CHAPTER XITHE VISIT TO THE PAICHOUX
Onebright morning in October, while Pepsie and Lady Jane were very busy over their pecans, there was a sudden rattling of wheels and jingling of cans, and Tante Modeste’s milk-cart, gay in a fresh coat of red paint, with the shining cans, and smart little mule in a bright harness, drew up before the door, and Tante Modeste herself jumped briskly down from the high seat, and entered like a fresh breath of spring.
She and Madelon were twin sisters, and very much alike; the same large, fair face, the same smooth, dark hair combed straight back from the forehead, and twisted in a glossy knot at the back, and like Madelon she wore a stiffly starched, light calico gown, finished at the neck with a muslin scarf tied in a large bow; her head was bare, and in her ears she wore gold hoops, and around her neck was a heavy chain of the same precious metal.
When Pepsie saw her she held out her arms, flushing with pleasure, and cried joyfully: “Oh, Tante Modeste, how glad I am! I thought you’d forgotten to come for Lady Jane.”
Tante Modeste embraced her niece warmly, and then caught Lady Jane to her heart just as Madelon did. “Forgotten her? Oh, no; I’ve thought of her all the time since I was here; but I’ve been so busy.”
“What about, Tante Modeste?” asked Pepsie eagerly.
“Oh, you can’t think how your cousin Marie is turning us upside down, since she decided to be a lady.” Here Tante Modeste made a little grimace of disdain. “She must have our house changed, and her papa can’t say ‘no’ to her. I like it best as it was, but Marie must have paint and carpets; think of it—carpets! But I draw the line at the parlor—thesalon,” and again Tante Modeste shrugged and laughed. “She wants asalon; well, she shall have asalonjust as she likes it, and I will have the other part of the house as I like it. Just imagine, your uncle has gone on Rue Royale, and bought a mirror, a console, a cabinet, a sofa, and a carpet.”
“Oh, oh, Tante Modeste, how lovely!” criedPepsie, clasping her hands in admiration. “I wish I could see the parlor just once.”
“You shall, my dear; you shall, if you have to be brought on a bed. When there’s a wedding,”—and she nodded brightly, as much as to say, “and there will be one soon,”—“you shall be brought there. I’ll arrange it so you can come comfortably, my dear. Have patience, you shall come.”
“How good you are, Tante Modeste,” cried Pepsie, enraptured at the promise of such happiness.
“But now,chérie,” she said, turning to Lady Jane, whose little face was expressing in pantomime her pleasure at Pepsie’s delight, “I’ve come for you this morning to take you a ride in the cart, as I promised.”
“Tante Pauline doesn’t know,” began Lady Jane dutifully. “I must go and ask her if I can.”
“I’ll send Tite,” cried Pepsie, eager to have the child enjoy what to her seemed the greatest pleasure on earth.
“Here, Tite,” she said, as the black visage appeared at the door. “Run quick across to Madame Jozain, and ask if Miss Lady can go to ride in the milk-cart with Madame Paichoux; and bring me a clean frock and her hat and sash.”
Tite flew like the wind, her black legs making zigzag strokes across the street, while Pepsie brushed the child’s beautiful hair until it shone like gold.
Madame Jozain did not object. Of course, a milk-cart wasn’t a carriage, but then Lady Jane was only a child, and it didn’t matter.
While Pepsie was putting the finishing touches to Lady Jane’s toilet, Tante Modeste and Tite Souris were busy bringing various packages from the milk-cart to the little room; butter, cream, cheese, sausage, a piece of pig, and a fine capon. When Tante Modeste came, she always left a substantial proof of her visit.
There was only one drawback to Lady Jane’s joy, and that was the necessity of leaving Tony behind.
“You might take him,” said Tante Modeste, good-naturedly, “but there are so many young ones home they’d pester the bird about to death, and something might happen to him; he might get away, and then you’d never forgive us.”
“I know I mustn’t take him,” said Lady Jane, with sweet resignation. “Dear Tony, be a good bird while I’m gone, and you shall have some bugs to-morrow.” Tony was something of an epicure,and “bugs,” as Lady Jane called them, extracted from cabbage-leaves, were a delight to him. Then she embraced him fondly, and fastened him securely to Pepsie’s chair, and went away with many good-bys and kisses for her friend and not a few lingering glances for her pet.
It was a perfectly enchanting situation to Lady Jane when she was mounted up on the high seat, close under Tante Modeste’s sheltering wing, with her little feet on the cream-cheese box, and the two tall cans standing in front like sturdy tin footmen waiting for orders. Then Tante Modeste pulled the top up over their heads and shook her lines at the fat little mule, and away they clattered down Good Children Street, with all the children and all the dogs running on behind.
It was a long and delightful drive to Lady Jane before they got out of town to where the cottages were scattered and set in broad fields, with trees and pretty gardens. At length they turned out of the beautiful Esplanade, with its shady rows of trees, into Frenchman Street, and away down the river they stopped before a large double cottage that stood well back from the street, surrounded by trees andflowers; a good-natured, healthy-looking boy threw open the gate, and Tante Modeste clattered into the yard, calling out:
“Here, Tiburce, quick, my boy; unhitch the mule, and turn him out.” The little animal understood perfectly well what she said, and shaking his long ears he nickered approvingly.
Lady Jane was lifted down from her high perch by Paichoux himself, who gave her a right cordial welcome, and in a moment she was surrounded by Tante Modeste’s good-natured brood. At first she felt a little shy, there were so many, and they were such noisy children; but they were so kind and friendly toward her that they soon won her confidence and affection.
That day was a “red-letter day” to Lady Jane; she was introduced to all the pets of the farm-yard, the poultry, the dogs, the kittens, the calves, the ponies, and little colts, and the great soft motherly looking cows that stood quietly in rows to be milked; and afterward they played under the trees in the grass, while they gathered roses by the armful to carry to Pepsie, and filled a basket with pecans for Madelon.
She was feasted on gumbo, fried chicken, rice-cakes,and delicious cream cheese until she could eat no more; she was caressed and petted to her heart’s content from the pretty Marie down to the smallest white-headed Paichoux; she saw the fine parlor, the mirror, the pictures, the cabinet of shells, and the vases of wax-flowers, and, to crown all, Paichoux himself lifted her on Tiburce’s pony and rode her around the yard several times, while Tante Modeste made her a beautiful cake, frosted like snow, with her name in pink letters across the top.
At last, when the milk-cart came around with its evening load of fresh milk for waiting customers, Lady Jane was lifted up again beside Tante Modeste, overloaded with presents, caresses, and good wishes, the happiest child, as well as the tiredest, that ever rode in a milk-cart.
Long before they reached the noisy city streets, Lady Jane became very silent, and Tante Modeste peeped under the broad hat to see if she had fallen asleep; but no, the blue eyes were wide and wistful, and the little face had lost its glow of happiness.
“Are you tired,chérie?” asked Tante Modeste kindly.
“No, thank you,” she replied, with a soft sigh. “I was thinking of papa, and Sunflower, and theranch, and dear mama. Oh, I wonder if she’ll come back soon.”
Tante Modeste made no reply, but she fell to thinking too. There was something strange about it all that she couldn’t understand.
The child’s remarks and Madame Jozain’s stories did not agree. There was a mystery, and she meant to get at the bottom of it by some means. And when Tante Modeste set out to accomplish a thing she usually succeeded.