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diff --git a/13878-h/13878-h.htm b/13878-h/13878-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6bd8315 --- /dev/null +++ b/13878-h/13878-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,14200 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The English Orphans, by Mary Jane Holmes</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + word-spacing: 0.2em; + text-indent: 0em;} +h2 {font-size: 150%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} +h3 {font-size: 130%; margin-top: 1em;} +h4 {font-size: 120%;} +h5 {font-size: 110%;} + +.no-break {page-break-before: avoid;} /* for epubs */ + +div.chapter {page-break-before: always; margin-top: 4em;} + +hr {width: 80%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em;} + +p {text-indent: 1em; + margin-top: 0.25em; + margin-bottom: 0.25em; } + +p.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: 90%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +p.center {text-align: center; + text-indent: 0em; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +p.footnote {font-size: 90%; + text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; } + +.bb {border-bottom: solid 2px; background: #cccccc;} + +a:link {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:visited {color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> +</head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13878 ***</div> + +<h1>THE ENGLISH ORPHANS</h1> + +<h3>OR,</h3> + +<h2>A Home in the New World.</h2> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2 class="no-break">MRS. MARY J. HOLMES</h2> + +<p style="text-align: center;">AUTHOR OF <i>DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT</i>, +<i>MARIAN GREY</i>,<br/> +<i>MEADOW BROOK</i>, <i>HOMESTEAD</i>, <i>DORA DEANE</i>,<br/> +<i>COUSIN MAUDE</i>, <i>TEMPEST AND SUNSHINE</i>, <i>LENA RIVERS</i>, ETC.</p> + +<p style="text-align: center;">1877</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h2>CONTENTS.</h2> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" +summary=""> +<tr> +<td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_I">I.</a></td> +<td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_I">The Emigrants</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_II">II.</a></td> +<td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_II">Chicopee</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_III">III.</a></td> +<td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_III">Billy Bender</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">IV.</a></td> +<td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">Ella Campbell</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_V">V.</a></td> +<td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_V">The Poor-House</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">VI.</a></td> +<td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">Sal Furbush</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">VII.</a></td> +<td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">The Lincolns</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">VIII.</a></td> +<td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">At Church</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">IX.</a></td> +<td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">The New Bonnet</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_X">X.</a></td> +<td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_X">Winter at the +Poor-House</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">XI.</a></td> +<td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">Alice</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">XII.</a></td> +<td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">A New Friend</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">XIII.</a></td> +<td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">A New Home in Rice +Corner</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">XIV.</a></td> +<td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">Visitors</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">XV.</a></td> +<td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">The Three Young +Men</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">XVI.</a></td> +<td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">The +Schoolmistress</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">XVII.</a></td> +<td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">Jealousy</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">XVIII.</a></td> +<td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">A New Plan</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">XIX.</a></td> +<td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">Mount Holyoke</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">XX.</a></td> +<td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">The closing of the +year</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">XXI.</a></td> +<td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">Vacation</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">XXII.</a></td> +<td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">Education +Finished</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">XXIII.</a></td> +<td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">Life in Boston</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">XXIV.</a></td> +<td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">A Change of +Opinion</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">XXV.</a></td> +<td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">The Party</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">XXVI.</a></td> +<td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">Making up his +Mind</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">XXVII.</a></td> +<td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">The Shadows +Deepen</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">XXVIII.</a></td> +<td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">Glenwood</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX">XXIX.</a></td> +<td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX">A New Discovery</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXX">XXX.</a></td> +<td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXX">The Crisis</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI">XXXI.</a></td> +<td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI">A Question</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXII">XXXII.</a></td> +<td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXII">Going Home</a></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='right'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIII">XXXIII.</a></td> +<td align='left'><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIII">Conclusion</a></td> +</tr> +</table> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.</h2> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a> +CHAPTER I.<br/> +THE EMIGRANTS.</h2> + +<p> +"What makes you keep that big blue sun-bonnet drawn so closely over your face? +are you afraid of having it seen?" +</p> + +<p> +The person addressed was a pale, sickly-looking child about nine years of age, +who, on the deck of the vessel Windermere, was gazing intently towards the +distant shores of old England, which were fast receding from view. Near her a +fine-looking boy of fourteen was standing, and trying in vain to gain a look at +the features so securely shaded from view by the gingham bonnet. +</p> + +<p> +At the sound of his voice the little girl started, and without turning her +head, replied, "Nobody wants to see me, I am so ugly and disagreeable." +</p> + +<p> +"Ugly are you?" repeated the boy, and at the same time lifting her up and +forcibly holding her hands, he succeeded in looking her fully in the face, +"Well, you are not very handsome, that's a fact," said he, after satisfying his +curiosity, "but I wouldn't be sullen about it. Ugly people are always smart, +and perhaps you are. Any way, I like little girls, so just let me sit here and +get acquainted." +</p> + +<p> +Mary Howard, the child thus introduced to our readers, was certainly not very +handsome. Her features, though tolerably regular, were small and thin, her +complexion sallow, and her eyes, though bright and expressive, seemed too large +for her face. She had naturally a fine set of teeth, but their beauty was +impaired by two larger ones, which, on each side of her mouth, grew directly +over the others, giving to the lower portion of her face a peculiar and rather +disagreeable expression. She had frequently been told that she was homely, and +often when alone had wept, and wondered why she, too, was not handsome like her +sister Ella, on whose cheek the softest rose was blooming, while her rich brown +hair fell in wavy masses about her white neck and shoulders. But if Ella was +more beautiful than Mary, there was far less in her character to admire. She +knew that she was pretty, and this made her proud and selfish, expecting +attention from all, and growing sullen and angry if it was withheld. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Howard, the mother of these children, had incurred the displeasure of her +father, a wealthy Englishman, by marrying her music teacher, whose dark eyes +had played the <i>mischief</i> with her heart, while his fingers played its +accompaniment on the guitar. Humbly at her father's feet she had knelt and sued +for pardon, but the old man was inexorable, and turned her from his house, +cursing the fate which had now deprived him, as it were, of his only remaining +daughter. Late in life he had married a youthful widow who after the lapse of a +few years died, leaving three little girls, Sarah, Ella, and Jane, two of them +his own, and one a step-daughter and a child of his wife's first marriage. +</p> + +<p> +As a last request Mrs. Temple had asked that her baby Jane should be given to +the care of her sister, Mrs. Morris who was on the eve of embarking for +America, and who within four weeks after her sister's death sailed with her; +young niece for Boston. Sarah, too, was adopted by her father's brother; and +thus Mr. Temple was left alone with his eldest daughter, Ella. Occasionally he +heard from Jane, but time and distance gradually weakened the tie of parental +affection, which wound itself more closely around Ella; and now, when she, too, +left him, and worse than all, married a poor music teacher, the old man's wrath +knew no bounds. +</p> + +<p> +"But, we'll see," said he, as with his hands behind him, and his head bent +forward, he strode up and down the room—"we'll see how they'll get on. +I'll use all my influence against the dog, and when Miss Ella's right cold and +hungry, she'll be glad to come back and leave him." +</p> + +<p> +But he was mistaken, for though right cold and hungry Ella ofttimes was, she +only clung the closer to her husband, happy to share his fortune, whatever it +might be. Two years after her marriage, hearing that her father was dangerously +ill, she went to him, but the forgiveness she so ardently desired was never +gained, for the old man's reason was gone. Faithfully she watched until the +end, and then when she heard read his will (made in a fit of anger), and knew +that his property was all bequeathed to her sister in America, she crushed the +tears from her long eyelashes and went back to her humble home prepared to meet +the worst. +</p> + +<p> +In course of time