Chapter IV: Aunt Ackerman

"MY dear child," said Miss Ackerman, speaking in a tone which made Percy start, "I am so glad you have come; but we did not expect you till to-morrow. How did you get here?"

Percy had to explain that Mr. Hausen had changed his plans, which had changed her own; and added, that Mrs. Richardson had telegraphed to that effect.

"And here comes the message, I fancy," said Miss Ackerman, as Sylvester brought in a yellow envelope. "But it does not matter, so long as you are safe. I dare say you are tired and hungry enough. Come up and see your room, and then we will see about some lunch. Never mind your bag; Sylvester will bring it."

Percy followed her cousin, feeling more and more as if she was in a dream; for Cousin Margaret's face, figure, and voice were exactly like what her mother's had been before she was ill.

"See, this is your room," said Miss Ackerman, opening a door. "We could have given you a larger one up-stairs, but mamma thought you would like to be near us. Do you think you shall like this little blue and brown place?"

"I think it is lovely," answered Percy, who had a great liking for all sorts of pretty things. The room was finished with light oak wood in the natural colour, and the furniture was of the same. The curtains were of blue and white, and there was a blue and oak carpet on the floor. Some pretty china figures and a sociable little clock stood on the mantel; there was a dainty little writing-desk, and three or four shelves hung over it, filled with books both new and old.

"It is the prettiest room I ever saw," said Percy.

"I am glad you like it," said Miss Ackerman. "Mamma had it fitted up on purpose for you." She did not say that Mrs. Ackerman had given up her own special sitting-room, that the strange little girl might not have to go up-stairs alone to sleep. "Mamma is dressing to go out," continued Miss Ackerman; "and I hope you won't consider us uncivil if We leave you to your own devices for a couple of hours. You see, we have an engagement at the Orphans' Home, which can't be very well put off. I will tell them to send you up some lunch; and you can amuse yourself with a book, or in any way you please. You won't mind, will you?"

"Oh, no, ma'am," answered Percy, rather relieved than otherwise at the prospect of a little solitude. At that moment the door opened, and in came the prettiest—yes, the very prettiest—little old lady that Percy had ever seen, with a bright, gentle face and bright blue eyes, and thin, soft-looking gray hair, put up in puffs under her bonnet. She was dressed in black, with a good deal of beautiful fur; and everything she wore was so suitable and becoming, that it made one feel as if her dress were a part of herself.

"So this is my little niece?" said she, kissing Percy. "I should know her anywhere from her resemblance to you, Margaret. My dear, it was very good in you to give your holidays to us. I hope we shall make them pleasant for you. Margaret, have you explained to Percy about our going out?"

"Yes, mamma."

"You see, we are going to arrange about the orphans' Christmas-tree," continued Mrs. Ackerman, in a soft, purring kind of voice. "We have to divide the work of buying supplies, because there are so many children this year. To-morrow you shall go around to the shops with me to see what we can find; and I dare say you will like to help Margaret dress some dolls."

"Oh, yes, ma'am," answered Percy; and gathering courage, she added: "I have got the doll you sent me out in Colorado; and it is as good as new."

"Indeed! You must be a very careful little girl, I think. And how do you like your school?"

"Oh, very much!" answered Percy, with animation. "It is not a bit like a school: it seems just like home."

"It must be very unlike any boarding school I ever attended," said Miss Ackerman. "Mamma, the carriage is ready; and there is not much time to spare, you know."

"True," answered her mother. "Good-by, my love; you must try not to feel lonely. Sylvester will show you the library and the flowers, if you like, or you can lie down and rest after your lunch, just as you feel disposed. It seems pleasant to have a little girl in the house once more: doesn't it, Margaret?"

"Yes, indeed," answered Margaret, and Percy was sure that she saw tears in her beautiful eyes. She wondered whom they could be thinking of. There was a lovely picture over the mantel, of a little fair girl playing with some flowers, and both the ladies looked at it as they spoke.

Then they kissed her and went away, and presently Sylvester brought her up a dainty luncheon.

"Whose picture is that?" she ventured to ask, as Sylvester busied himself in setting out the table by the fire, and arranging the tray.

"That is Mrs. Ackerman's only daughter," replied Sylvester. "She was a sweet, pretty young lady, and favoured her mother as much as you do yours."

"I think Cousin Margaret looks like mamma," said Percy.

"The very picture of her. I've often said that very thing myself," replied Sylvester, evidently pleased with being talked to. "Miss Margaret and your ma were near about of an age, and more like sisters than aunt and niece. You see, your aunt—the first lady, as I may say—was much older than your ma; and after your grandma died, she took the charge of her. She was a splendid lady, was the first Mrs. Ackerman; and the second is just as good, only different—more quiet and gentle like, and apt to believe everything anybody tells her. The way them beggars and folks does impose on her! Do you like stewed oysters, Miss?"

"Very much."

"Then you are just suited, for here they are. I told Symantha I guessed you would like something kind of hot and comfortable; and she thought of oysters the very first thing. Symantha, she's my wife, and Drusilla, the chambermaid, she's our girl. We've got a boy, too, but he works out for himself. Just ring the bell, Miss, when you want anything." And Sylvester departed, coming back again presently with the evening papers.

