Chapter I: Emily's Bureau

MRS. MORGAN stood at the door of her little daughter's chamber, a bright smile of satisfaction illumining her countenance. Presently she stepped back into the hall, and, leaning over the balustrade, called out:

"Cousin Mary, come up here a moment."

A light step on the stairs, and cousin Mary stood by her side.

"This is Emily's room," said her mamma—"just as she left it for school. Everything has a place, and is in its place."

Mrs. Roby, who was cousin Mary, entered the neat chamber, her eyes beaming with pleasure.

"It looks just like Emily," she said in an enthusiastic tone.

"See! That book-rack,—How very even the row of volumes, and not one speck of dust on them;—and this tiny vase, with one carnation-pink! Priscilla, your daughter is a jewel of a girl as our old Pat used to say. Her habit of neatness and order will be worth a fortune to her."

"She is naturally neat and orderly," added Mrs. Morgan. "When she was not more than three years old, she used to want to help when I dusted the parlors. I always take that duty on myself, you know. So Emily must have an old veil tied over her golden curls, because mamma wore a veil to keep off the dust; and she must have a piece of silk for a duster. It was too funny to see her fly from one chair to another, just as soon as I had dusted it, and rub, rub, with all her strength."

"Does she take the entire care of her room?"

"Yes, now she does," answered mamma. "Hannah used to open the bed, and turn the mattress; but she was so anxious to do it all; and sometimes she had to wait for Hannah to get through with other work, so her father had the mattress carried to the upholsterer's, and cut in two parts. She can lift it now without any difficulty."

While Mrs. Morgan was speaking, her cousin had gone toward the bureau, and with her hands on the knobs of the upper drawer asked:

"May I look?"

"Certainly."

It was, indeed, a beautiful sight. A box in one of the front corners contained a pile of pocket handkerchiefs. Another at the left was filled with ribbons of various colors used for her hair and her neck. Each piece was rolled up nicely and laid by itself. Then there was a tiny box, holding a pretty brooch,—her last birthday gift from papa. A black silk apron and two or three white ones neatly folded lay at the back part of the drawer.

The next two contained different kinds of under clothes, each variety in a pile by itself.

"She puts everything away herself," explained her mamma. "Hannah lays her clean clothes on the bed, as they come up from the wash; and when she comes home she takes care of them without being reminded to do so. But look here?"

The lady opened the underdrawer, and displayed a beautiful wax doll covered with a small quilt pieced from tiny scraps of bright-colored silk. Miss Rose Standish lay with a sweet smile on her round face; and well she might smile, for there within her reach at the back part of the drawer was every thing in the shape of a wardrobe which the most extravagant dolly could desire. There was a set of white furs, muff and tippet to match; and another set of gray with the cunningest little wristers you ever saw. There were hats with plumes, and hats with velvet trimmings, and sacks, and skirts, and shoes and parasol to shade the little Miss from the sun. Oh, it would be easier to tell what there was not!

"It's a perfect show," exclaimed Mrs. Roby. "It's as good as Barnum's baby show. I wonder what aunt Lydia will say to it."

"The best of it is," added mamma, "that she has made the most of the clothes herself. I used to cut and baste for her; but of late, she has had a pattern and cut them herself. Her father says he hopes she will play with dolls till she is married. He is enthusiastic on the subject. Why, you'd laugh to hear him talk. He believes that, the dressing and undressing of dolls, and disciplining them, as Emily does hers, is the very best preparation for the duties of a mother that a child can possibly have. He would give Emily any amount of money she would ask to buy materials to make up for Miss Rose. By and by, I must tell you a story about that gray set of furs."

"Tell me now, please. I'm sure," added Mrs. Roby laughing, "if I had ever disbelieved in hereditary traits, I would give up my doubts after this."

"What do you mean?"

"Why from the stories I've heard Aunt Lydia tell about you, I think Emily is just her mamma over again."

"Yes, I used to be ridiculously fond of dolls, there is no denying it; but in those days, a wax doll was a thing unknown. My best doll was a beauty though. She had eyes that shone like diamonds, and painted curls. I used to call her Esther, after Queen Esther, I suppose; and I was very proud of her."