three children, Frank, Mary, and Ella were added to their +number, and though their presence brought sunshine and gladness, it brought +also an increase of toil and care. Year after year Mr. Howard struggled on, +while each day rumors reached him of the plenty to be had in the land beyond +the sea; and at last, when hope seemed dying out, and even his brave-hearted +Ella smiled less cheerfully than was her wont to do he resolved to try his +fortune in the far-famed home of the weary emigrant. This resolution he +communicated to his wife, who gladly consented to accompany him, for England +now held nothing dear to her save the graves of her parents, and in the western +world she knew she had two sisters, Sarah having some years before gone with +her uncle to New York. +</p> + +<p> +Accordingly the necessary preparations for their voyage were made as soon as +possible, and when the Windermere left the harbor of Liverpool, they stood upon +her deck waving a last adieu to the few kind friends, who on shore were bidding +them "God speed." +</p> + +<p> +Among the passengers was George Moreland, whose parents had died some months +before, leaving him and a large fortune to the guardianship of his uncle, a +wealthy merchant residing in Boston. This uncle, Mr. Selden, had written for +his nephew to join him in America, and it was for this purpose that George had +taken passage in the Windermere. He was a frank, generous-hearted boy, and +though sometimes a little too much inclined to tease, he was usually a favorite +with all who knew him. He was a passionate admirer of beauty, and the moment +the Howards came on board and he caught a sight of Ella, he felt irresistibly +attracted towards her, and ere long had completely won her heart by coaxing her +into his lap and praising her glossy curls. Mary, whose sensitive nature shrank +from the observation of strangers, and who felt that one as handsome as George +Moreland must necessarily laugh at her, kept aloof, and successfully eluded all +his efforts to look under her bonnet. This aroused his curiosity, and when he +saw her move away to a distant part of the vessel, he followed her, addressing +to her the remark with which we commenced this chapter. As George had said he +liked little girls, though he greatly preferred talking to pretty ones. On this +occasion, however, he resolved to make himself agreeable, and in ten minutes' +time he had so far succeeded in gaining Mary's friendship, that she allowed him +to untie the blue bonnet, which he carefully removed, and then when she did not +know it, he scanned her features attentively as if trying to discover all the +beauty there was in them. +</p> + +<p> +At last gently smoothing back her hair, which was really bright and glossy, he +said, "Who told you that you were so ugly looking?" The tears started to Mary's +eyes, and her chin quivered, as she replied, "Father says so, Ella says so, and +every body says so, but mother and Franky." +</p> + +<p> +"Every body doesn't always tell the truth," said George, wishing to administer +as much comfort as possible. "You've got pretty blue eyes, nice brown hair, and +your forehead, too, is broad and high; now if you hadn't such a muddy +complexion, bony cheeks, little nose, big ears and awful teeth, you wouldn't be +such a fright!" +</p> + +<p> +George's propensity to tease had come upon him, and in enumerating the defects +in Mary's face, he purposely magnified them; but he regretted it, when he saw +the effect his words produced. Hiding her face in her hands, Mary burst into a +passionate fit of weeping, then snatching the bonnet from George's lap, she +threw it on her head and was hurrying away, when George caught her and pulling +her back, said, "Forgive me, Mary. I couldn't help plaguing you a little, but +I'll try and not do it again." +</p> + +<p> +For a time George kept this resolution, but he could not conceal the preference +which he felt for Ella, whose doll-like face, and childish ways were far more +in keeping with his taste, than Mary's old look and still older manner. +Whenever he noticed her at all, he spoke kindly to her; but she knew there was +a great difference between his treatment of her and Ella, and oftentimes, when +saying her evening prayer she prayed that George Moreland might love her a +little just a little. +</p> + +<p> +Two weeks had passed since the last vestige of land had disappeared from view, +and then George was taken dangerously ill with fever. Mrs. Howard herself +visited him frequently, but she commanded her children to keep away, lest they, +too, should take the disease. For a day or two Mary obeyed her mother, and then +curiosity led her near George's berth. For several minutes she lingered, and +was about turning away when a low moan fell on her ear and arrested her +footsteps. Her mother's commands were forgotten, and in a moment she stood by +George's bedside. Tenderly she smoothed his tumbled pillow, moistened his +parched lips, and bathed his feverish brow, and when, an hour afterward, the +physician entered, he found his patient calmly sleeping, with one hand clasped +in that of Mary, who with the other fanned the sick boy with the same blue +gingham sun-bonnet, of which he had once made fun, saying it looked like its +owner, "rather skim-milky." +</p> + +<p> +"Mary! Mary Howard!" said the physician, "this is no place for you," and he +endeavored to lead her away. +</p> + +<p> +This aroused George, who begged so hard for her to remain, that the physician +went in quest of Mrs. Howard, who rather unwillingly consented, and Mary was +duly installed as nurse in the sick room. Perfectly delighted with her new +vocation, she would sit for hours by her charge, watching each change in his +features and anticipating as far as possible his wants. She possessed a very +sweet, clear voice; and frequently, when all other means had failed to quiet +him, she would bend her face near his and taking his hands in hers, would sing +to him some simple song of home, until lulled by the soft music he would fall +away to sleep. Such unwearied kindness was not without its effect upon George, +and one day when Mary as usual was sitting near him, he called her to his side, +and taking her face between his hands, kissed her forehead and lips, saying, +"What can I ever do to pay my little nurse for her kindness?" +</p> + +<p> +Mary hesitated a moment, and then replied, "Love me as well as you do Ella!" +</p> + +<p> +"As well as I do Ella!" he repeated, "I love you a great deal better. She has +not been to see me once. What is the reason?" +</p> + +<p> +Frank, who a moment before had stolen to Mary's side, answered for her, saying, +"some one had told Ella that if she should have the fever, her curls would all +drop off; and so," said he, "she won't come near you!" +</p> + +<p> +Just then Mrs. Howard appeared, and this time she was accompanied by Ella, who +clung closely to her mother's skirt, looking cautiously out from its thick +folds. George did not as usual caress her, but he asked her mockingly, "if her +hair had commenced coming out!" while Ella only answered by grasping at her +long curls, as if to assure herself of their safety. +</p> + +<p> +In a few days George was able to go on deck, and though he still petted and +played with Ella, he never again slighted Mary, or forgot that she was present. +More than once, too, a kind word, or affectionate look from him, sent such a +glow to her cheek and sparkle to her eye, that Frank, who always loved her +best, declared, "she was as pretty as Ella any day if she'd break herself of +putting her hand to her mouth whenever she saw one looking at her," a habit +which she had acquired from being so frequently told of her uneven teeth. +</p> + +<p> +At last after many weary days at sea, there came the joyful news that land was +in sight; and next morning, when the children awoke, the motion of the vessel +had ceased, and Boston, with its numerous domes and spires, was before them. +Towards noon a pleasant-looking, middle-aged man came on board, inquiring for +George Moreland, and announcing himself as Mr. Selden. George immediately +stepped forward, and after greeting his uncle, introduced Mr. and Mrs. Howard, +speaking at the same time of their kindness to him during his illness. +</p> + +<p> +All was now confusion, but in the hurry and bustle of going ashore, George did +not forget Mary. Taking her aside, he threw round her neck a small golden +chain, to which was attached a locket containing a miniature likeness of +himself painted a year before. +</p> + +<p> +"Keep it," said he, "to remember me by, or if you get tired of it, give it to +Ella for a plaything." +</p> + +<p> +"I wish I had one for you," said Mary; and George replied, "Never mind, I can +remember your looks without a likeness. I've only to shut my eyes, and a little +forlorn, sallow-faced, old-looking girl, with crooked teeth—" +</p> + +<p> +He was prevented from finishing his speech by a low cry from Mary, who, +pressing his hands in hers, looked beseechingly in his face, and said, "Oh, +don't, George!—don't talk so." +</p> + +<p> +He had not teased her about her looks for a long time, and now just as he was +leaving her, 'twas more than she could bear. Instantly regretting his +thoughtless words, George took her in his arms, and wiping away her tears, +said, "Forgive me, Mary. I don't know what made me say so, for I do love you +dearly, and always will. You have been kind to me, and I shall remember it, and +some time, perhaps, repay it." Then putting her down, and bidding adieu to Mr. +and Mrs. Howard, Frank, and Ella, he sprang into his uncle's carriage, and was +rapidly driven away. +</p> + +<p> +Mary looked after him as long as the heads of the white horses were in sight, +and then taking Frank's hand, followed her parents to the hotel, where for a +few days they had determined to stop while Mrs. Howard made inquiries for her +sister. +</p> + +<p> +Meantime, from the richly curtained windows of a large handsome building a +little girl looked out, impatiently waiting her father's return, wondering why +he was gone so long and if she should like her cousin George, or whether he was +a bearish looking fellow, with warty hands, who would tease her pet kitten and +ink the faces of her doll babies. In the centre of the room the dinner table +was standing, and Ida Selden had twice changed the location of her cousin's +plate, once placing it at her side, and lastly putting it directly in front, so +she could have a fair view of his face. +</p> + +<p> +"Why don't they come?" she had said for the twentieth time, when the sound of +carriage wheels in the yard below made her start up, and running down stairs, +she was soon shaking the hands of her cousin, whom she decided to be handsome, +though she felt puzzled to know whether her kitten and dolls were in any +immediate danger or not! +</p> + +<p> +Placing her arm affectionately around him, she led him into the parlor, saying, +"I am so glad that you have come to live with me and be my brother. We'll have +real nice times, but perhaps you dislike little girls. Did you ever see one +that you loved?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, two," was the answer. "My cousin Ida, and one other." