University of Virginia Library

33. CHAPTER XXXIII.
FANNY'S VIEWS UPON HERALDRY.

Fanny was overflowing with laughter, and her face was the
perfection of glee. Her dark eyes fairly danced, and the profuse
black curls which rippled around her face, were never still for a
moment.

In her hand Miss Fanny carried a wreath of primroses and
other children of the autumn, which spread around them as she
came a faint perfume. From the appearance of the young lady's
feet, it seemed that she had gathered them herself. Her shoes
and ankles, with their white stockings, were saturated with the
dews of morning.

After imprinting upon Miss Redbud's cheek the kiss which we
have chronicled, Fanny gaily raised the yellow wreath, and deposited
it upon the young girl's head.

“There, Redbud!” she cried, “I declare, you look prettier
than ever!”

Redbud smiled, with an affectionate glance at her friend.

“Oh!” cried the impulsive Fanny, “there you are, laughing
at me, as much as to say that you are not pretty! Affected!”

“Oh, no,” said Redbud.

“Well, I don't say you are.”

“I don't like affectation.”

“Nor I,” said Fanny; “but really, Reddy, I had no idea
that yellow was so becoming to you.”

“Why?” asked Redbud, smiling.

“You are blonde, you know.”

“Well.”

“I wonder if blonde don't mean yellow,” said the philosophic
Fanny.

“Does it?”

“Yes.”

“What then?

“Why, of course, I thought yellow primroses would'nt become
you;—now they would suit me—I'm so dark.”

“You do not need them.”

“Fie—Miss Flatterer.”

“Oh, no, Fanny, I never flatter.”

“Well, I'm glad you like me, then!” cried Fanny, for I declare
I'm desperately in love with you, Reddy. Just think, now,
how much flattered Miss Sallianna would have been if I had
carried these flowers to her—you know she loves the `beauties
of nature.' ”

And Miss Fanny assumed a languishing air, and inclining her
head upon one shoulder, raised her eyes lackadaisically toward
the ceiling, in imitation of Miss Sallianna.

“No, Fanny!” said Redbud, “that is not right.”

“What?”

“Mimicking Miss Sallianna.”

“Not right!”

“No, indeed.

“Well, I suppose it is not, and I have been treating her very
badly. Suppose I take your wreath of yellow primroses and
carry them to her.”

“Oh, yes—if you want to,” said Redbud, looking regretfully
at the wreath, which she had taken from her brow.

Fanny laughed.

“No, I will not,” she said; “I have a good reason.”

“What?”

“The axiom in heraldry.”

“What axiom?”

“Never put color upon color—yellow upon yellow in this
instance!”

And Miss Fanny burst into laughter, and fairly shook with
glee.

Redbud gave her a little reproachful glance, which showed
Fanny the uncharitable nature of her observation.

“Well,” said the owner of the soiled ankles, “I ought not to
have said that; but really, she is so ridiculous! She thinks she's
the handsomest person in the world, and I do believe she wants
to rob us of our beaux.”

Redbud smiled, and lightly colored.

“I mean Verty and Ralph,” Fanny went on, “and I know
something is going on. Miss Sallianna is always in love with
somebody; it was Mr. Jinks the other day, and now I think it is
one of our two visitors.”

“Oh, Fanny!”

“Yes, I do! you need'nt look so incredulous—I believe she
would flirt with either of them, and make love to them;
which,” added the philosophic Fanny, “is only another phrase
for the same thing.”

Redbud remained for a moment confused, and avoiding
Fanny's glance. Then her innocent and simple smile returned,
and leaning her arm affectionately upon the young girl's shoulder,
she said, seriously:

“Fanny, please don't talk in that way. You know Verty is
not an ordinary young gentleman—”

“Oh, no—!” cried Fanny, laughing.

“I mean,” Redbud went on, with a slight color in her cheek,
“I mean, to amuse himself with compliments and pretty speeches
—if Miss Sallianna thinks he is, she is mistaken.”

“Odious old thing!—to be flirting with all the young men who
come to see us!” said Fanny.

“No, no,” Redbud went on, “I think you are mistaken. But

as you have mentioned Verty, please promise me one thing,
Fanny.”

“Promise! certainly, Reddy; just ask me whatever you
choose. If it's to cut off my head, or say I think Miss Sallianna
pretty, I'll do it—such is my devotion to you!” laughed Fanny.

Redbud smiled.

“Only promise me to amuse Verty, when he comes.”

