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162 pages

English

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Mary E. Wilkins Freeman started her writing career when she was a teenager, penning verse and stories for children as a means of earning extra money for the family. Even as her literary ambitions evolved, Freeman continued to feature children in many of her tales. In the charming collection The Copy-Cat and Other Stories, children play prominent roles in the majority of the stories.

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Short story

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Publié par	The Floating Press
Date de parution	01 mai 2016
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781776670338
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0134€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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THE COPY-CAT AND OTHER STORIES
* * *
MARY E. WILKINS FREEMAN

*
The Copy-Cat and Other Stories First published in 1914 Epub ISBN 978-1-77667-033-8 Also available: PDF ISBN 978-1-77667-034-5 © 2014 The Floating Press and its licensors. All rights reserved. While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike. Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
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The Copy-Cat The Cock of the Walk Johnny-in-the-Woods Daniel and Little Dan'l Big Sister Solly Little Lucy Rose Noblesse Coronation The Amethyst Comb The Umbrella Man The Balking of Christopher Dear Annie
The Copy-Cat
*
THAT affair of Jim Simmons's cats never became known. Two little boysand a little girl can keep a secret—that is, sometimes. The two littleboys had the advantage of the little girl because they could talk overthe affair together, and the little girl, Lily Jennings, had no intimategirl friend to tempt her to confidence. She had only little AmeliaWheeler, commonly called by the pupils of Madame's school "TheCopy-Cat."
Amelia was an odd little girl—that is, everybody called her odd. Shewas that rather unusual creature, a child with a definite ideal; andthat ideal was Lily Jennings. However, nobody knew that. If Amelia'smother, who was a woman of strong character, had suspected, she wouldhave taken strenuous measures to prevent such a peculiar state ofaffairs; the more so because she herself did not in the least approve ofLily Jennings. Mrs. Diantha Wheeler (Amelia's father had died when shewas a baby) often remarked to her own mother, Mrs. Stark, and to hermother-in-law, Mrs. Samuel Wheeler, that she did not feel that Mrs.Jennings was bringing up Lily exactly as she should. "That child thinksentirely too much of her looks," said Mrs. Diantha. "When she walks pasthere she switches those ridiculous frilled frocks of hers as if she wereentering a ballroom, and she tosses her head and looks about to see ifanybody is watching her. If I were to see Amelia doing such things Ishould be very firm with her."
"Lily Jennings is a very pretty child," said Mother-in-law Wheeler, withan under-meaning, and Mrs. Diantha flushed. Amelia did not in the leastresemble the Wheelers, who were a handsome set. She looked remarkablylike her mother, who was a plain woman, only little Amelia did not havea square chin. Her chin was pretty and round, with a little dimple init. In fact, Amelia's chin was the prettiest feature she had. Her hairwas phenomenally straight. It would not even yield to hot curling-irons,which her grandmother Wheeler had tried surreptitiously several timeswhen there was a little girls' party. "I never saw such hair as thatpoor child has in all my life," she told the other grandmother, Mrs.Stark. "Have the Starks always had such very straight hair?"
Mrs. Stark stiffened her chin. Her own hair was very straight. "I don'tknow," said she, "that the Starks have had any straighter hair thanother people. If Amelia does not have anything worse to contend withthan straight hair I rather think she will get along in the world aswell as most people."
"It's thin, too," said Grandmother Wheeler, with a sigh, "and it hasn'ta mite of color. Oh, well, Amelia is a good child, and beauty isn'teverything." Grandmother Wheeler said that as if beauty were a greatdeal, and Grandmother Stark arose and shook out her black silk skirts.She had money, and loved to dress in rich black silks and laces.
"It is very little, very little indeed," said she, and she eyedGrandmother Wheeler's lovely old face, like a wrinkled old rose as tocolor, faultless as to feature, and swept about by the loveliest wavesof shining silver hair.
Then she went out of the room, and Grandmother Wheeler, left alone,smiled. She knew the worth of beauty for those who possess it and thosewho do not. She had never been quite reconciled to her son's marryingsuch a plain girl as Diantha Stark, although she had money. Sheconsidered beauty on the whole as a more valuable asset than mere gold.She regretted always that poor little Amelia, her only grandchild, wasso very plain-looking. She always knew that Amelia was very plain, andyet sometimes the child puzzled her. She seemed to see reflectionsof beauty, if not beauty itself, in the little colorless face, in thefigure, with its too-large joints and utter absence of curves. Shesometimes even wondered privately if some subtle resemblance to thehandsome Wheelers might not be in the child and yet appear. But she wasmistaken. What she saw was pure mimicry of a beautiful ideal.