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, who is she?" asked Ida. "Tell me all about her How does she look? Is she +pretty?" +</p> + +<p> +Instantly as George had predicted, there came before his vision the image of "a +forlorn-looking, sallow-faced child," whom he did not care about describing to +Ida. She, however, insisted upon a description, and that evening when tea was +over, the lamps lighted, and Mr. Selden reading the paper, George told her of +Mary, who had watched so kindly over him during the weary days of his illness. +Contrary to his expectations, she did not laugh at the picture which he drew of +Mary's face, but simply said, "I know I should like her." Then after a moment's +pause, she continued; "They are poor, you say, and Mr. Howard is a music +teacher. Monsieur Duprês has just left me, and who knows but papa can get +Mr. Howard to fill his place." +</p> + +<p> +When the subject was referred to her father, he said that he had liked the +appearance of Mr. Howard, and would if possible find him on the morrow and +engage his services. The next morning Ida awoke with an uncomfortable +impression that something was the matter with the weather. Raising herself on +her elbow, and pushing back the heavy curtains, she looked out and saw that the +sky was dark with angry clouds, from which the rain was steadily +falling,—not in drizzly showers, but in large round drops, which beat +against the casement and then bounded off upon the pavement below. +</p> + +<p> +All thoughts of Mr. Howard were given up for that day and as every moment of +Mr. Selden's time was employed for several successive ones, it was nearly a +week after George's arrival before any inquiries were made for the family. The +hotel at which they had stopped was then found, but Mr. Selden was told that +the persons whom he was seeking had left the day before for one of the inland +towns, though which one he could not ascertain. +</p> + +<p> +"I knew 'twould be so," said Ida rather fretfully, "father might have gone that +rainy day as well as not. Now we shall never see nor hear from them again, and +George will be so disappointed." But George's disappointment was soon forgotten +in the pleasures and excitements of school, and if occasionally thoughts of +Mary Howard came over him, they were generally dispelled by the lively sallies +of his sprightly little cousin, who often declared that "she should be +dreadfully jealous of George's travelling companion, were it not that he was a +great admirer of beauty and that Mary was terribly ugly." +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> </div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a> +CHAPTER II.<br/> +CHICOPEE.</h2> + +<p> +It was the afternoon for the regular meeting of the Ladies Sewing Society in +the little village of Chicopee, and at the usual hour groups of ladies were +seen wending their way towards the stately mansion of Mrs. Campbell, the +wealthiest and proudest lady in town. +</p> + +<p> +Many, who for months had absented themselves from the society, came this +afternoon with the expectation of gaining a look at the costly marble and +rosewood furniture with which Mrs. Campbell's parlors were said to be adorned. +But they were disappointed, for Mrs. Campbell had no idea of turning a sewing +society into her richly furnished drawing-rooms. The spacious sitting-room, the +music-room adjoining, and the wide cool hall beyond, were thrown open to all, +and by three o'clock they were nearly filled. +</p> + +<p> +At first there was almost perfect silence, broken only by a whisper or under +tone, but gradually the restraint wore way, and the woman near the door, who +had come "because she was a mind to, but didn't expect to be noticed any way," +and who, every time she was addressed, gave a nervous hitch backward with her +chair, had finally hitched herself into the hall, where with unbending back and +pursed up lips she sat, highly indignant at the ill-concealed mirth of the +young girls, who on the stairs were watching her retrograde movements. The hum +of voices increased, until at last there was a great deal more talking than +working. The Unitarian minister's bride, Lilly Martin's stepmother, the new +clerk at Drury's, Dr. Lay's wife's new hat and its probable cost, and the city +boarders at the hotel, were all duly discussed, and then for a time there was +again silence while Mrs. Johnson, president of the society, told of the extreme +destitution in which she had that morning found a poor English family, who had +moved into the village two or three years before. +</p> + +<p> +They had managed to earn a comfortable living until the husband and father +suddenly died, since which time the wife's health had been very rapidly +failing, until now she was no longer able to work, but was wholly dependent for +subsistence upon the exertions of her oldest child Frank, and the charity of +the villagers, who sometimes supplied her with far more than was necessary, and +again thoughtlessly neglected her for many days. Her chief dependence, too, had +now failed her, for the day before the sewing society, Frank had been taken +seriously ill with what threatened to be scarlet fever. +</p> + +<p> +"Dear me," said the elegant Mrs. Campbell, smoothing the folds of her rich +India muslin—"dear me, I did not know that we had such poverty among us. +What will they do?" +</p> + +<p> +"They'll have to go to the poor-house, won't they?" +</p> + +<p> +"To the poor-house!" repeated Mrs. Lincoln, who spent her winters in Boston, +and whose summer residence was in the neighborhood of the pauper's home, "pray +don't send any more low, vicious children to the poor-house. My Jenny has a +perfect passion for them, and it is with difficulty I can keep her away." +</p> + +<p> +"They are English, I believe," continued Mrs. Campbell. "I do wonder why so +many of those horridly miserable creatures will come to this country." +</p> + +<p> +"Forgets, mebby, that she's English," muttered the woman at the door; and Mrs. +Johnson added, "It would draw tears from your eyes, to see that little +pale-faced Mary trying to wait upon her mother and brother, and carrying that +sickly baby in her arms so that it may not disturb them." +</p> + +<p> +"What does Ella do?" asked one, and Mrs. Johnson replied, "She merely fixes her +curls in the broken looking-glass, and cries because she is hungry." +</p> + +<p> +"She is pretty, I believe?" said Mrs. Campbell, and Rosa Pond, who sat by the +window, and had not spoken before, immediately answered, "Oh, yes, she is +perfectly beautiful; and do you know, Mrs. Campbell, that when she is dressed +clean and nice, I think she looks almost exactly like your little Ella!" +</p> + +<p> +A haughty frown was Mrs. Campbell's only answer, and Rosa did not venture +another remark, although several whispered to her that they, too, had +frequently observed the strong resemblance between Ella Howard and Ella +Campbell. +</p> + +<p> +From what has been said, the reader will readily understand that the sick woman +in whom Mrs. Johnson was so much interested, was our old acquaintance Mrs. +Howard. +</p> + +<p> +All inquiries for her sisters had been fruitless, and after stopping for a time +in Worcester, they had removed to Chicopee, where recently Mr. Howard had died. +Their only source of maintenance was thus cut off, and now they were reduced to +the utmost poverty. Since we last saw them a sickly baby had been added to +their number. With motherly care little Mary each day washed and dressed it, +and then hour after hour carried it in her arms, trying to still its feeble +moans, which fell so sadly on the ear of her invalid mother. +</p> + +<p> +It was a small, low building which they inhabited, containing but one room and +a bedroom, which last they had ceased to occupy, for one by one each article of +furniture had been sold, until at last Mrs. Howard lay upon a rude lounge, +which Frank had made from some rough boards. Until midnight the little fellow +toiled, and then when his work was done crept softly to the cupboard, there lay +one slice of bread, the only article of food which the house contained. Long +and wistfully he looked at it, thinking how good it would taste; but a glance +at the pale faces near decided him. "They need it more than I," said he, and +turning resolutely away, he prayed that he "might sleep pretty soon and forget +how hungry he was." +</p> + +<p> +Day after day he worked on, and though his cheek occasionally flushed with +anger when of his ragged clothes and naked feet the village boys made fun, he +never returned them any answer, but sometimes when alone the memory of their +thoughtless jeers would cause the tears to start, and then wiping them away, he +would wonder if it was wicked to be poor and ragged. One morning when he +attempted to rise, he felt oppressed with a languor he had never before +experienced, and turning on his trundlebed, and adjusting his blue cotton +jacket, his only pillow, he again slept so soundly that Mary was obliged to +call him twice ere she aroused him. +</p> + +<p> +That night he came home wild with delight,—he had earned a whole dollar, +and knew how he could earn another half dollar to-morrow. "Oh, I wish it would +come quick," said he, as he related his success to his mother. +</p> + +<p> +But, alas, the morrow found him burning with fever and when he attempted to +stand, he found it impossible to do so. A case of scarlet fever had appeared in +the village and it soon became evident that the disease had fastened upon +Frank. The morning following the sewing society Ella Campbell and several other +children showed symptoms of the same disease, and in the season of general +sickness which followed, few were left to care for the poor widow. Daily little +Frank grew worse. The dollar he had earned was gone, the basket of provisions +Mrs. Johnson had sent was gone, and when for milk the baby Alice cried, there +was none to give her. +</p> + +<p> +At last Frank, pulling the old blue jacket from under his head, and passing it +to Mary, said, "Take it to Bill Bender,—he offered me a shilling for it, +and a shilling will buy milk for Allie and crackers for mother,—take it." +</p> + +<p> +"No, Franky," answered Mary, "you would have no pillow, besides, I've got +something more valuable, which I can sell. I've kept it long, but it must go to +keep us from starving;"—and she held to view the golden locket, which +George Moreland had thrown around her neck. +</p> + +<p> +"You shan't sell that," said Frank. "You must keep it to remember George, and +then, too, you may want it more some other time." +</p> + +<p> +Mary finally yielded the point, and gathering up the crumpled jacket, started +in quest of Billy Bender. He was a kind-hearted boy, two years older than +Frank, whom he had often befriended, and shielded from the jeers of their +companions. He did not want the jacket, for it was a vast deal too small; and +it was only in reply to a proposal from Frank that he should buy it that he had +casually offered him a shilling. But now, when he saw the garment, and learned +why it was sent he immediately drew from his old leather wallet a quarter, all +the money he had in the world and giving it to Mary bade her keep it, as she +would need it all. +</p> + +<p> +Half an hour after a cooling orange was held to Frank's parched lips, and Mary +said, "Drink it, brother, I've got two more, besides some milk and bread," but +the ear she addressed was deaf and the eye dim with the fast falling shadow of +death. "Mother, mother!" cried the little girl, "Franky won't drink and his +forehead is all sweat. Can't I hold you up while you come to him?" +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Howard had been much worse that day, but she did not need the support of +those feeble arms. She felt, rather than saw that her darling boy was dying, +and agony made her strong. Springing to his side