The Conscious Amanda
by
THIS STORY IS TOLD BY
THE DAUGHTER OF THE HOUSE
AND IS CALLED
THE CONSCIOUS AMANDA
One morning, as John Gayther was working in the melon-bed, the Daughter of the House came to him, and greeted him with such a glow on her face that John knew she had something pleasant to tell him.
“Yes, miss,” John replied to her greeting; “it is a beautiful morning, and I know of something more beautiful than the morning.”
“I do not see any very great beauty in muskmelons,” said the Daughter of the House, demurely.
“Muskmelons are not in my mind at this minute,” John replied, letting the hoe fall upon the ground as he looked at her pretty face, all aglow.
“I have something in my mind, John–a very original story. Papa said yesterday I must tell a story, and I have one all ready. I do not believe you ever heard one like it. Come to the summer-house; mamma and papa are already there.”
She tripped away, and John followed her, stopping on the way to pick up a basket of seed-pods. He had just established himself on his stool, facing the family group, and had taken some pods to shell as he listened, when his hand was arrested and all the party silenced by a burst of song from the tall lilac-bushes near the hedge. They could not see the bird, but it was evident that he was enjoying his own melody. Such pure, sweet notes–now rippling softly, now with a gay little quiver of joy, now a tender prolonged note, now a succession of trills, high and low, that set the air throbbing, and every now and then a great burst of seraphic music, as if his little heart was so full of happiness he was compelled to pour it forth to all who chose to listen. Our party would gladly have listened for a long time, and have omitted the story altogether; but after some minutes of delicious song the strains suddenly ceased, and a little whirring noise in the lilacs indicated that the bird had flown away.
The Daughter of the House gave a deep sigh. “I was afraid to breathe,” she said, “lest he might fly away.”
“I have heard nothing like that this summer,” said the Mistress of the House.
“It is the red thrush,” said John Gayther, who had listened rapturously. “A pair of them were here in the early spring. I wonder why this one has come back.”
“Perhaps,” said the Daughter of the House, “it is one of the young ones come back to visit his birthplace. I am afraid, after that ravishing performance, that my story will sound tame enough.”
“It will be a different sort of melody,” said the Mistress of the House, looking fondly at her daughter.
“My heroine,” began the young lady, “cannot appear in the first person, as if she were telling the story; nor in the second person, as if she were listening to one; nor in the third person, as if she were somewhere else; for, in fact, she was not anywhere. And as there is no such thing as a fourth person in grammar, she cannot be put into any class at all.”
The captain turned and looked at his daughter. “There seems to be something very foggy about this statement,” said he. “I hope the weather will soon clear up, so we can get our bearings.”
“We shall see about that,” said the young lady. “This heroine of mine, Miss Amanda, never went to sleep. To be sure, she sank into slumber about as often as most people; but when she spoke of having done so she always said she had ‘lost consciousness.’ She was very methodical about going to sleep and waking up; and at night, just as she was about to lose consciousness, she always said to herself, ‘Seven o’clock, seven o’clock, seven o’clock,’ over and over again until she was really asleep; and in the morning she woke up at seven precisely. She was not married, and so she was able to live her own life much more independently than if the case had been different. She liked to be independent; and she liked to know as much as she could about everything. In these two things she was generally very successful. But you must not think she was prying or too inquisitive; she was really a very good woman, and very fond of her family, which was composed entirely of brothers and sisters and nephews and nieces.