Fanny Fern - Rose Clark

"Never you mind," said Daffy, again, rubbing her sleeve into her own eyes, "you shall – you shall —

"Lor', I don't know what to say to you – Dolly's a – a – well she's sick and childish," said Daffy, ending her sentence in a very different manner from what she had intended.

"Perhaps it is that," said the good little creature, brightening up, "I did not think of that. How cruel it was for me to think her unkind, when she was only sick; I am glad you said that, Daffy," and Rose wiped her eyes and went back into the sick chamber.

"It's awful to hold in when a body's so rampageous mad," said Daffy, jumping up and oversetting her basket of spools, cotton, needles, pins, etc. "I shouldn't wonder if I burst right out some day, to think of that poor, patient little creature being snubbed so, after being on her tired little legs these six weeks, traveling up and down, here and there, and lying on the floor side of Dolly's bed, night after night, and all after the way she has been treated too (for I have eyes if I don't say nothing), and as long as nobody hears me, I'll just out with it; Dolly has no more heart than that pine table," and Daffy gave it a vindictive thump.

"There – now I feel better – I wish I dared tell her so to her face – but it isn't in me; she makes me shrivel all up, when she puts on one of her horrid looks, and I can't be looking out for a new place with this rheumatism fastening on me every time the wind blows; I don't know what is to become of the poor child, bless her sweet face."

It is a long lane that has no turning, and Dolly now began to get about once more.

"Dear me" – she exclaimed one morning, as she crawled round the shop, enveloped in a woolen shawl – "how every thing has gone to rack and ruin since I have been sick; one month more sickness and I should have had to fail. See that yellow ribbon, all faded out, a lying in that window; when I was about, I moved it from the show-case to the window, and from the window to the show-case, according to the sun; three shillings a yard too, bought of Bixby & Co., the last time I went to the city; and there's the dress-caps put into the bonnet-boxes, and the bonnets put into the dress-cap boxes. Whose work is that I'd like to know? And as I live, if there isn't a hole in the cushion of my rocking chair, and the tassel torn off the window shade. O – d-e-a-r – m-e!" and Dolly sank into a chair, and looked pins and needles at the helpless Daffy.

"You forget how much we have had to do, don't you, Dolly? I have hardly sat down half an hour at a time. What with waiting on customers, and looking after housekeeping matters, I am as tired as an old horse. I tried to do the best I could, Dolly."

"That's what people always say when they have left every thing at sixes and sevens; but that don't put the color back into Bixby & Co.'s yellow ribbon, nor mend the shade tassel, nor the hole in my chair cushion. For mercy's sake, didn't you have Rose to help you? You make such a fuss about being tired."

"It took about all Rose's time to wait on you," answered Daffy.

"That's a good one!" exclaimed Dolly; "all on earth I wanted was to be kept quiet, take my medicines, and have a little gruel now and then. You can't make me believe that."

"It takes a great many steps to do even that," said Daffy, meekly; "but you are weak yet, Dolly, and a little thing troubles you."

"Do you mean to tell me that sickness has injured my mind?" said the incensed milliner; "that's a pretty story to get about among my customers. I could trim twenty bonnets if I chose. I am not so far gone as you think for; perhaps you was looking forward to the time when Dolly Smith would be taken off the sign-board, and Daffodil put up instead; perhaps Rose was to be your head apprentice; perhaps so."

"Oh, Dolly," said Daffy, shrinking away from her cutting tone, "how can you?"

"Well, I'm good for a little while longer," said Dolly, "any how; now see that child," said she, pointing to Rose, who had just entered the door, "I bought those shoes just before I was sick, and now her toes are all out of 'em. See there, now. Do you suppose I can afford to find you in shoes at that rate?" and she seized Rose by the shoulders, pressing her thumb into her arm-pit, in a way to make her wince.

"I'm very sorry, Aunt Dolly, but I had so much running to do. Had I thought of it, I would have taken off my shoes."

"And worn your stockings all out," said Dolly, "that would have been a great saving, indeed."

"I would have taken them off, too, had I thought you would have liked it, Aunt Dolly."

"And gone barefoot here, in my house, so that the neighbors might say I didn't half clothe you. You never will pay for what you cost," said Dolly, pushing her roughly away. "You are just like your mother – ex-actly. Now begin to cry – that's mother, too, all over."

"If I were only with her," thought Rose, as she seated herself at her work.

Daffy stooped near to Rose, ostensibly to pick up a spool of thread, but in fact to whisper, "Never you mind, Rose; it is always the darkest just before day."

A few weeks of returning health and successful bonnet-making made the amiable Dolly a little more endurable to every body but our heroine; for she had settled it in her mind that scant fare and harsh treatment were the only means to keep Maria's child where she should be.

It was Saturday morning, or, in other words, Dolly's baking-day. You might have known it by the way the tables and chairs spun round, the window-sashes flew up and down, and by the pop-gun curtness of Dolly's questions and answers. Every body gave Dolly a wide berth on Saturday; even the cat kept out of doors till the last smoking loaf was taken from the oven, and Dolly had reseated herself at her usual post behind the counter. Poor Daffy dodged round in the most diplomatic manner, and never ventured a disclaimer for any sin, how heinous soever, with which Dolly might wrongfully charge her. With Rose it was always 'Saturday,' and so she experienced no unusual flutter when Dolly bade her follow her into the kitchen, "as it was high time she learned to do the baking."

"Here, now," said Dolly, "down with you in that chair, and see if you can stone those raisins decently. Mind that you whistle all the while you are doing it, I don't want them all eat up; raisins cost something, they are very much like you in that respect."

Rose took the wooden bowl in her lap, and commenced her task, though she could not exactly understand how she was to learn to bake with her eyes fixed on the raisins.

"What is that?" asked Rose, as Dolly measured out some lard, and put it on the table.

"What do you suppose it is, for mercy's sake? I dare say you thought it was cheese. It would be just like you; it's lard, of course."

"How much did you put in, Aunt Dolly?"

"The usual quantity; how do you suppose my pies would taste, if I made them helter-skelter?"

"That's why I asked you," answered Rose, meekly.

"Well, how much did I put in? Why, there's that bowl full," said Dolly, "haven't you got eyes?"

"But if that bowl should get broke, Aunt Dolly, I couldn't tell, unless I had another exactly that size, how much to take."

"I suppose it must needs be a yellow bowl, too," sneered Dolly, "just like this, with a black rim round the edge; how ridikilis!"

"Isn't there any rule?" asked Rose, despondingly; "how shall I know when I get it right?"

"Why, go by your common sense, of course; how ridikilis; there, now, just see how you have cut those apples, all sorts of ways; wasted half of 'em in the parings."

"I am sorry," said Rose, "I was trying to learn how you made that crust – how much butter is there there, Aunt Dolly?"

"Why, those two pieces, don't you see? what silly questions you ask."