she wiped from his brow the +cold moisture which had so alarmed her daughter chafed his hands and feet, and +bathed his head, until he seemed better and fell asleep. +</p> + +<p> +"Now, if the doctor would only come," said Mary; but the doctor was hurrying +from house to house, for more than one that night lay dying in Chicopee. But on +no hearthstone fell the gloom of death so darkly as upon that low, brown house, +where a trembling woman and a frail young child watched and wept over the dying +Frank. Fast the shades of night came on, and when all was dark in the sick +room, Mary sobbed out, "We have no candle, mother, and if I go for one, and he +should die—" +</p> + +<p> +The sound of her voice aroused Frank, and feeling for his sister's hand, he +said, "Don't go, Mary:—don't leave me,—the moon is shining bright, +and I guess I can find my way to God just as well." +</p> + +<p> +Nine;—ten;—eleven;—and then through the dingy windows the +silvery moonlight fell, as if indeed to light the way of the early lost to +heaven. Mary had drawn her mother's lounge to the side of the trundlebed, and +in a state of almost perfect exhaustion, Mrs. Howard lay gasping for breath +while Mary, as if conscious of the dread reality about to occur, knelt by her +side, occasionally caressing her pale cheek and asking if she were better. Once +Mrs. Howard laid her hands on Mary's head, and prayed that she might be +preserved and kept from harm by the God of the orphan, and that the sin of +disobedience resting upon her own head might not be visited upon her child. +</p> + +<p> +After a time a troubled sleep came upon her, and she slept, until roused by a +low sob. Raising herself up, she looked anxiously towards her children. The +moonbeams fell full upon the white, placid face of Frank, who seemed calmly +sleeping, while over him Mary bent, pushing back from his forehead the thick, +clustering curls, and striving hard to smother her sobs, so they might not +disturb her mother. +</p> + +<p> +"Does he sleep?" asked Mrs. Howard, and Mary, covering with her hands the face +of him who slept, answered, "Turn away, mother;—don't look at him. Franky +is dead. He died with his arms around my neck, and told me not to wake you." +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Howard was in the last stages of consumption, and now after weeping over +her only boy until her tears seemed dried, she lay back half fainting upon her +pillow. Towards daylight a violent coughing fit ensued, during which an ulcer +was broken, and she knew that she was dying. Beckoning Mary to her side, she +whispered, "I am leaving you alone, in the wide world. Be kind to Ella, and our +dear little Allie, and go with her where she goes. May God keep and bless my +precious children,—and reward you as you deserve, my darling—" +</p> + +<p> +The sentence was unfinished, and in unspeakable awe the orphan girl knelt +between her mother and brother, shuddering in the presence of death, and then +weeping to think she was alone. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> </div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a> +CHAPTER III.<br/> +BILLY BENDER.</h2> + +<p> +Just on the corner of Chicopee Common, and under the shadow of the century-old +elms which skirt the borders of the grass plat called by the villagers the +"Mall," stands the small red cottage of widow Bender, who in her way was quite +a curiosity. All the "ills which flesh is heir to," seemed by some strange +fatality to fall upon her, and never did a new disease appear in any quarter of +the globe, which widow Bender, if by any means she could ascertain the +symptoms, was not sure to have it in its most aggravated form. +</p> + +<p> +On the morning following the events narrated in the last chapter, Billy, whose +dreams had been disturbed by thoughts of Frank, arose early, determined to call +at Mrs. Howard's, and see if they were in want of any thing. But his mother, +who had heard rumors of the scarlet fever, was up before him, and on descending +to the kitchen, which with all her sickness Mrs. Bender kept in perfect order, +Billy found her sitting before a blazing fire,—her feet in hot water, and +her head thrown back in a manner plainly showing that something new had taken +hold of her in good earnest. Billy was accustomed to her freaks, and not +feeling at all frightened, stepped briskly forward, saying, "Well, mother, +what's the matter now? Got a cramp in your foot, or what?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, William," said she, "I've lived through a sight but my time has come at +last. Such a pain in my head and stomach. I do believe I've got the scarlet +fever, and you must run for the doctor quick." +</p> + +<p> +"Scarlet fever!" repeated Billy, "why, you've had it once, and you can't have +it again, can you?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, I don't know,—I never was like anybody else, and can have any thing +a dozen times. Now be spry and fetch the doctor but before you go, hand me my +snuff-box and put the canister top heapin' full of tea into the tea-pot." +</p> + +<p> +Billy obeyed, and then, knowing that the green tea would remove his mother's +ailment quite as soon as the physician, he hurried away towards Mrs. Howard's. +The sun was just rising, and its red rays looked in at the window, through +which the moonlight had shone the night before. Beneath the window a single +rose-tree was blooming, and on it a robin was pouring out its morning song. +Within the cottage there was no sound or token of life, and thinking its +inmates were asleep, Billy paused several minutes upon the threshold, fearing +that he should disturb their slumbers. At last with a vague presentiment that +all was not right, he raised the latch and entered, but instantly started back +in astonishment at the scene before him. On the little trundlebed lay Frank, +cold and dead, and near him in the same long dreamless sleep was his mother, +while between them, with one arm thrown lovingly across her brother's neck, and +her cheek pressed against his, lay Mary—her eyelids moist with the tears +which, though sleeping she still shed. On the other side of Frank and nestled +so closely to him that her warm breath lifted the brown curls from his brow, +was Ella. But there were no tear stains on her face, for she did not yet know +how bereaved she was. +</p> + +<p> +For a moment Billy stood irresolute, and then as Mary moved uneasily in her +slumbers, he advanced a step or two towards her. The noise aroused her, and +instantly remembering and comprehending the whole, she threw herself with a +bitter cry into Billy's extended arms, as if he alone were all the protector +she now had in the wide, wide world. Ere long Ella too awoke, and the noisy +outburst which followed the knowledge of her loss, made Mary still the agony of +her own heart in order to soothe the more violent grief of her excitable +sister. +</p> + +<p> +There was a stir in the cradle, and with a faint cry the baby Alice awoke and +stretched her hands towards Mary who, with all a mother's care took the child +upon her lap and fed her from the milk which was still standing in the broken +pitcher. With a baby's playfulness Alice dipped her small fingers into the +milk, and shaking them in her sister's face, laughed aloud as the white drops +fell upon her hair. This was too much for poor Mary, and folding the child +closer to her bosom she sobbed passionately. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, Allie, dear little Allie, what will you do? What shall we all do? Mother's +dead, mother's dead!" +</p> + +<p> +Ella was not accustomed to see her sister thus moved, and her tears now flowed +faster while she entreated Mary to stop. "Don't do so, Mary," she said. "Don't +do so. You make me cry harder. Tell her to stop, Billy. Tell her to stop." +</p> + +<p> +But Billy's tears were flowing too, and he could only answer the little girl by +affectionately smoothing her tangled curls, which for once in her life she had +forgotten to arrange At length rising up, he said to Mary, "Something must be +done. The villagers must know of it, and I shall have to leave you alone while +I tell them." +</p> + +<p> +In half an hour from that time the cottage was nearly filled with people, some +of whom came out of idle curiosity, and after seeing all that was to be seen, +started for home, telling the first woman who put her head out the chamber +window for particulars, that "'twas a dreadful thing, and such a pity, too, +that Ella should have to go to the poor-house, with her pretty face and +handsome curls." +</p> + +<p> +But there were others who went there for the sake of comforting the orphans and +attending to the dead, and by noon the bodies were decently arranged for +burial. Mrs. Johnson's Irish girl Margaret was cleaning the room, and in the +bedroom adjoining, Mrs. Johnson herself, with two or three other ladies, were +busily at work upon some plain, neat shrouds, and as they worked they talked of +the orphan children who were now left friendless. +</p> + +<p> +"There will be no trouble," said one, "in finding a place for Ella, she is so +bright and handsome, but as for Mary, I am afraid she'll have to go to the +poor-house." +</p> + +<p> +"Were I in a condition to take either," replied Mrs. Johnson, "I should prefer +Mary to her sister, for in my estimation she is much the best girl; but there +is the baby, who must go wherever Mary does, unless she can be persuaded to +leave her." +</p> + +<p> +Before any one could reply to this remark, Mary, who had overheard every word, +came forward, and laying her face on Mrs. Johnson's lap, sobbed out, "Let me go +with Alice, I told mother I would." +</p> + +<p> +Billy Bender, who all this while had been standing by the door, now gave a +peculiar whistle, which with him was ominous of some new idea, and turning on +his heel started for home, never once thinking, until he reached it, that his +mother more than six hours before had sent him in great haste for the +physician. On entering the house, he found her, as we expected, rolled up in +bed, apparently in the last stage of scarlet fever; but before she could +reproach him, he said "Mother, have you heard the news?" +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Bender had a particular love for news, and now forgetting "how near to +death's door" she had been, she eagerly demanded, "What news? What has +happened?" +</p> + +<p> +When Billy told her of the sudden death of Mrs. Howard and Frank, an expression +of "What? That all?" passed over her face, and she said, "Dear me, and so the +poor critter's gone? Hand me my snuff, Billy. Both died last night, did they? +Hain't you nothin' else to tell?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, Mary Judson and Ella Campbell, too, are dead." +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Bender, who like many others, courted the favor of the wealthy, and tried +to fancy herself on intimate terms with them, no sooner heard of Mrs. +Campbell's affliction, than her own dangerous symptoms were forgotten, and +springing up she exclaimed, "Ella Campbell dead! What'll her mother do? I must +go to her right away. Hand me my double gown there in the closet, and give me +my lace cap in the lower draw, and mind you have the tea-kettle biled agin I +get back." +</p> + +<p> +"But, mother," said Billy, as he prepared to obey her, "Mrs. Campbell is rich, +and there are enough who will pity her. If you go any where, suppose you stop +at Mrs. Howard's, and comfort poor Mary, who cries all the time because she and +Alice have got to go to the poor-house." +</p> + +<p> +"Of course they'll go there, and they orto be thankful they've got so good a +place—Get away.