Cicely: Annie Fellows Johnston

CICELY
AND OTHER STORIES
By
Annie Fellows Johnston
There was a noisy whir of sewing-machines in Madame Levaney's large dressmaking

establishment. Cicely Leeds's head ached as she bent over the ruffles she was hemming. She
was the youngest seamstress in the room, and wore her hair hanging in two long braids.
It seemed a pity that such girlish shoulders should be learning to stoop, and that her eyes had
to bear such a constant strain. The light was particularly bad this afternoon. Every curtain was
rolled to the top of its big window, but the dull December sky was as gray as a fog. Even the
snow on the surrounding housetops looked gray and dirty in the smoky haze.
Now and then Cicely looked up from her work and glanced out of the window. The cold
grayness of the outdoor world made her shiver. It was a world of sooty chimney-tops as she
saw it, with a few chilly sparrows huddled in a disconsolate row along the eaves. It would
soon be time to be going home, and the only home Cicely had now was a cheerless little back
bedroom in a cheap boarding-house. She dreaded going back to it. It was at least warm in
Madame Levaney's steam-heated workrooms, and it was better to have the noise and
confusion than the cold solitude.
Cicely's chair was the one nearest the entrance to the parlour where madame received her
customers, and presently some one passing through the door left it ajar. Above the hum of the
machines Cicely could hear a voice that she recognised. It was that of Miss Shelby, a young
society girl, who was one of madame's wealthiest customers.
"I've brought my cousin, Miss Balfour," Cicely heard her say, "and we want to ask such a
favour of you, madame. You see my cousin stopped here yesterday on her way East,
intending to remain only one night with us, but we've persuaded her to stay over to our party
on New Year's eve. Her trunks have gone on, and of course she hasn't a thing with her in the
way of an evening dress. But I told her you would come to the rescue. You are always so
clever,—you could get her up a simple little party gown in no time. So, on the way down, we
stopped at Bailey's, and she bought the material for it. Show it to madame, Rhoda. It's a
perfect dream!"
Cicely heard the snapping of a string, the rustling of paper, and then madame's affected little
cry of admiration. But at the next word she knew just how the little Frenchwoman was
shrugging her shoulders, with clasped hands and raised eyebrows.
"But, mademoiselle," Cicely heard her protesting, "it is impossible! If you will but step to ze
door one instant and obsairve! Evair' one is beesy. Evair' one work, work, work to ze fullest
capacitee. Look! All ze gowns zat mus' be complete before ze New Year dawn, and only two
more day!"
She stepped to the door, and with a dramatic gesture pointed to the busy sewing women and
the chairs and tables covered with dresses in all stages of construction.
"Only two day, and all zese yet to be feenish for zat same ball! Much as I desire, it is not
possible!"
Every one looked up as the two girls stood for a moment in the doorway. Miss Shelby glanced
around in a coldly indifferent way, holding up her broadcloth skirt that it might escape the
ravellings and scraps scattered over the floor. She was a tall brunette as elegantly dressed as
any figure in madame's latest Parisian fashion-plate.
"Why can't you put somebody else off to accommodate me just this once?" she said. "It is a
matter of great importance. My cousin has already bought the material on my promise that
you would make it up for her. I think you might make a little extra effort in this case,
madame, when you remember that I was one of your first customers, and that I really brought
you half your trade."
The little Frenchwoman wrung her hands. "I do remember, mademoiselle! Indeed! Indeed!
But you see for yourself ze situation. What can I do?"
"Make some of the women come back at night," answered Miss Shelby, turning back into the
parlour, "and have them take some of the work home to finish. I'm sure you might be obliging
enough to favour me."
Miss Balfour had taken no part in the conversation. She stood beside her cousin, fully as tall
and handsome as she, and resembling her in both face and figure, but there was something in
her expression that attracted Cicely as much as the other girl had repelled her.
Miss Shelby had not seemed to distinguish the sewing women from their machines, but Rhoda
Balfour noticed how pallid were some of the faces, and how gray was the hair on the temples
of the old woman in the corner bending over her buttonholes. When her glance reached
Cicely, the appealing little figure in the black gown, she could not help but notice the
admiration that showed so plainly in the girl's face, and involuntarily she smiled in response, a
bright, friendly smile.

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CICELY

AND OTHER STORIES

Annie Fellows Johnston

There was a noisy whir of sewing-machines in Madame Levaney's large dressmaking

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