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Caroline
by
Mrs. Gann’s other lodger was a fantastic youth, Andrea Fitch, to whom his art, and his beard and whiskers, were the darlings of his heart. He was a youth of poetic temperament, whose long pale hair fell over a high polished brow, which looked wonderfully thoughtful; and yet no man was more guiltless of thinking. He was always putting himself into attitudes, and his stock-in-trade were various theatrical properties, which when arranged in his apartments on the second floor made a tremendous show.
The Misses Wellesley McCarty voted this Mr. Fitch an elegant young fellow, and before long the intimacy between the young people was considerable, for Mr. Fitch insisted upon drawing the portraits of the whole family.
“I suppose you will do my Carrie next?” said Mr. Gann, one day, expressing his approbation of a portrait just finished, wherein the Misses McCarty were represented embracing one another.
“Law, sir,” exclaimed Miss Linda, “Carrie, with her red hair!–“
“Mr. Fitch might as well paint Becky, our maid!” cried Miss Bella.
“Carrie is quite impossible, Gann,” said Mrs. Gann; “she hasn’t a gown fit to be seen in. She’s not been at church for thirteen Sundays in consequence.”
“And more shame for you, ma’am,” said Mr. Gann, who liked his child; “Carrie shall have a gown, and the best of gowns;” and jingling three and twenty shillings in his pocket, Mr. Gann determined to spend them all in the purchase of a robe for Carrie. But, alas, the gown never came; half the money was spent that very evening at the tavern.
“Is that–that young lady your daughter?” asked Mr. Fitch, surprised, for he fancied Carrie was a humble companion of the family.
“Yes, she is, and a very good daughter, too, sir,” answered Mr. Gann. ” Fetch and Carrie I call her, or else Carry-van; she is so useful. Ain’t you, Carrie?”
“I’m very glad if I am, Papa,” said the young lady, blushing violently.
“Hold your tongue, Miss!” said her mother; “you are, very expensive to us, that you are, and need not brag about the work you do, and if your sisters and me starve to keep you, and some other folks” (looking fiercely at Mr. Gann), “I presume you are bound to make some return.”
Poor Caroline was obliged to listen to this harangue on her own ill-conduct in silence. As it was the first lecture Mr. Fitch had heard on the subject, he naturally set down Caroline for a monster. Was she not idle, sulky, scornful, and a sloven? For these and many more of her daughter’s vices Mrs. Gann vouched, declaring that Caroline’s behaviour was hastening her own death; and she finished by a fainting fit. In the presence of all these charges, there stood Miss Caroline, dumb, stupid and careless; nay, when the fainting-fit came on, and Mrs. Gann fell back on the sofa, the unfeeling girl took the opportunity to retire, and never offered to rub her mamma’s hands, to give her the smelling bottle, or to restore her with a glass of water.
Mr. Fitch stood close at hand, for at the time he was painting Mrs. Gann’s portrait–and he was hastily making towards her with his tumbler, when Miss Linda cried out, “Stop! the water is full of paint!” and straightway burst out laughing. Mrs. Gann jumped up at this, cured suddenly, and left the room, looking somewhat foolish.
“You don’t know Ma,” said Miss Linda, still giggling; “she’s always fainting.”
“Poor dear lady!” said the artist; “I pity her from my inmost soul. Doesn’t the himmortal bard observe how sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is to have a thankless child? And is it true, ma’am, that that young woman has been the ruin of her family?”
“Ruin of her fiddlestick!” replied Miss Bella. “Law, Mr. Fitch, you don’t know Ma yet; she is in one of her tantrums.”
“What, then, it isn’t true!” cried simple-minded Fitch. To which neither of the young ladies made any answer in words, nor could the little artist comprehend why they looked at each other and burst out laughing. But he retired pondering on what he had seen and heard, and being a very soft young fellow, most implicitly believed the accusations of poor dear Mrs. Gann for a time.