—That ain't my double gown;—that's a cloak. +Don't you know a cloak from a double gown?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, yes," said Billy, whose mind was not upon his mother's +toilet—"but," he continued, "I want to ask you, can't we,—couldn't +you take them for a few days, and perhaps something may turn up." +</p> + +<p> +"William Bender," said the highly astonished lady what can you mean? A poor +sick woman like me, with one foot in the grave, take the charge of three pauper +children! I shan't do it, and you needn't think of it." +</p> + +<p> +"But, mother," persisted Billy, who could generally coax her to do as he liked, +"it's only for a few days, and they'll not be much trouble or expense, for I'll +work enough harder to make it up." +</p> + +<p> +"I have said <i>no</i> once, William Bender, and when <i>I</i> say no, I mean +no," was the answer. +</p> + +<p> +Billy knew she would be less decided the next time the subject was broached, so +for the present, he dropped it, and taking his cap he returned to Mrs. +Howard's, while his mother started for Mrs. Campbell's. +</p> + +<p> +Next morning between the hours of nine and ten, the tolling bell sent forth its +sad summons, and ere long a few of the villagers were moving towards the brown +cottage, where in the same plain coffin slept the mother and her only boy. Near +them sat Ella, occasionally looking with childish curiosity at the strangers +around her, or leaning forward to peep at the tips of the new morocco shoes +which Mrs. Johnson had kindly given her; then, when her eye fell upon the +coffin, she would burst into such an agony of weeping that many of the +villagers also wept in sympathy, and as they stroked her soft hair, thought, +"how much more she loved her mother than did Mary," who, without a tear upon +her cheek, sat there immovable, gazing fixedly upon the marble face of her +mother. Alice was not present, for Billy had not only succeeded in winning his +mother's consent to take the children for a few days, but he had also coaxed +her to say that Alice might come before the funeral, on condition that he would +remain at home and take care of her. This he did willingly, for Alice, who had +been accustomed to see him would now go to no one else except Mary. +</p> + +<p> +Billy was rather awkward at baby tending, but by dint of emptying his mother's +cupboard, blowing a tin horn, rattling a pewter platter with an iron spoon, and +whistling Yankee Doodle, he managed to keep her tolerably quiet until he saw +the humble procession approaching the house. Then, hurrying with his little +charge to the open window, he looked out. Side by side walked Mary and Ella, +and as Alice's eyes fell upon the former, she uttered a cry of joy, and almost +sprang from Billy's arms. But Mary could not come; and for the next half hour +Mrs. Bender corked her ears with cotton, while Billy, half distracted, walked +the floor, singing at the top of his voice every tune he had ever heard, from +"Easter Anthem" down to "the baby whose father had gone a hunting," and for +whom the baby in question did not care two straws. +</p> + +<p> +Meantime the bodies were about to be lowered into the newly made grave, when +Mrs. Johnson felt her dress nervously grasped, and looking down she saw Mary's +thin, white face uplifted towards hers with so earnest an expression, that she +gently laid her hand upon her head, and said, "What is it, dear?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, if I can,—if they only would let me look at them once more. I +couldn't see them at the house, my eyes were so dark." +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Johnson immediately communicated Mary's request to the sexton, who rather +unwillingly opened the coffin lid. The road over which they had come, was rough +and stony and the jolt had disturbed the position of Frank, who now lay partly +upon his mother's shoulder, with his cheek resting against hers. Tenderly Mary +laid him back upon his own pillow, and then kneeling down and burying her face +in her mother's bosom, she for a time remained perfectly silent, although the +quivering of her frame plainly told the anguish of that parting. At length Mrs. +Johnson gently whispered "Come, darling, you must come away now;" but Mary did +not move; and when at last they lifted her up, they saw that she had fainted. +In a few moments she recovered, and with her arms across her sister's neck, +stood by until the wide grave was filled, and the bystanders were moving away. +</p> + +<p> +As they walked homeward together, two women, who had been present at the +funeral, discussed the matter as follows:— +</p> + +<p> +"They took it hard, poor things, particularly the oldest." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, though I didn't think she cared as much as t'other one, until she +fainted, but it's no wonder, for she's old enough to dread the poor-house. Did +you say they were staying at widder Bender's?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, and how in this world widder Bender, as poor as she pretends to be, can +afford to do it, is more than I can tell." +</p> + +<p> +"Are you going to the other funeral this afternoon?" +</p> + +<p> +"I guess I am. I wouldn't miss it for a good deal. Why as true as you live, I +have never set my foot in Mrs. Campbell's house yet, and know no more what is +in it than the dead." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I do, for my girl Nancy Ray used to live there, and she's told me +sights. She says they've got a big looking-glass that cost three hundred +dollars." +</p> + +<p> +"So I've heard, and I s'pose there'll be great doin's this afternoon. The +coffin, they say, came from Worcester, and cost fifty dollars." +</p> + +<p> +"Now, that's what I call wicked. Sposin' her money did come from England, she +needn't spend it so foolishly; but then money didn't save Ella's life, and they +say her mother's done nothing but screech and go on like a mad woman since she +died. You'll go early, won't you?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I mean to be there in season to get into the parlor if I can." +</p> + +<p> +And now, having reached the corner, where their path diverged, with a mutual +"good day" they parted. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> </div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a> +CHAPTER IV.<br/> +ELLA CAMPBELL.</h2> + +<p> +Scarcely three hours had passed since the dark, moist earth was heaped upon the +humble grave of the widow and her son, when again, over the village of Chicopee +floated the notes of the tolling bell, and immediately crowds of persons with +seemingly eager haste, hurried towards the Campbell mansion, which was soon +nearly filled. Among the first arrivals were our acquaintances of the last +chapter, who were fortunate enough to secure a position near the drawing-room, +which contained the "big looking-glass." +</p> + +<p> +On a marble table in the same room, lay the handsome coffin, and in it slept +young Ella. Gracefully her small waxen hands were folded one over the other, +while white, half-opened rose buds were wreathed among the curls of her hair, +which fell over her neck and shoulders, and covered the purple spots, which the +disease had left upon her flesh. "She is too beautiful to die, and the only +child too," thought more than one, as they looked first at the sleeping clay +and then at the stricken mother, who, draped in deepest black, sobbed +convulsively and leaned for support upon the arm of the sofa. What now to her +were wealth and station? What did she care for the elegance which had so often +excited the envy of her neighbors? That little coffin, which had cost so many +dollars and caused so much remark, contained what to her was far dearer than +all. And yet she was not one half so desolate as was the orphan Mary, who in +Mrs. Bender's kitchen sat weeping over her sister Alice, and striving to form +words of prayer which should reach the God of the fatherless. +</p> + +<p> +But few of the villagers thought of her this afternoon. Their sympathies were +all with Mrs. Campbell; and when at the close of the services she approached to +take a last look of her darling, they closed around her with exclamations of +grief and tears of pity, though even then some did not fail to note and +afterwards comment upon the great length of her costly veil, and the width of +its hem! It was a long procession which followed Ella Campbell to the grave, +and with bowed heads and hats uplifted, the spectators stood by while the +coffin was lowered to the earth; and then, as the Campbell carriage drove +slowly away, they dispersed to their homes, speaking, it may be, more tenderly +to their own little ones, and shuddering to think how easily it might have been +themselves who were bereaved. +</p> + +<p> +Dark and dreary was the house to which Mrs. Campbell returned. On the stairs +there was no patter of childish feet. In the halls there was no sound of a +merry voice, and on her bosom rested no little golden head, for the weeping +mother was childless. Close the shutters and drop the rich damask curtains, so +that no ray of sunlight, or fragrance of summer flowers may find entrance there +to mock her grief. In all Chicopee was there a heart so crushed and bleeding as +hers? Yes, on the grass-plat at the foot of Mrs. Bender's garden an orphan girl +was pouring out her sorrow in tears which almost blistered her eyelids as they +fell. +</p> + +<p> +Alice at last was sleeping, and Mary had come out to weep alone where there +were none to see or hear. For her the future was dark and cheerless as +midnight. No friends, no money, and no home, except the poor-house, from which +young as she was, she instinctively shrank. +</p> + +<p> +"My mother, oh, my mother," she cried, as she stretched her hands towards the +clear blue sky, now that mother's home, "Why didn't I die too?" +</p> + +<p> +There was a step upon the grass, and looking up Mary saw standing near her, +Mrs. Campbell's English girl, Hannah. She had always evinced a liking for Mrs. +Howard's family, and now after finishing her dishes, and trying in vain to +speak a word of consolation to her mistress, who refused to be comforted, she +had stolen away to Mrs. Bender's, ostensibly to see all the orphans, but, in +reality to see Ella, who had always been her favorite. She had entered through +the garden gate, and came upon Mary just as she uttered the words, "Why didn't +I die too?" +</p> + +<p> +The sight of her grief touched Hannah's heart, and sitting down by the little +girl, she tried to comfort her. Mary felt that her words and manner were +prompted by real sympathy, and after a time she grew calm, and listened, while +Hannah told her that "as soon as her mistress got so any body could go near +her, she meant to ask her to take Ella Howard to fill the place of her own +daughter." +</p> + +<p> +"They look as much alike as two beans," said she, "and sposin' Ella Howard +ain't exactly her own flesh and blood, she would grow into liking her, I know." +</p> + +<p> +Mary was not selfish, and the faint possibility that her sister might not be +obliged to go to the poor-house, gave her comfort, though she knew that in all +probability she herself must go. After a few more words Hannah entered the +cottage, but she wisely chose to keep from Ella a knowledge of her plan, which +very likely might not