Percy was hungry, and she ate her oysters and drank her coffee with great satisfaction, thinking, as she did so, that the dreadful part of her visit had not begun as yet. Aunt Ackerman was not in the least like the image she had formed in her own mind; which image was modelled principally on that fashionable city aunt to be found, I believe, only in a certain class of story-books. Milly Russell's aunt, in the story of "The Broken Saucer," had been very wicked and worldly, and had treated Milly with such scorn and contempt, because the said Milly had read her Bible on Sundays. But Aunt Ackerman, though she was beautifully dressed, and lived in such a fine house, did not seem as if she could be either scornful or unkind.

"And I am sure it was very good in her to fit up this pretty room for me, next her own," thought Percy; "and I am sure Cousin Margaret looks good. Oh, dear, I hope they will like me. I wish I was fair and rosy, like the little girl in the picture."

Percy's meditations were here interrupted by a sound as of a cat scratching to be let in. She arose and opened the door, to admit a beautiful great Persian or Angora cat, with very long hair and long, bushy tail; the most superb pussy that Percy had ever seen, and followed by an equally pretty kitten. Percy loved all kinds of pets, cats and kittens especially.

"Oh, you beauties!" she exclaimed. "I wonder if I dare give you a little milk. I have heard that milk is dreadfully dear in New York; but, then, aunt is so rich, I dare say she won't mind."

Pussy accepted the milk, and drank it with an air of having conferred a polite attention on a stranger, and established herself on the rug before the fire, while the kitten frisked about the room. Percy finished her own lunch, and then began exploring her new quarters. The room was furnished with every convenience, and on opening the desk she found a store of nice paper and envelopes, all—wonderful to tell!—marked with the name of Percy in bright blue and red. There was an inkstand filled with perfumed violet ink, a gold pen,—even a little waferstand and a box of wax matches: and on the top of all lay a card with this inscription, "To Percy from Aunt Ackerman."

"What a lovely Christmas present!" exclaimed Percy, as she turned over the contents of the desk. "I always did want some paper stamped with my name. I mean to write to Aunt Zoe directly, and to Blandina and Florry, and everybody."

"That looks nice," said Sylvester, as he came after the dishes and found Percy busy at her letter-writing. "Looks as if Missy was getting to feel at home. Mrs. Ackerman she bought that desk herself on purpose for your room. I am so glad you have come, Miss Percy. I am sure you will do Mrs. Ackerman good; and it seems so nice to have a young lady in the house again."

In process of time, Mrs. Ackerman and Margaret came home; and they had dinner. Mrs. Ackerman told Percy of the arrangements for the orphans' Christmas-tree, and of the number and kind of children in The Home; and she and Margaret talked over the different children on their list, and discussed what would be the best present for each, and Percy quite forgot to be shy as she listened. They would go out in the carriage to-morrow, Mrs. Ackerman said, and Percy should help her buy the presents, "unless you want to spend the morning writing to your aunt," added Mrs. Ackerman.

"I wrote to her this afternoon," answered Percy; "and oh, aunt, I want to thank you and Cousin Margaret for my beautiful writing paper and things. I always wanted some paper stamped with my name, and I never saw any so pretty."

"And the desk? I hope you like that," said Margaret; "because it is my taste. We will have it safely boxed for you to carry home."

Percy's eyes opened so wide that they seemed to swallow up her whole face, as she exclaimed:

"Why, Cousin Margaret! You don't mean that the desk is mine to take home with me? Not mine to keep? I thought it belonged to the room."

"It belongs to you, and nobody else, my little cousin," answered Margaret, smiling.

"Well!" said Percy, in a tone between resignation and satisfaction. "I never thought I should have such a desk as that in this world. But I don't know what I ought to say."

"You have said just the right thing, dear," remarked Margaret. "You can't please mamma better than by being pleased yourself."

"Well, I do like to have people pleased when I take pains for them," said Mrs. Ackerman, piling some raisins and almonds on Percy's plate. "Now there was old Mrs. Smith, at the Aged Widows' Asylum, you know, Margaret: I hunted the city over to find her a purple-and-black checked shawl, because she wanted one so much; and, after all, she said she thought she would rather have a black and white one, because the purple made the black look green. And when I bought that Paisley shawl for Cousin Sarah, I am sure I would not have taken so much pains for myself, that hot weather. I actually put off going out of town three days, on purpose to buy that shawl; and yet Sarah was not pleased, because she said she was sure she found three threads of cotton on the wrong side."

"I have about made up my mind that I shall not do any more shopping for Cousin Sarah," said Margaret; "only, I suppose, if I don't, you will: and she can't impose on me quite so badly as she does on you; I am not so good-natured. But, as you say, mamma, I do love to have people show themselves gratified, when one tries to please them. I think you must be satisfied this time."

Percy resolved that she would be pleased with everything her aunt did for her. She was examining her desk again before she went to bed, hardly able to believe that she could be the possessor of so many little drawers and pigeon-holes, when there was a knock at a door which Percy had not seen opened, and presently her aunt opened it.

"I was only going to tell you that you can have this door opened into my room, if you like," said she. "You need not hurry in the morning. We are not very early risers; and I will see that you are called in time for prayers and breakfast. You say your own prayers: don't you, dear?"

"Yes, aunt. Mamma taught me," answered Percy, in a low tone.

"Well," thought Percy, as she lay down, "I don't think the dreadful place has come yet. I do believe I was silly, as Jenny said. I wish she had as nice a place to spend her Christmas in."