Little Amelia tried to stand like Lily Jennings; she tried to walk likeher; she tried to smile like her; she made endeavors, very oftenfutile, to dress like her. Mrs. Wheeler did not in the least approveof furbelows for children. Poor little Amelia went clad in severesimplicity; durable woolen frocks in winter, and washable, unfadable,and non-soil-showing frocks in summer. She, although her mother hadperhaps more money wherewith to dress her than had any of the othermothers, was the plainest-clad little girl in school. Amelia, moreover,never tore a frock, and, as she did not grow rapidly, one lasted severalseasons. Lily Jennings was destructive, although dainty. Her prettyclothes were renewed every year. Amelia was helpless before thatproblem. For a little girl burning with aspirations to be and look likeanother little girl who was beautiful and wore beautiful clothes, to beobliged to set forth for Madame's on a lovely spring morning, when thinattire was in evidence, dressed in dark-blue-andwhite-checked gingham,which she had worn for three summers, and with sleeves which, even tochildish eyes, were anachronisms, was a trial. Then to see Lily flutterin a frock like a perfectly new white flower was torture; not becauseof jealousy—Amelia was not jealous; but she so admired the other littlegirl, and so loved her, and so wanted to be like her.
As for Lily, she hardly ever noticed Amelia. She was not aware thatshe herself was an object of adoration; for she was a little girl whosearched for admiration in the eyes of little boys rather than littlegirls, although very innocently. She always glanced slyly at JohnnyTrumbull when she wore a pretty new frock, to see if he noticed. Henever did, and she was sharp enough to know it. She was also childenough not to care a bit, but to take a queer pleasure in the sensationof scorn which she felt in consequence. She would eye Johnny from headto foot, his boy's clothing somewhat spotted, his bulging pockets, hisalways dusty shoes, and when he twisted uneasily, not understanding why,she had a thrill of purely feminine delight. It was on one such occasionthat she first noticed Amelia Wheeler particularly.
It was a lovely warm morning in May, and Lily was a darling tobehold—in a big hat with a wreath of blue flowers, her hair tiedwith enormous blue silk bows, her short skirts frilled with eyeletembroidery, her slender silk legs, her little white sandals. Madame'smaid had not yet struck the Japanese gong, and all the pupils were outon the lawn, Amelia, in her clean, ugly gingham and her serviceablebrown sailor hat, hovering near Lily, as usual, like a common, veryplain butterfly near a particularly resplendent blossom. Lily reallynoticed her. She spoke to her confidentially; she recognized her fullyas another of her own sex, and presumably of similar opinions.
"Ain't boys ugly, anyway?" inquired Lily of Amelia, and a wonderfulchange came over Amelia. Her sallow cheeks bloomed; her eyes showed blueglitters; her little skinny figure became instinct with nervous life.She smiled charmingly, with such eagerness that it smote with pathos andbewitched.
"Oh yes, oh yes," she agreed, in a voice like a quick flute obbligato."Boys are ugly."
"Such clothes!" said Lily.
"Yes, such clothes!" said Amelia.
"Always spotted," said Lily.
"Always covered all over with spots," said Amelia.
"And their pockets always full of horrid things," said Lily.
"Yes," said Amelia.
Amelia glanced openly at Johnny Trumbull; Lily with a sidewise effect.
Johnny had heard every word. Suddenly he arose to action and knockeddown Lee Westminster, and sat on him.
"Lemme up!" said Lee.
Johnny had no quarrel whatever with Lee. He grinned, but he sat still.Lee, the sat-upon, was a sharp little boy. "Showing off before thegals!" he said, in a thin whisper.
"Hush up!" returned Johnny.
"Will you give me a writing-pad—I lost mine, and mother said I couldn'thave another for a week if I did—if I don't holler?" inquired Lee.
"Yes. Hush up!"
Lee lay still, and Johnny continued to sit upon his prostrate form.Both were out of sight of Madame's windows, behind a clump of the cedarswhich graced her lawn.
"Always fighting," said Lily, with a fine crescendo of scorn. She liftedher chin high, and also her nose.
"Always fighting," said Amelia, and also lifted her chin and nose.Amelia was a born mimic. She actually looked like Lily, and she spokelike her.
Then Lily did a wonderful thing. She doubled her soft little arm into aninviting loop for Amelia's little claw of a hand.
"Come along, Amelia Wheeler," said she. "We don't want to stay nearhorrid, fighting boys. We will go by ourselves."
And they went. Madame had a headache that morning, and the Japanesegong did not ring for fifteen minutes longer. During that time Lily andAmelia sat together on a little rustic bench under a twinkling poplar,and they talked, and a sort of miniature sun-and-satellite relation wasestablished between them, although neither was aware of it. Lily, beingon the whole a very nor