succeed. That night after her return home Hannah lingered +for a long time about the parlor door, glancing wistfully towards her mistress, +who reclined upon the sofa with her face entirely hidden by her cambric +handkerchief. +</p> + +<p> +"It's most too soon, I guess," thought Hannah, "I'll wait till to-morrow." +</p> + +<p> +Accordingly next morning, when, as she had expected, she was told to carry her +mistress's toast and coffee to her room, she lingered for a while, and seemed +so desirous of speaking that Mrs. Campbell asked what she wanted. +</p> + +<p> +"Why, you see, ma'am, I was going to say a word about,—about that +youngest Howard girl." (She dared not say Ella.) "She's got to go to the +poor-house, and it's a pity, she's so handsome. Why couldn't she come here and +live? I'll take care of her, and 'twouldn't be nigh so lonesome." +</p> + +<p> +At this allusion to her bereavement Mrs. Campbell burst into tears, and +motioned Hannah from the room. +</p> + +<p> +"I'll keep at her till I fetch it about," thought Hannah, as she obeyed the +lady's order. But further persuasion from her was rendered unnecessary, for +Mrs. Lincoln, whom we have once before mentioned, called that afternoon, and +after assuring her friend that she never before saw one who was so terribly +afflicted, or who stood so much in need of sympathy, she casually mentioned the +Howards, and the extreme poverty to which they were reduced. This reminded Mrs. +Campbell of Hannah's suggestion, which she repeated to her visitor, who +answered, "It would unquestionably be a good idea to take her, for she is large +enough to be useful in the kitchen in various ways." +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Campbell, who had more of real kindness in her nature than Mrs. Lincoln, +replied, "If I take her, I shall treat her as my own, for they say she looks +like her, and her name, too, is the same." +</p> + +<p> +Here Mrs. Campbell commenced weeping and as Mrs. Lincoln soon took her leave, +she was left alone for several hours. At the end of that time, impelled by +something she could not resist, she rang the bell and ordered Hannah to go to +Mrs. Bender's and bring Ella to her room as she wished to see how she appeared. +</p> + +<p> +With the utmost care, Ella arranged her long curls, and then tying over her +black dress the only white apron which she possessed, she started for Mrs. +Campbell's. The resemblance between herself and Ella Campbell was indeed so +striking, that but for the dress the mother might easily have believed it to +have been her own child. As it was, she started up when the little girl +appeared, and drawing her to her side, involuntarily kissed her; then causing +her to sit down by her side, she minutely examined her features, questioning +her meantime concerning her mother and her home in England. Of the latter Ella +could only tell her that they lived in a city, and that her mother had once +taken her to a large, handsome house in the country, which she said was her old +home. +</p> + +<p> +"There were sights of trees, and flowers, and vines, and fountains, and little +deer," said the child, "and when I asked ma why she did not live there now, she +cried, and pa put his arm tight 'round her,—so." +</p> + +<p> +From this Mrs. Campbell inferred that Ella's family must have been superior to +most of the English who emigrate to this country, and after a few more +questions she decided to take her for a time, at least; so with another kiss +she dismissed her, telling her she would come for her soon. Meantime +arrangements were making for Mary and Alice and on the same day in which Mrs. +Campbell was to call for Ella, Mr. Knight, one of the "Selectmen," whose +business it was to look after the town's poor,* also came to the cottage. After +learning that Ella was provided for, he turned to Mary, asking "how old she +was, and what she could do," saying, that his wife was in want of just such a +girl to do "chores," and if she was willing to be separated from Alice, he +would give her a home with him. But Mary only hugged her sister closer to her +bosom as she replied "I'd rather go with Alice. I promised mother to take care +of her." +</p> + +<p class="footnote"> +* In Massachusetts each town has its own poor-house. +</p> + +<p> +"Very well," said the man, "I'm going to North Chicopee, but shall be back in +two hours, so you must have your things all ready." +</p> + +<p> +"Don't cry so, Mary," whispered Billy, when he saw how fast her tears were +falling. "I'll come to see you every week, and when I am older, and have money, +I will take you from the poor-house, and Alice too." +</p> + +<p> +Just then, Mrs. Campbell's carriage drove up. She had been taking her afternoon +ride, and now, on her way home, had stopped for Ella, who in her delight at +going with so handsome a woman, forgot the dreary home which awaited her +sister, and which, but for Mrs. Campbell's fancy, would have been hers also. +While she was getting ready, Mr. Knight returned, and driving his old-fashioned +yellow wagon, with its square box-seat up by the side of Mrs. Campbell's +stylish carriage, he entered the house, saying, "Come, gal, you're ready, I +hope. The old mare don't want to stand, and I'm in a desput hurry, too. I orto +be to hum this minute, instead of driving over that stony Portupog road. I hope +you don't mean to carry that are thing," he continued, pointing with his whip +towards Alice's cradle, which stood near Mary's box of clothes. +</p> + +<p> +The tears came into Mary's eyes, and she answered "Alice has always slept in +it, and I didn't know but—" +</p> + +<p> +Here she stopped, and running up to Ella, hid her face in her lap, and sobbed, +"I don't want to go. Oh, I don't want to go, can't I stay with you?" +</p> + +<p> +Billy's yellow handkerchief was suddenly brought into requisition, and Mrs. +Bender, who, with all her imaginary aches and pains, was a kind-hearted woman, +made vigorous attacks upon her snuff-box, while Mrs. Campbell patted Mary's +head, saying, "Poor child. I can't take you both, but you shall see your sister +often." +</p> + +<p> +Ella was too much pleased with Mrs. Campbell, and the thoughts of the fine home +to which she was going, to weep but her chin quivered, when Mary held up the +baby for her to kiss, and said, "Perhaps you will never see little Allie +again." +</p> + +<p> +When all was ready, Mr. Knight walked around his wagon, and after trying to +adjust the numerous articles it contained, said, "I don't see how in the world +I can carry that cradle, my wagon is chuck full now. Here is a case of shoes +for the gals to stitch, and a piller case of flour for Miss Smith, and forty +'leven other traps, so I guess you'll have to leave it. Mebby you can find one +there, and if not, why, she'll soon get used to going without it." +</p> + +<p> +Before Mary could reply, Billy whispered in her ear "Never mind, Mary; you know +that little cart that I draw mother's wood in, the cradle will just fit it, and +to-morrow afternoon I'll bring it to you, if it doesn't rain." +</p> + +<p> +Mary knew that he meant what he said, and smiling on him through her tears, +climbed into the rickety wagon, which was minus a step, and taking Alice in her +arms, she was soon moving away. In striking contrast to this, Ella, about five +minutes afterwards, was carefully lifted into Mrs. Campbells handsome carriage, +and reclining upon soft cushions, was driven rapidly towards her new home. +</p> + +<p> +Will their paths in life always continue thus different? Who can tell? +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> </div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a> +CHAPTER V.<br/> +THE POOR-HOUSE.</h2> + +<p> +How long and tiresome that ride was with no one for a companion except Mr. +Knight, who, though a kind-hearted man knew nothing about making himself +agreeable to little girls, so he remained perfectly taciturn, whipping at every +cow or pig which he passed, and occasionally screaming to his horse, "Git up, +old Charlotte. What are you 'bout?" +</p> + +<p> +Mary, who had seldom been out of the village, and who knew but little of the +surrounding country, for a time enjoyed looking about her very much. First they +went down the long hill which leads from the village to the depot. Then they +crossed the winding Chicopee river, and Mary thought how much she should love +to play in that bright green meadow and gather the flowers which grew so near +to the water's edge. The causeway was next crossed, and turning to the right +they came upon a road where Mary had never been before, and which grew more +rough and stony as they advanced. +</p> + +<p> +On the top of a steep hill Mary looked back to see if Chicopee were yet, +visible, but nothing was to be seen except the spire of the Unitarian +Meeting-House. About a quarter of a mile to the west, however, the graveyard +was plainly discernible, and she looked until her eyes were dim with tears at +the spot where she knew her parents and brother were lying. By this time Alice +was asleep, and though the little arms which held her ached sadly, there was no +complaint, but she wished Mr. Knight would speak to her once, if it were only +to ask her how she did! +</p> + +<p> +At last, concluding there would be no impropriety in making the first advances +herself, she said timidly, "Is it such a very bad place at the poor-house?" +</p> + +<p> +"Why, no, not so dreadful. There's places enough, sight worse, and then agin +there's them, a good deal better But you needn't be afeard. They'll take good +care of you." +</p> + +<p> +"I wasn't thinking of myself," said Mary. +</p> + +<p> +"Who was you thinkin' of, then?" +</p> + +<p> +"Of Alice; she's always been sick and is not used to strangers, and among so +many I am afraid she will be frightened." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, she'll soon get used to 'em. Nothin' like, habit. Weakly, is she? Wall, +the poor-house ain't much of a place to get well in, that's a fact. But she'd +be better off to die and go to her mother, and then you could get a good place +at some farmer's." +</p> + +<p> +Mary wondered how he could speak thus carelessly of what would cause her so +much sorrow. Gently lifting the old faded shawl, she looked down upon Alice as +she slept. There was a smile upon her face. She was dreaming, and as her lips +moved, Mary caught the word, "Ma," which the child had applied indiscriminately +both to herself and her mother. Instantly the tears gushed forth, and falling +upon the baby's face awoke her. Her nap was not half out, and setting up a loud +cry, she continued screaming until they drove up to the very door of the +poor-house. +</p> + +<p> +"For the land's sake," said Mr. Knight, as he helped Mary from the wagon, "what +a racket; can't you contrive to stop it? you'll have Sal Furbush in your hair, +for she don't like a noise." +</p> + +<p> +Mary glanced nervously round in quest of the goblin Sal, but she saw nothing +save an idiotic face with bushy tangled hair; and nose flattened against the +window pane. In terror Mary clung to Mr. Knight, and whispered, as she pointed +towards the figure, which was now laughing hideously, "What is it? Are there +many such here?" +</p> + +<p> +"Don't be afeard," said Mr. Knight, "that's nobody but foolish Patsy; she never +hurt any body in her life. Come, now, let me show you to the overseer." +</p> + +<p> +Mary looked towards the woods which skirted the borders of the meadow opposite, +and for half a moment felt inclined to flee thither, and hide herself in the +bushes; but