"Can't I have them sent C. O. D., by express? You will have time to get plenty of money before then," says she, as soft as silk weed.

"I hate the system," says Dempster; "money in hand is the only way a lady should make purchases. Then she knows what she is about. Everything else leads to extravagance. I hate bills as if they were copperheads; they are things I never will forgive."

I saw that E. E. turned pale, and a red flush came around her eyes as if she were just ready to burst out a-crying.

Dempster thought it was because he had stood out about the money and gave in a trifle.

"For this once," says he, "have the things charged, but bring the bill with you. I must know what I am about in these matters."

"But I mightn't find them all in one place. Hadn't we better make it a C. O. D., just for once?" says she, pleading for her own way as if her mouth were full of humble pie.

"Do as you please for this once," says he, half out of patience, "but remember, I am set against bills and running accounts--pay as you go along, is my motto."

E. E. drew a deep breath, and, putting the money in a little mite of a leather satchel fastened to her side by a belt, took up her parasol and prepared to march off.

Cecilia followed after, surveying her little toadstool of a parasol, and stooping forward as she walked, like an undersized kangaroo.

I only wish E. E., or even Cousin Dempster, could see that child as I see her. But they can't. Where she is concerned, they seem born fools, both of them.

Well, off we went one way, and Dempster the other--he to get the money, and his wife to spend it. I looked on, and wondered how any man living could afford to get married. The whole thing made me down-hearted, and half-ashamed of my relationship with a woman who could worry money out of her husband like that, and not feel how mean she was--could not my cousin see that she was poisoning the soul of her own child by an example which she was just as certain to follow as she was to live.

Well, we got into a carriage and drove up Broadway; but instead of going to Stewart's great marble building, E. E. stopped at some other places, and kept buying and buying till I got tired out, and sat on a round stool by the counter, saying nothing, but thinking a good deal. Each place we left, I heard her say, "Grand Union Hotel, Saratoga: C. O. D.,"

till I got tired to death of the word.

At one place my cousin and that child had a grand set-to in the store.

Cecilia wanted a bright-red silk dress to wear under her lace one; but E. E. liked blue best, and ordered it. Then Cecilia declared she didn't want any dress at all, broke her new parasol striking it against the counter, and ended off by flinging herself down on a stool and drumming her feet against the counter--so mad that she cried till everybody in the store heard her.

Of course E. E. gave in, just to pacify her, while I would have given fifty of the brightest silver dollars ever issued by the U. S.

Government, for the happiness of giving her the neatest little trouncing she ever got in her life. But luxuries like these, I can hardly expect just yet. How that cousin of mine can give up a parental prerogative so tempting to the hands I cannot imagine. I really would not put so much pleasure off an hour.

XCVII.

TAKEN IN.

Well, after trapesing about from one store to another till I was nigh about tired to death, E. E. concluded that she had got through her shopping, except a few things that we could carry in our pockets, which kept us rushing in and out of every little shop we came to for an hour longer. Then she said we would stop into Purssell's and get something to eat, for she was beginning to feel hungry. This had been the case with me ever so long; not that I hankered much in hot weather for hearty food, but I felt a sort of faintness; and when she said something about Purssell's having delicious peaches, I knew that they were exactly the thing which would appease all the internal longing of my nature.

But just as my mouth was beginning to water, E. E. took out her watch and gave a little scream.

"Why," says she, "who would a-thought it? We have but just fifteen minutes to reach the boat in?"

My heart sank. The taste of those peaches had almost got into my mouth, but now a taste of dust came in their place. I could just have sat down and cried.

"Never mind," says E. E.; "we can get dinner on board."

"Dinner on board!" Thin soup; hot meat down in the bottom of a steamboat, with a smell of oil, sour water, and musty linen all around you--that is what "a dinner on board" means, and nothing else. The very thought made me feel rily about the temper--all that I wanted was some peaches.

You will not wonder, sisters, that I hankered after this delicious fruit, which is about the only good thing that grows which we do not have in the old Vermont State. Only think of them--round, plump, juicy; with the redness of a warm sunset burning on one side, and pale-gold glowing on the other; cool, delicious, melting away in the mouth with a flavor that just makes you want to kiss some smiling baby while it is on your lips! Think of them! then imagine my feelings when I was hurried into a hack, and rattled off to the steamboat with the promise of a hot dinner in its internal regions. We saw peaches on every hand as we drove along--in stores, on street tables, in baskets carried by Irish women, who looked up at the carriage-window pleadingly as we drove along.

"Wait one minute," says I, as a woman came up with her long basket br.i.m.m.i.n.g over with the luscious fruit; "I must have some peaches."

"Not a second," says E. E.; "don't you see Dempster beckoning from the deck? The last bell is ringing. Come, come!"

The Irish woman lifted up her basket, and stood there enticing me. E. E.

rushed up the plank, calling out: "Make haste, make haste!"

Cecilia sung out: "Come along, Phmie!"

Two men had hold of the plank bridge. I had to cross then, or be left behind. I cast one yearning look towards the basket, rushed up the plank, and stood panting, by the side of Dempster.

"Oh dear, it is too bad!" says I.

"What is it, Phmie?" says Dempster.

"Peaches!" says I. "Those delicious peaches--see how they glow in the sunshine!"

"Oh, nonsense! There is plenty on board," says he; "I'll go and get some."

"Not yet," says E. E.; "the deck is so crowded."

Dempster got seats for us and a stool for himself. The crowd was packed so close that one could hardly breathe. I was thirsty, I was tired out, and just ready to cry. E. E. was tired also, and a little cross. Cecilia was just as she always is--a nuisance. I felt like thanking Dempster when he jumped up, and says he:

"Now for the peaches!"

Away he went, just as good-natured as could be, calling back for me to keep his seat for him. I laid my parasol on it, and kept my hand on that; but a minute after came a great heathen of a fellow and attempted to take the stool.

"It is engaged," says I, pressing down my hand.

"What of that?" says he, jerking the stool away, and throwing my parasol on to the floor. "Every one for himself, and no favors."

I was blue as indigo before that. At another time this creature would have riled me into a tempest, but now I felt more like crying. But there he sat, plump on the stool, looking as self-contented as if b.u.t.ter would not melt in his mouth.

Dempster came back. I looked up longingly. His hands were empty.

"I am very sorry," says he, "but there isn't a peach on board."

Well, there I sat, with the sun pouring down on me, while E. E. read the ill.u.s.trated papers, and that child made herself generally numerous among the pa.s.sengers. After awhile I got up to look over the side of the vessel, when that horrid wretch s.n.a.t.c.hed up my seat and carried it off, looking back at me and laughing.

I said nothing--what was the use?--but leaned against the cabin-door, holding my satchel, the most forlorn creature you ever saw. Just then some one spoke to me. I looked round. It was a roly-poly, oldish woman, who spread considerably over her chair, and held a travelling-basket on her lap. She had found an empty stool, and asked me to take it.

I sat down while she smiled blandly upon me.

"Never mind that fellow," says she. "Some men are born animals of one kind or another, so let them go."

Her words were kind--her manner motherly. I liked the woman. She is not elegant, I thought, but who could be with all that breadth of chest and brevity of limb? I smiled and thanked her, wondering who she was.