Jasper Republican, Volume 1, Number 33, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 30 April 1875 — MY NIECE NINA. [ARTICLE]

MY NIECE NINA.

BY ELLEN TRACY ALDEN.

N nfA! Such an absurdly fantastic name to give a child! But, then, Adeline was full of fantastic notions. I suppose there never were two sisters more unlike than she and I. As long ago as I can remember, I think I possessed what might be termed correct views of life. I believe I can, without any semblance of boastfulness, lay claims to a fair share of common sense and sound judgment. Whatever duty lay before me I did without demurring. I was no dreamer, never locked myself up in my chamber to woo the muse, and spend hours —days—that had better have been devoted to more practical employment torturing incomprehensible sentences into rhyme and measure. But Adeline, oh! I used to get to out of patience with. She imagined she had a talent for writing (that is, I suppose she did; she never said anything of the kind. Adeline was no talker), and it was just the ruin of her. I used to do and say all I could to cure her of the notion, but my efforts were of no avail. What an amount of time she contrived to waste with her scribblings—verses or whatever senseless things, I thought; but there were some who did not agree with me—Nivison, for instance. (How angry I got with him one day during a discussion we were having as to the merits of one of her poems!) I foresaw just hew it would turn out when those two were married. I knew it would be a struggle for existence, for the fellow wasn’t worth a cent, and was a parson in the bargain. I did all I could to prevent it, I know that. But father always would let her have her own way. So married they were, and off they went. Well, I expect she saw some pretty hard times out there in Wisconsin, so far from the paternal pocket-book—which I used to suspect was, even at that distance, occasionally drawn upon. (I never could comprehend why father should think so much more of Adeline than of me. To be sure, she was always coaxing and palavering about him, like the great baby she was, calling him pet names, embroidering slippers and dress-ing-gowns, concocting dainty dishes for him and all that. I had no time for such folderol, with the housekeeping on my hands and the necessity devolving upon me, the elder of his two motherless daughters, to represent the family in society. That after my long and faithful discharge of duty he should, in his will, divide his property equally between us seemed te me an aet of inexcusable favoritism.)

After f&ther’a death no correspondence whatever passed between Adeline and myself, and indeed we never met again. Of course, then, after years of separation and estrangement, it was a matter of no little surprise to my husband and myself all at once to find ourselves the guardians of her child. Not regularly-appointed guardians, it is true; for, both parents having been suddenly and within a few days of each other carried off by a contagious fever, no arrangements had been made concerning her. At least so we were informed by an acquaintance of theira who wrote to us, the nearest relatives, inquiring what should be done in the case. My husband went on directly, disposed of their eflccta the proceeds he afterward invested in railroad stock; a veiy profitable investment, coo, it has proved, compensating us in a measure for eur care and trouble). On his return he brought Nina with him. Could I have anticipated all I should doubtless have prevented this. But the child was - only ten at the time—that was eight years ago—and so exceedingly shy and quiet I could not possibly foresee the trouble I was bringing upon myself. Nevertheless, I must admit that I had an uncomfortable presentiment when, at first sight, I noticed her close likeness to her mother, and later when I found the resemblance consisted not in looks alone. She was Adeline’s counterpart in manner, temperament—everything. I have heard some say they thought Nina pretty. I never could see it. She is too pale by half, and her eyes—well, I never could endure to have her look at me. In fact—l will confess it here—l never liked the girl. However,-1 have tried to do my duty by her. If she had had any other kith or kin to go to I should have hesitated about taking her

bi. Bui die hbdnt, Kid tentative. ' ,J' I resolved on the start she should he of some use to me, and that I would have no fine-lady airs. And i must say she has been serviceable in caring for the children. (I have been able to dispense with a housemaid since her coming—at least on* item off our bill of expenditures—and in these days it dos* require so much money to live in any kind of style.) Of course I could not allow her the educational advantages of my own children. How mueh she has contrived to pick up I cannot say. She inherited her mother’s taste for reading and, no doubt, for scribbling too. But I was determined not to have a repetition of tAot folly. I would have no more bookworms about me; and as often as I caught her, duster in hand and sweeping-cap on head, idling over Shakespeare, or Milton, or dear knows what not, I have taken the book away and bidden her attend to her work. I fear, however, delinquencies of this sort are not the only ones of which she has been guilty. One day, I remember, I had been out shopping, and, on returning, found her singing one of Estelle’s songs, accompanying herself on the piano. Of course I couldn’t have that. It ploes injure a piano so to be drummed upon. How indignant Estelle was when I told her about it! The dear child! I only wish she might have been spared the many annoyances she has endured from having that girl in the house. I know very well what a trial it has been to her to have Nina always wearing about the dresses she had outgrown; but that was an economical measure which could not well be avoided, and I have been careful to keep her out of sight as much as possible whenever my daughters’ acquaintances were with us. If I had only managed a little more adroitly when Walter Ransom was here last winter. If I could have foreseen what has transpired I should certainly have got her out of the way for the time being. I might have sent her off to Cousin Jemima’s; or, perhaps, I should not have invited him to remain. A young man who could behave with such shocking rudeness little deserved even that favor. But business which would detain him several days brought him to our city. He happened to call upon my son Fred, with whom he had been intimate at college, and so it was very natural that I should ask him to be our guest during his stay. A young man of property, talents and prepossessing appearance, it occurred to me it might be a pleasant arrangement to bring him and Estelle together in this friendly fashion. So I prevailed upon him to remain with us. (How often since have I deplored my cordiality upon that occasion.)