Mr. Knight's hand was upon her shoulder, and he led her towards a +red-whiskered man, who stood in the door. +</p> + +<p> +"Here, Parker," said he, "I've brought them children I was tellin' you about. +You've room for 'em, I s'pose." +</p> + +<p> +"Why, ye-es, we can work it so's to make room. Guess we shall have rain +to-morrow." +</p> + +<p> +Mary remembered that Billy would not come if it rained, and with a sigh she +noticed that the clouds were dark and threatening. They now entered the +kitchen, which was a long, low, narrow room, with a fireplace on the right, and +two windows opposite, looking towards the west. The floor was painted and very +clean, but the walls were unfinished, and the brown rafters were festooned with +cobwebs. In the middle of the room, the supper table was standing, but there +was nothing homelike in the arrangement of the many colored dishes and broken +knives and forks, neither was there any thing tempting to one's appetite in the +coarse brown bread and white-looking butter. Mary was very tired with holding +Alice so long, and sinking into a chair near the window, she would have cried; +but there was a tightness in her throat, and a pressure about her head and +eyes, which kept the tears from flowing. She had felt so once before. Twas when +she stood at her mother's grave; and now as the room grew dark, and the objects +around began to turn in circles, she pressed her hands tightly to her forehead, +and said, 'Oh, I hope I shan't faint." +</p> + +<p> +"To be sure you won't," said a loud, harsh voice, and instantly large drops of +water were thrown in her face, while the same voice continued: "You don't have +such spells often, I hope, for Lord knows I don't want any more fitty ones +here." +</p> + +<p> +"No, ma'am," said Mary, meekly; and looking up, she saw before her a tall, +square-backed, masculine-looking woman, who wore a very short dress, and a very +high-crowned cap, fastened under her chin with bows of sky-blue ribbon. +</p> + +<p> +Mary knew she was indebted to this personage for the shower bath, for the water +was still trickling from her fingers, which were now engaged in picking her +teeth with a large pin. There was something exceedingly cross and forbidding in +her looks, and Mary secretly hoped she would not prove to be Mrs. Parker, the +wife of the overseer. She was soon relieved of her fears by the overseer +himself, who came forward and said, "Polly, I don't see any other way but +you'll have to take these children into the room next to yourn. The baby +worries a good deal, and such things trouble my wife, now she's sick." +</p> + +<p> +The person addressed as "Polly," gave her shoulders an angry jerk, and sticking +the pin on the waist of her dress, replied, "So I s'pose it's no matter if I'm +kept awake all night, and worried to death. But I guess you'd find there'd be +queer doins here if I should be taken away. I wish the British would stay to +hum, and not lug their young ones here for us to take care of." +</p> + +<p> +This was said with a lowering frown, and movement towards Mary, who shrank back +into the corner and covered her mouth with her hand, as if that were the cause +of offence. +</p> + +<p> +"But you can take an extra nap after dinner," said Mr. Parker, in a +conciliatory manner. "And then you are so good at managing children, that I +thought they would be better off near you." +</p> + +<p> +This speech, while it mollified Polly, made Mary shudder, as she thought of +Alice's being "managed" by such a woman. But she had no time for thought, for +Polly, who was very rapid in her movements, and always in a hurry, said, "Come, +child, I will show you where you are going to sleep;" at the same time she +caught up Alice, who, not liking her handling, kicked so vigorously that she +was soon dropped; Polly remarking, that "she was mighty strong in her legs for +a sick baby." +</p> + +<p> +After passing up a dark stairway they came to a door, which opened under the +garret stairs, and Mary was startled by a voice which seemed to be almost over +her head, and which, between a sneer and a hiss, called out, "See where the +immaculate Miss Grundy comes!" +</p> + +<p> +This was followed by a wild, insane chuckle, which made Mary spring in terror +to Polly's side. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, who is it?" said she. "Is it Patsy?" +</p> + +<p> +"Patsy!" was the tart reply. "She never is saucy like that. It's Sal Furbush." +</p> + +<p> +Mary longed to ask who Sal Furbush was; but as her guide did not seem, at all +inclined to be communicative, she followed on in silence until they came to a +longer and lighter hall, or "spaceway," as it is frequently called in New +England. On each side of this there were doors opening into small sleeping +rooms, and into one of these Polly led her companion, saying, as she did so, +"This is your room, and it's a great favor to you to be so near me. But mind, +that child mustn't cry and keep me awake nights, for if she does, may-be you'll +have to move into that other space, where we heard the laugh." +</p> + +<p> +Mary thought she would rather do any thing than that. She also felt a great +curiosity to know who her companion was, so she at last ventured to ask, "Do +you live here, Miss Polly?" +</p> + +<p> +"Why, yes, I'm staying here for a spell now:—kind of seeing to things. My +name isn't Polly. It's Mrs. Mary Grundy, and somehow folks have got to +nicknaming me Polly, but it'll look more mannerly in you to call me Mrs. +Grundy; but what am I thinking of? The folks must have their supper. So you'd +better come down now." +</p> + +<p> +"If you please," said Mary, who knew she could not eat a mouthful, "If you +please, I'd rather stay here and rest me if I can have some milk for Alice by +and by." +</p> + +<p> +"Mercy sakes, ain't that child weaned?" asked Mrs. Grundy. +</p> + +<p> +"Ma'am?" said Mary, not exactly understanding her. +</p> + +<p> +"Ain't Ellis weaned, or must we break into the cream a dozen times a day for +her?" +</p> + +<p> +"She has never eaten any thing but milk," said Mary, weeping to think how +different Mrs. Grundy's manner was from her own dear mother's. +</p> + +<p> +"Wall, there's no use blubberin' so. If she must have milk, why she must, and +that's the end on't. But what I want to know is, how folks as poor as yourn, +could afford to buy milk for so big a child." +</p> + +<p> +Mary could have told of many hungry nights which she and Frank had passed in +order that Ella and Alice might be fed, but she made no remark, and Mrs. Grundy +soon left the room saying, "Come down when you get ready for the milk I s'pose +<i>skim</i> will do." +</p> + +<p> +Half an hour after Alice began to cry; and Mary, knowing she was hungry, laid +her upon the bed and started for the milk. She trembled as she drew near the +garret stairs, and trod softly that she might not be heard, but as she was +passing the mysterious door, a voice entirely different in its tone from the +one assumed towards Mrs. Grundy, called out, "Come here, little dear, and see +your Aunty." +</p> + +<p> +Mary's circle of acquaintances was quite as large as she cared to have it, and +quickening her steps, she was soon in the kitchen, where she found several old +ladies still lingering over cups of very weak and very red looking tea. As she +entered the room they all suspended their operations, and looking hard at her, +asked if she were the little English girl. On being told that she was, three of +them returned to their cups, while one shook her head, saying. "Poor child, I +pity you." +</p> + +<p> +Mary had heard that remark many times, but she knew that the words now conveyed +other meaning than what referred to her face or teeth. +</p> + +<p> +"Where can I find Mrs. Grundy?" she at last ventured to ask. +</p> + +<p> +"Where can you find who?" asked a spiteful looking woman. "Did she tell you to +call her so?" +</p> + +<p> +"She told me that was her name,—yes, ma'am," said Mary. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, <i>Mrs.</i> Grundy is in the but'ry," indicating with her elbow the +direction. +</p> + +<p> +Mary had no trouble in finding "the but'ry," but on trying the door, she found +it fastened inside. In answer to her gentle knock a harsh voice replied, "Who's +there?" +</p> + +<p> +"It's I. I've come after the milk for Alice." +</p> + +<p> +With a jerk Mrs. Grundy opened the door, and putting a pint cup two thirds full +of blue milk in Mary's hand, she hastily shut and fastened it again. Quick as +her movements were, Mary caught a smell of strong green tea, and the sight of a +sugar bowl and a slice of white bread. She knew now why the door was buttoned, +but thinking it was none of her business, she started to return to the kitchen. +As she passed the outer door, an old gray-haired man, with a face perfectly +simple and foolish in its expression, stepped towards her, stretching out his +hands as if to reach her. With a loud cry she rushed headlong into the kitchen, +where one of the women was still sitting. +</p> + +<p> +"What's broke loose now?" asked the woman, to which Mary replied, "Look at +him!" at the same time pointing to the man, who with his hand thrust out was +still advancing towards her. +</p> + +<p> +"Don't be scared," said the woman. "It's uncle Peter. Let him touch you and +he'll go off;" but Mary didn't choose to be touched, and retreating towards the +chamber door, she fled rapidly up the stairs. +</p> + +<p> +This time she was not accosted by any one, but as she passed the dark closet, +she was surprised to hear a musical voice singing the national air of her own +country, and she wondered, too, at the taste of the singer in finishing every +verse with "God save Miss Grundy." +</p> + +<p> +That night Alice, who missed her cradle, was unusually restless, and Mary, +remembering Mrs. Grundy's threat, carried her in her arms until after midnight. +Then without undressing she threw herself upon the bed, and, for the first time +in many weeks, dreamed of George and his parting promise to see her again. The +next morning when she awoke she found Mr. Parker's prediction verified, for the +clouds were pouring rain. "Billy won't come to-day," was her first thought, and +throwing herself upon the floor she burst into tears, wishing as she had once +done before that she had died with her mother. +</p> + +<p> +In the midst of her grief the door was pushed hastily open, and Mrs. Grundy's +harsh voice exclaimed, "Wall, so you are up at last, hey? I didn't know but you +was goin' to take it upon you to sleep over, but that don't answer here." +</p> + +<p> +"Is it after breakfast time?" asked Mary. +</p> + +<p> +"After breakfast time," repeated Mrs. Grundy. "No, but I guess you'll find +there's something to do before breakfast, or did you think we's goin' to +support you in idleness?" +</p> + +<p> +Here, touched perhaps by the pale, tearful face uplifted to hers, Mrs. Grundy's +voice softened, and in a milder tone she added, "We won't mind about it, seein' +it's the first morning, but come, you must be hungry by this time." +</p> + +<p> +Although so poor, Mrs. Howard had been extremely neat and as she said "cold +water cost nothing," she had insisted upon her children's being very nice and +particular in their morning toilet. Mary remembered this, and now casting a +rueful glance around the room she said, "I wonder where I am going to wash me." +</p> + +<p> +The loud, scornful laugh which followed this remark made her look up amazed at +Mrs. Grundy, who replied, "In the back room sink, of course. May-be you +expected to have a china bowl and pitcher in your room, and somebody to empty +your slop. I wonder what <i>airs</i> paupers won't take on themselves next." +</p> + +<p> +"I didn't mean to take airs," said Mary; "I don't care where I wash myself, but +Alice is sick, and mother had me bathe her every morning. While we were at Mrs. +Bender's, though, I didn't do it, and I don't think she seems as well." +</p> + +<p> +"Pride and poverty," muttered Mrs. Grundy. "She won't get many baths here, I +can tell you, nor you either, unless it is a dishwater one. Know how to wash +dishes hey?