I'm always lucky," thought Nelly, exultingly; "but that's the luckiest thing that ever did happen to me."She'll never know what I wear; and now, if I can only manage to keep Anne out of the way, and those troublesome little young ones, --Jennie and Frank,-- why, I shall be all right. And I will manage it somehow or other -- see if I don't. But first, I've got to be terribly good, and put everybody in a good humor!"

By the time she had reached this virtuous conclusion, Nelly found herself at her own door, and was about to run up the steps and ring the bell as usual. Then she remembered her idea of putting everybody in a good humor, and turned and went in at the basement door. When she got in the hall, she made such a noise wiping her feet on the door mat, that Anne, the servant, came to the kitchen door to see what it was.

"Dear me! how very careful yiz are all of a sudden, miss!" she said, as she saw Nelly busily cleaning her shoes. "An' you raally did manage to come in the airy way, an' save me the throuble of answerin' the dhoor -- did yiz?"

"O, well, it's Christmas times, and people ought to be obliging, Anne, you know," answered Nelly, with a smile of pretended good nature; and the Irish girl said, "Yis; blissed be the howly Christ for it," and went back to her work, thinking Miss Nelly must surely have "met with a change."

Very lightly, so as to make no noise, Nelly ran up stairs, and, laying off her cloak and hat in her own room, went straight to her mother's. Very softly she opened the door, to show how careful she was not to disturb either mother or baby if they should be asleep; and very gently she went up to the bedside, and inquired how they were, and if baby had had any colic, or mother any more backache, and what there was that she could do for either of them.

It was not usually Nelly's way to be so thoughtful and tender, and Mrs. Morgan was pleased to see her little daughter so affectionate and ready to be of use. So she gave her the baby, who was a little fretful, to hold for a while; and Nelly sat in a low chair by the fire, nursing the little soft, wriggling thing on her lap, cooing to it, and caressing it, and, between whiles, amusing her mother with a description of the day at school, the making of wreaths, and trimming of rooms, while her mother looked on, and listened, and was pleased to see Nelly so kind and cheerful.

The "troublesome little young ones," too, -- Jennie and Frank, -- who were too small to go to school, but belonged to a little "kindergarten" nearer home, gathered round her chair to hear what she was saying, and to tell in their eager way about the Christmas doings that were to take place at their own school; and Nelly did not seem to find them troublesome at all, but listened with an appearance of interest to all they had to say, and talked to them in a low tone, which had the effect of quieting them.

Then, when the little wee baby had wriggled and "snoozled" itself to sleep, and Mrs. Morgan began to look rather tired with all the talking, she laid the little live bundle softly back in the bed, and invited the children so pleasantly to come down to the sitting-room with her, and hear all about the first Christmas day, that they went off at once in delight, and Mrs. Morgan turned on her pillow to take a little nap before her husband should come home, thinking what a good daughter Nelly could be when she tried, and hoping that during the coming new year she would perhaps try oftener.

When Nelly got down stairs, however, out of her mother's sight, her extraordinary good nature proved very short-lived. She soon grew tired of talking to Frank and Jennie, and began to find them "troublesome young ones" again; and after answering, in a rather impatient way, some of their innumerable questions about this and that. She coaxed them to go off to the nursery, and set them down to build towers and castles with their blocks.

When she saw them really busy and interested, she breathed a long sigh of relief, and saying to herself, "Thank goodness! now I can go and attend to my own affairs for a little while!" she slipped softly away across the hall to the "spare room," and proceeded to make sure of no interruptions by locking the door. When all was secure, she moved quietly over the floor, so as not to attract the attention of her mother, whose room was just below, and paused in front of the bureau. She hesitated a moment, and then saying half aloud, as if to encourage herself, -- "Pooh! who cares? they're my own things, and I've a right to do what I please with'em!" she opened one of the drawers, and took out a large package, carefully pinned up in tissue paper. Unfastening this, she shook out of its folds the pretty muslin dress which had been made for a birthday party, and never worn since.

After stopping to admire it a good while, and to think, with a flush on her cheek and a flash in her eyes, how she would outshine all her class tomorrow, and how envious Maggie Lang would be, she spread it out carefully on the high, white bed, and turned to the drawer again. She took out next the pretty bronze boots, the worked stockings, and broad sash, and little embroidered handkerchief, which belonged to the costume, handling each article of finery with tender touch, and gazing upon it with fond, proud eyes, as though it was the object of her dearest affection.

