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Mr. Bruce
by
Anne laughed; and I settled myself contentedly in my chair, for I had already found out that Miss Tennant possesses the art of telling a story capitally.
“Kitty Bruce is three years older than I,” said Margaret,–“though I dare say you do not believe me,–and consequently, at the time I was fifteen she was eighteen; and whereas I was in my first year at boarding-school, she was about finishing. I was at Mrs. Walkintwo’s, where you and I met, Anne; and that, as you know, was a quiet place, where we were taught history and arithmetic, and the other ‘solids,’ and from which she had graduated the year before, and gone to Madame Riche’s to acquire the extras and be ‘finished.’ Her beauty was very striking, and she was quite as entertaining and agreeable as she is now,–very witty and original, with the kindest heart in the world, and enjoying life to the utmost. In the Easter vacation of that year we were at home together; and one morning I was sitting with her in her chamber, and she was confiding to me some of the state secrets of her room at school, to my inexpressible delight, for it was my great ambition to be intimate with Kitty; and, you know, that elder sisters are often strangely blind to the virtues of the younger.
“Mamma came in in the midst of it, with her usually cheerful face exceedingly clouded, so much so that both of us immediately asked what had happened.
“‘Happened!’ said poor mamma, sitting down disconsolately on Kitty’s bed, and helping herself, by way of relief, from a box of candy which lay there. ‘I’m sure I don’t know what I’m to do. Your father has just sent me a note from the office, saying he has invited four gentlemen to dine, and wishes to have every thing as nice as possible. I can send John for the dinner; and, of course, I don’t mind that part of it, for there is time enough and to spare, and Peggy never fails me; but you know Hannah is away; and this morning a small Irish boy came for Ann, saying his sister is sick and she went away with him. About an hour ago another little wretch came to say she was obliged to go to Salem with the sister, and would be back to breakfast. Now, children, what shall I do for some one to wait on the table?
“Kitty and I were as much posed as mamma. John, our coachman, was an immense Englishman, and perfectly unavailable as to taking upon himself any of Ann’s duties save waiting upon the door. His daughter, who had been our nurse and was at that time seamstress, might have done very well, but she was away at Portsmouth; and as for Peggy, our dear old black cook, though I never knew any one to equal her in her realm, the kitchen, she had no idea of any thing out of it, and never had done any thing of this kind. It was raining in torrents, and none of us could go out; and we sat and looked at each other.
“Suddenly Kitty clapped her hands. ‘Mamma,’ said she, ‘read us their names again.’
“So mamma read the names of two gentlemen from South America, and one from New Orleans, and that of Mr. Philip Bruce of London.
“‘All perfect strangers except to papa,’ said Kitty joyfully; ‘and they’re interested in that South-American business of his, and are all on their way there very likely; and we shall never see them again.’
“‘Well, child, what has all this to do with Ann’s being gone?’
“‘I’ll tell you, mamma: I have the jolliest plan, and it will be such fun! I shall be so disappointed if you say no to me. It isn’t the least harm, and I know it will make no trouble. Just let me wear one of Ann’s white aprons and look stupid, you call me Katherine, and I’ll wait on the table as well as she could. No one ever notices the servants, and I’m not like you or papa or Margaret. You can turn my portrait to the wall in the drawing-room, and they’ll think it’s somebody that is disinherited. Those gentlemen haven’t the least particle of information concerning papa’s family; they may be possessed of the delusion that he is a bachelor in lodgings, for all we know; and if any thing is said about your children, tell them that your sons are in college and your eldest daughter with a friend. Of course I shall be, whether I am with Peggy in the kitchen or standing behind you. Oh! I’d like it so much better than sitting at the table; and Peggy will never tell. Who will be the wiser?’