“Amuse him!”

“Yes.”

“What do you mean.”

“I mean,” Redbud said, sighing, “that I don't think I shall
be able to do so.”

“What!”

“Fanny, you cannot understand,” said the young girl, with a
slight blush; “I hope, if you are my real friend, as you say, that
you will talk with Verty, when he comes, and make his time
pass agreeably.”

Redbud's head sank.

Fanny gazed at her for a moment in silence, and with a puzzled
expression, said:

“What has happened, Raddy, between you and Verty—anything?”

“Oh, no.”

“You are blushing! Something must have happened.”

“Fanny—” murmured Redbud, and then stopped.

“Have you quarreled? You wouldn't explain that scene in
the parlor the other day, when I made him tie my shoe. You
have quarreled!”

“Oh, no—no!”

“I'm glad to hear it, cried Fanny, “though I could easily
have made it up. I would have gone to Mr. Verty, and told
him that he was a wretch, or something of that sort, and made
him come and be friends again.”

Redbud smiled, and said:

“We have not quarreled; but I don't think I shall be able to
amuse him very much, if he comes this morning, as I think he
will. Please promise me—I don't like Verty to be unhappy.”

And the ingenous face of the young girl was covered with
blushes.

“I suppose not!—you and Verty are very good friends!” cried
Fanny, looking out of the window, and not observing Redbud's
confusion; “but suppose my cavalier comes—what then,
madam?”

“Oh, then I absolve you.”

“No, indeed!”

“ `No, indeed' what?”

“I won't be absolved.”

“Why?”

“Because I don't know but I prefer Mr. Verty to that conceited
cousin of mine.”

“What cousin—not Ralph?”

“Yes; I don't fancy him much.”

“I thought you were great favorites of each other.”

“You are mistaken!” said Fanny, coloring; “I did like him
once, but he has come back from college at Williamsburg a perfect
coxcomb, the most conceited fop I ever saw.”

“Oh, Fanny!”

“Yes, indeed he has!”

And Miss Fanny blushed.

“I hate him!” she added, with a pout; then bursting into a
fit of laughter, this young lady added:

“Oh! he promised to bring his album to-day, and show me
all the `good wishes' his friends wrote in it for him. Won't that
be funny! Just think of finding out how those odious young
college geese talk and feel toward each other.”

Redbud smiled at Miss Fanny's consistency, and was about to
reply, when the bell for prayers rang.

The two young girls rose, and smoothing their hair slowly,

descended, arm in arm, and still conversing, to the dining-room,
where old Scowley, as Verty called her, and Miss Sallianna,
awaited them, in state, with their scholars.

Prayer was succeeded by breakfast; and then—the young
damsels having eaten with the most unromantic heartiness—the
whole school scattered: some to walk toward “town;” others
to stroll by the brook, at the foot of the hill; others again to
write letters home.

As Miss Sallianna had informed Verty, that day was a holiday,
and young ladies going to school have, in all ages of the world,
appreciated the beauties and attractions of this word, and what
it represents—recreation, that is to say.

Redbud and Fanny strolled out in the garden with their arms
locked as before, and the merry autumn sunshine streaming on
them.

They had a thousand things to talk about, and we may be
sure that they did not neglect the opportunity. What do not
young ladies at school discuss? Scarcely anything escapes, and
these criticisms are often very trenchant and severe.

How they criticise the matrimonial alliance between aged
Dives with his crutch and money-bags, and the fascinating and
artless Miss Sans Avoir, who dedicates her life to making happy
the old gentleman!

How gaily do they pull in pieces the beautiful natural curls
of Mr. Adonis, who purchased them at the perruquier's; and
how they scalp Miss Summer Morning, with her smiles and bright-eyed
kindness, in the presence of gentlemen—while behind the
scenes she is a mixture of the tigress and the asp! All these social
anomalies do young ladies at school talk about—as do those
who have left school also.

But Redbud and Fanny did not—they were far too good-natured
to take pleasure in such comments, and instead, spent
the hours in laughing, playing and reading in the pleasant arbor.
Thus the morning drew on, and the lovely autumn day saited

past with all its life and splendor toward the west. Fanny was
gazing toward the house, as they thus sat in the arbor, and Redbud
was smiling, when a gentleman, clothed in a forest costume,
and carrying a rifle, made his appearance at the door of the
Bower of Nature.

“Oh, Reddy!” cried Fanny, “there's your friend, Verty; and
look what a fright he is!”