Christine: Or Woman's Trials and Triumphs

3. The Exhibition

36 ch a p ter thr ee The Exhibition The workmen had long before finished their breakfasts and gone to the hay-field, when Mrs. Frothingham entered the kitchen, which also served as dining-room; for Mrs. Elliot, well knowing that her usual breakfast hour would seem unreasonably early to her guest, had allowed her to sleep quietly on, and now had prepared a second meal. Christine had been out to gather strawberries for her aunt, and their rich scarlet hue contrasted well with the snowy table -cloth. The nicest of cream biscuit smoked there, and there, too, was the sweetest of butter; coffee that had exhausted Mrs. Elliot’s skill, and many other dainties—in fact, everything that could tempt a delicate appetite. Mrs. Frothingham was dressed in a white muslin wrapper, which, confined at the waist, flowed back, displaying a skirt elegantly embroidered; her little foot was encased in the prettiest of toilet slippers, and her hair was half-hidden, half-revealed under a light breakfast-cap; on no occasion did she neglect her toilet, and now, as ever, she looked the very impersonation of delicacy and refinement, and about as much in place in that lowly kitchen as a tiara of pearls would have done on her good sister-in-law’s slightly disordered tresses.   Christine 37 Christine undertook the task of serving her aunt, but often forgot to discharge her duties, so absorbed was she in admiration of her beautiful relative. Mrs. Frothingham was not slow to perceive the impression her beauty had produced on her niece, nor was she insensible to this unintentional flattery. It somewhat softened her feelings towards the girl, and made the idea of taking her home with her, rather more palatable. “Well, Christine,” she said, “are you going back with me?” Her tone was kind, and, with less embarrassment than usual, the girl replied, “I don’t know, but I hope so.” Her voice was sweet and clear, and this pleased her aunt’s fastidious taste. “I may make something of her yet,” she thought. “At any rate, she shall go.” “Miranda,” she said, turning to her sister-in-law, who stood near, “are you not willing to let me take Christine under my charge for awhile?” “Well, yes,” replied Mrs. Elliot, “as I was telling John last night, she isn’t good for much to home, for she never was handy at anything; but she’s a pretty good girl after all,” she went on, for once in her life, observing the tears that rushed to her daughter’s eyes, “and if she could be qualified for a teacher, she might do well. So John and I concluded that if you would let her pay for her tuition after awhile, by teaching in your school, she might go; otherwise she can’t, for John says he won’t be beholden to anybody, if it is his sister, though we’re both jist as much obliged to you.” “Very well,” replied Mrs. Frothingham, “that need be no objection . If she proves capable, I shall be only too glad of her services as teacher. So we will consider it settled. She is to go.” Christine’s eyes flashed with wild delight; she sprang to the door, for she could no longer control herself, and flying up stairs to her sanctuary, the unfinished chamber, she exclaimed, “I am Christine 38 going! I am going!” as if the old room, which had witnessed her sorrow and loneliness so often in the past, had been a living thing, and could sympathize now with her in her present happiness. So delighted was she that she had, in this far greater pleasure, quite forgotten that which was in store for her on that very evening —the exhibition at the Academy. She was reminded of it, ere long, by Bessie, who came to tell her how glad she was that her sister’s long cherished desire to go to school was to be gratified , and to talk over, also, the evening’s entertainment. A play neither had ever seen. Christine, indeed, had read all of Shakespeare’s, which she had borrowed of the doctor. She had laughed and wept, by turns, as she had pored over those wonderful volumes; but though she knew that they were sometimes acted, she had but a vague idea of the manner in which it was done. “Everything comes together, don...