unusual interest in his daughter’s affairs made her look so bright
and winsome.
“This? Why, father, I’ve worn it all winter, and it’s frightfully ugly,
and almost in rags. I asked you for a new one a month ago, and you
said you’d ‘see about it’; but you didn’t, so I patched this up as well
as I could”; and Molly showed her elbows, feeling that such
masculine blindness as this deserved a mild reproof.
“Too bad! Well, go and get half a dozen pretty muslin and
gingham things, and be as gay as a butterfly, to make up for it,”
laughed her father, really touched by the patches and Molly’s
resignation to the unreliable “I’ll see about it,” which he recognized
as a household word.
Molly clapped her hands, old gloves and all, exclaiming, with
girlish delight, “How nice it will seem to have a plenty of new,
neat dresses all at once, and be like other girls! Miss Bat always
talks about economy, and has no more taste than a–caterpillar.”
Molly meant to say “cat,” but remembering her pets, spared them
the insult.
“I think I can afford to dress my girl as well as Grant does his. Get
a new hat and coat, child, and any little notions you fancy. Miss
Bat’s economy isn’t the sort I like”; and Mr. Bemis looked at his
wristbands again, as if he could sympathize with Molly’s elbows.
“At this rate, I shall have more clothes than I know what to do
with, after being a rag-bag,” thought the girl, in great glee, as she
bravely stitched away at the worst glove, while her father smoked
silently for a while, feeling that several little matters had escaped
his eye which he really ought to “see about.”
Presently he went to his desk, but not to bury himself in business
papers, as usual, for, after rummaging in several drawers, he took
out a small bunch of keys, and sat looking at them with an
expression only seen on his face when he looked up at the portrait
of a dark-eyed woman hanging in his room. He was a very busy
man, but he had a tender place in his heart for his children; and
when a look, a few words, a moment’s reflection, called his
attention to the fact that his little girl was growing up, he found
both pride and pleasure in the thought that this young daughter was
trying to fill her mother’s place, and be a comfort to him, if he
would let her.
“Molly, my dear, here is something for you,” he said; and when she
stood beside him, added, as he put the keys into her hand, keeping
both in his own for a minute,
“Those are the keys to your mother’s things. I always meant you to
have them, when you were old enough to use or care for them. I
think you’ii fancy this better than any other present, for you are a
good child, and very like her.”
Something seemed to get into his throat there, and Molly put her
arm round his neck, saying, with a little choke in her own voice,
“Thank you, father, I’d rather have this than anything else in the
world, and I’ll try to be more like her every day, for your sake.
He kissed her, then said, as he began to stir his papers about, “I
must write some letters. Run off to bed, child. Good-night, my
dear, good-night.”
Seeing that he wanted to be alone, Molly slipped away, feeling that
she had received a very precious gift; for she remembered the dear,
dead mother, and had often longed to possess the relics laid away
in the one room where order reigned and Miss Bat had no power to
meddle. As she siowly undressed, she was not thinking of the
pretty new gowns in which she was to be “as gay as a butterfly,”
but of the half-worn garments waiting for her hands to unfold with
a tender touch; and when she fell asleep, with the keys under her
pillow and her arms round Boo, a few happy tears on her cheeks
seemed to show that, in trying to do the duty which lay nearest her,