Of course we did everything in our power to make the visit agreeable. He and Estelle rode, sang, played billiards, attended the opera—in short, were almost constantly in each other’s society, and matters seemed to be progressing finely, whenwhat should I discover one morning, on entering the library, but Walter and Nina sitting side by side on the sofa. She had been sweeping, I suppose, and he had come in and found her there. I did not think it possible she would venture to address or engage in conversation with a guest in the house like that. I never allowed "her to ait at table or meet socially with our visitors, all of whom doubtless had the impression she was one of the domestics.

I think I stared at her a full moment in mute amazement. She quailed visibly under my gaze. “Nina,” said I, sternly, “ you may go up-stairs and look after the children.” She left the room without a word. I wished, afterward, I had concealed my vexation, at least before Ransom; for immediately after breakfast (he had been unusually silent during the meal) he announced his intention to departon the next train, and nothing could dissuade him from his purpose. I thought it extremely impolite in him to leave so unceremoniously, considering all the trouble we had taken to entertain him, his attentions to Estelle, and knowing, as he did, that we had sent out invitations to a dance for that very evening—an entertainment got up especially on his account. Estelle, poor child, was almost inconsolable, and as for myself I could only give vent to my feelings by taking Nina to task. I reprimanded her sharply. What was my surprise when at last she remarked:

“ Why, Aunt Charlotte, I didn’t think there could be any harm in speaking to him! We used to be neighbors in Havreville. His father’s house was next to ours. We used to play together. We went to the same school.” I couldn’t find a word to say. How should I know that Ransom had ever lived in Havreville ? Well, in a few days there came a letter addressed in a masculine hand to Nina. I thought best to examine its contents before delivering it to her. I thought best to find out for myself wh at sort of person this might be writing to Miss Nina. It was from Ransom! It began with “ Dearest Nina!” alluded to her “ unhappy situation” and the “trials she was obliged to undergo!” (the ungrateful girl! what falsehoods she must have told him!) and ended with a proposal to correspond. Correspond, indeed! and with Nina—a girl so vastly his inferior in every respect. How edifying, to be sure! » Miss Nina never enjoyed a perusal of that interesting communication. I threw it into the fire. I considered I was doing a kindness in preventing a promising young man from wasting his sympathy and ink in that foolish fashion. And, besides, I still had hopes that, if the case were carefully handled, I might yet bring about a more satisfactory understanding between him and Estelle.

A® iwr JRvUh)'X •Cz'vllw {X with her I should certainly, then and there, have bidden her take her departure—seek her own livelihood in someway or other (she might teach, perhaps, in a primary school, I thought; might do anything, I didn’t care what, if only she got herself out of the way), but the younger children were just then coming down with the measles, and I could not well dispense with her services. Some weeks later, the little; ones having entirely recovered, “Now,” said I to myself, “it is time to speak.” I was revolving the matter in my mind one afternoon, as I took a short cut through the park on my way home from a call I had been making. I caught right of Nina through the shrubbery a* I passed along. She had the baby out in his carriage for an airing. A man was walking beside her. I approached. “This girl,” thought I, “must be watched as long as she remains with me.” The man was Ransom! He saluted ma in ths moat courteous manner possible. “ Nina,” said I, speaking in the mildest tones I <yuld command, “I think the little darling has been out long enough. Hadn’t you better be going home?” Ransom hastened to relieve her of her charge, turning the carriage toward the park entrance and pushing it himself. No sooner had we reached the house door than, pausing, he took Nina’s hand in his. It was right there on the street, in broad daylight! I could not but wonder at his audacity. Well, I don’t recall his exact words. I know he made a very smooth little speech, the substance of which was: he wanted my consent to their marriage! Marriage! For two minutes—longer, perhaps—l was unable to utter a syllable, so great was my astonishment. At last I managed to say: “ Mr. Ransom, it is a matter of perfect indifference to me in what manner this young woman may choose to dispose of herself. I only know that I. close my doors to her—now and forever!" And with that I lifted baby from his carriage and passed in. I suppose they went straitway to a clergyman for their marriage notice appeared in the next morning’s papers. And that is the last I have heard or care to hear of either of them. A precious pair, indeed! _