They were laid carefully, one by one, upon the bed beside the gauzy pile of muslin that lay there like a white cloud; and then Nelly took out still another parcel from the drawer, which was the shrine of her most precious possessions. Very delicately she unpinned the wrappings of soft paper, and revealed to view the wreath of pink daisies, and white gloves, and dainty little silk fan, which had been the gifts of an indulgent auntie, on the grand occasion of Nelly's first party. She looked at these with longing eyes, and wished she only might dare venture to wear them. She even tried the wreath over her black braids, and stood before the glass, fluttering the little feathery fan, and putting on all the airs of a mincing young lady; but, delightful as was the view to Nelly's self-admiring eyes, her common sense interfered to prevent her from being too ridiculous.

"Ah, no! I suppose it really won't do to wear a wreath and white gloves to the school house; and as for the fan, I'm afraid it will be rather too chilly for me to need it," she decided at last; and so, with a long sigh, and with a loving, lingering fingers, she pinned them again into their folds of tissue paper, and placed them back in the drawer.

There were still her clean underclothes to be laid out; and by the time all was ready the tea-bell rang, and Nelly started, like a guilty thing, and hastened out of the room at once, locking the door carefully behind her, and almost flying down stairs, so as to be at the table ready to pour out her father's tea before any one could possibly inquire where she was.

Her hand trembled a little as she lifted the cup, for she was conscious of a wrong and secret purpose; but she had presence of mind enough to control her agitation, and to remember just how much milk and how many lumps of sugar her father liked in his tea. She waited on him so nicely, and was so kind to the children, that Mr. Morgan was quite pleased, and said it was almost as good as having the dear mother herself at the table; and Nelly's face flushed at his praise, half in pride, half in shame, as she remembered how she was only acting a part, and all the time plotting in her heart to deceive both him and the mother who lay ill and helpless in her bed.

This thought did not serve to weaken her purpose, however; and she went on carrying out her plan of being very kind and useful, and making it difficult to suspect her of doing wrong. She arranged her mother's tea nicely on a tray, and carried it up to her herself; then took the baby while the nurse went down to get her own supper; and by and by, when little Jennie said she was sleepy, she offered at once to put her to bed, and was altogether so thoughtful and so good that everybody was quite delighted; and Mrs. Morgan said she did not feel so very badly now about being sick, and leaving the house entirely to the tender mercies of Annie.

As Nelly kissed her mother good night, she said in an indifferent tone, as though it were a matter of very little consequence to her, --

"I suppose it doesn't make a difference to you, mother, does it, what I wear tomorrow?" And her mother, suspecting nothing, said, kindly, --

"O, no, my dear; wear just what you like -- only be sure that you look neat and tidy."

Nelly's black eyes sparkled with triumph as she heard these words. She knew very well that her mother did not dream of her wearing a thin white dress, but merely meant to allow her to choose from her winter wardrobe -- her scarlet merino, or her last year's plaid, or even the blue checked silk, which was her best summer dress, but was made high, with long sleeves, and, therefore, warm enough in a warm room. But Nelly did not care for the real truth of the matter: all she wanted was some word from her mother which she could claim as an excuse if she were ever detected in what she intended to do; and having got this word, she felt safe, and gave not thought either to the right or the wrong.

So her heart was full of nothing but pride in the success of her cunning plot, and of gratified vanity as she stood before the mirror in her room, in her night dress, unbraiding her thick black hair, and screwing it up again into tighter plaits than ever, that it might be sure to "crinkle" well tomorrow.

No thought of the real meaning of Christmas came into her mind; no remembrance of Miss Kavanagh's talk, only that afternoon, about the heavenly Babe who came to earth, not arrayed in fine raiment, and dwelling in kings' palaces, but --

"Meanly wrapped in swaddling bands,
And in a manger laid."

No thought of the Savior, who had given up the glories of heaven to wander about the earth, homeless and poor, clad in coarse garments, "despised and rejected of men, a man of sorrows and acquainted with grief," all for her sake, and that of sinners like her. No; no thought of anything but her own silly vanity; and she laid her head upon her pillow and went to sleep, to dream of the morrow's triumph, with never a prayer to Him ho alone could preserve her through the dark night, and add another morrow to her life.

To be continued ...

« Return to Fine Feathers Do Not Make Fine Birds