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, ma'am," said Mary meekly. +</p> + +<p> +"Then I'll give you a chance to try your hand after breakfast, but come, I'm in +a hurry." +</p> + +<p> +Mary glanced at Alice. She was sleeping sweetly, and though there seemed to be +no reason, she still lingered. +</p> + +<p> +"What are you waiting for?" asked Mrs. Grundy, and Mary, with some hesitation, +answered, "I haven't said my prayers yet." +</p> + +<p> +A change passed suddenly over Mrs. Grundy's face, and she turned away without a +word. When she was gone Mary fell on her knees, and though the words she +uttered were addressed more to her mother than to God, she felt comforted, and +rising up started for the kitchen. It was a motley group which she found +assembled around the breakfast table, and as she entered the room, the man +called Uncle Peter smiled on her, saying, "Come here, little daughter, and let +me touch you with the tip of my fourth finger." +</p> + +<p> +Shrinking to nearly half her usual size, she managed to pass him without coming +in contact with said finger, which was merely a stump, the first joint having +been amputated. On reaching the back room she readily found the place where she +with all the rest was to wash. For this she did not care, as the water was as +cold and pure, and seemed as refreshing as when dipped from her mother's tin +wash-basin. But when she came to the wiping part, and tried in vain to find a +clean corner' on the long towel, which hung upon a roller, she felt that she +was indeed a pauper. +</p> + +<p> +"I should think we might have a decent towel," thought she. "Mother used to say +it cost nothing to be clean;" then looking round to be sure that no one saw +her, she caught up the skirt of her dress and drying her face with it, went +back to the kitchen. +</p> + +<p> +She would greatly have preferred a seat by a pleasant looking old lady who +looked kindly on her, but Mrs. Grundy bade her sit down by her and help +herself. She did not exactly fancy the looks of the thick fried pork, swimming +in grease, so she took a potato and a slice of bread, to get which she reached +so far that the lower hook on her dress which for a day or two had been +uncertain whether to come off or stay on, now decided the matter by dropping on +the floor. As she was proceeding with her breakfast, Uncle Peter suddenly +dropping his knife and fork, exclaimed, "Little daughter's teeth are awry, +ain't they?" +</p> + +<p> +Mary had hoped that at the poor-house her mouth would not be a subject of +comment, but she was disappointed, and bursting into tears would have risen +from the table, had not the kind looking woman said, "Shame on you, Peter, to +plague a little girl." +</p> + +<p> +Uncle Peter, too, who was fond of children, seemed distressed, and passing +towards her the bowl of milk which was standing by him, he said, "Drink it, +daughter;—milk for babes, and meat for strong men." +</p> + +<p> +There was so much of real kindness in his manner that Mary's fear of him +diminished, and taking the offered milk she thanked him so kindly that Uncle +Peter, who was quite an orator, considered it his duty to make a speech. +Pushing back his chair, he commenced with a bow which required so many changes +of his legs that Mary wondered they were not entirely twisted up. +</p> + +<p> +"Ladies and gentlemen, one and all," said he, "but particularly ladies, what I +have to say is this, that henceforth and for ever I am the champion of this +unprotected female, who from parts unknown has come among us.—God bless +her. I will also announce formally that I still hold myself in readiness to +teach the polite accomplishment of dancing in my room, No. 41, Pauper's Hotel." +</p> + +<p> +Having finished this speech he resumed his breakfast, after which with another +of his wonderful bows he quitted the room. Mary was about following his example +when Mrs. Grundy said. "Come, catch hold now and see how spry you can clear the +table, and you, Rind," speaking to a simple looking girl with crooked feet, "do +you go to your shoes. Be quick now, for it's goin' on seven o'clock." +</p> + +<p> +At this moment Mary caught sight of Mr. Parker, who was standing just without +the door, and his mischievous look as Mrs. Grundy gave out her orders made Mary +a little suspicious of that lady's real position among them. But she had no +time for thought, for just then through all the closed doors and the long hall +there came to her ears the sound of a scream. Alice was crying, and instantly +dropping the plate she held in her hand, Mary was hurrying away, when Mrs. +Grundy called her back, saying "Let her cry a spell. 'Twill strengthen her +lungs." +</p> + +<p> +Mary had more spirit than her face indicated, and in her mind she was revolving +the propriety of obeying, when Mr. Parker, who was still standing by the door, +said, "If that baby is crying, go to her by all means." +</p> + +<p> +The look of gratitude which Mary's eyes flashed upon him, more than compensated +for the frown which darkened Mrs. Grundy's brow as she slammed the doors +together, muttering about "hen-hussies minding their own business." +</p> + +<p> +Mary was not called down to finish the dishes, and when at last she went to the +kitchen for milk, she found them all washed and put away. Mrs. Grundy was up to +her elbow in cheese curd, and near her, tied into an arm chair, sat Patsy, +nodding her head and smiling as usual. The pleasant looking woman was mopping +the kitchen floor, and Mary, for the first time, noticed that she was very +lame. +</p> + +<p> +"Go out doors and come round. Don't you see you'll track the floor all up?" +said Mrs. Grundy, and the lame woman replied, "Never mind, Polly, I can easy +wipe up her tracks, and it's a pity to send her out in the rain." +</p> + +<p> +Mary chose to obey Mrs. Grundy, who wiped the crumbs of curd and drops of whey +from her arms and took the cup, saying, "More milk? Seems to me she eats a cart +load! I wonder where the butter's to come from, if we dip into the cream this +way." +</p> + +<p> +Had Mary been a little older, she might have doubted whether the blue looking +stuff Mrs. Grundy poured into her cup ever saw any cream, but she was only too +thankful to get it on any terms, and hurried with it back to her room. About +noon the clouds broke away, while here and there a patch of bright blue sky was +to be seen. But the roads were so muddy that Mary had no hope of Billy's +coming, and this it was, perhaps, which made the dinner dishes so hard to wash, +and which made her cry when told that all the knives and forks must be scoured, +the tea-kettle wiped, and set with its nose to the north, in what Mrs. Grundy +called the "Pout Hole," and which proved to be a place under the stairs, where +pots, kettles and iron ware generally were kept. +</p> + +<p> +All things have an end, and so did the scouring, in spite of Mary's fears to +the contrary, and then watching a time when Mrs. Grundy did not see her, she +stole away up stairs. Taking Alice on her lap she sat down by the open window +where the damp air cooled and moistened her flushed face. The rain was over, +and across the meadow the sun was shining through the tall trees, making the +drops of water which hung upon the leaves sparkle and flash in the sunlight +like so many tiny rainbows. Mary watched them for a time, and then looking +upward at the thin white clouds which chased each other so rapidly across the +blue sky, wondered if her mother's home were there, and if she ever thought of +her children, so sad and lonely without her. +</p> + +<p> +A movement of Alice aroused her from her reverie, and looking into the road, +she saw directly opposite the house Billy Bender, and with him, Alice's cradle. +In a moment Mary's arms were thrown about his neck as tightly as if she thought +he had the power and was come to take her away. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, Billy, Billy," she said, "I was afraid you would not come, and it made me +so unhappy. Can't you take me home with you?" +</p> + +<p> +Billy had expected as much, and had tried hard to make his mother say that if +Mary and Alice were very homesick he might bring them home. But this was Mrs. +Bender's sick day, and Billy's entreaties only increased the dangerous symptoms +of <i>palsy</i> from which she was now suffering, the scarlet fever having been +given up until another time. +</p> + +<p> +"If the <i>s'lect</i> men pay me well for it," said she, "I will take them what +little time I have to live, but not without." +</p> + +<p> +Billy knew the town could support them much cheaper where they were, so he gave +up his project, and bought Mary a pound of seed cakes and Alice a stick of +candy. Then, the moment the rain had ceased he got himself in readiness to +start, for he knew how long the day would seem to Mary, and how much Alice +would miss her cradle. Three times before he got outside the gate his mother +called him back—once to find her snuff-box;—once to see if there +was not more color in her face than there ought to be, and lastly to inquire if +her mouth hadn't commenced turning a little towards the right ear! After +finding her box, assuring her that her color was natural and her mouth all +straight, he at last got started. The road was long and the hills were steep, +but patiently Billy toiled on, thinking how surprised and pleased Mary would +be; and when he saw how joyfully she received him, he felt more than paid for +his trouble. Some boys would have rudely shaken her off, ashamed to be caressed +by a little girl, but Billy's heart was full of kindly sympathy, and he +returned her caresses as a brother would have done. +</p> + +<p> +As he released her, he was startled at hearing some one call out, "Bravo! That, +I conclude, is a country hug. I hope she won't try it on me!" +</p> + +<p> +Turning about he saw before him a white-faced boy, nearly of his own age, whose +dress and appearance indicated that he belonged to a higher grade, as far as +wealth was concerned. It was Henry Lincoln, notorious both for pride and +insolence. Billy, who had worked for Mr. Lincoln, had been insulted by Henry +many a time, and now he longed to avenge it, but native politeness taught him +that in the presence of Mary 'twould not be proper, so without a word to Henry +he whispered to the little girl, "That fellow lives near here, and if he ever +gives you trouble, just let me know." +</p> + +<p> +"Kissed her then, didn't you?" sneeringly asked Henry, retreating at the same +time, for there was something in Billy's eye, which he feared. +</p> + +<p> +"Come into the house," said Mary, "where he can't see us," and leading the way +she conducted him up to her own room, where there was no fear of being +interrupted. +</p> + +<p> +Alice was first carefully fixed in her cradle, and then kneeling down at +Billy's side, and laying her arms across his lap, Mary told him of every thing +which had happened, and finished by asking, "how long she must stay there." +</p> + +<p> +Had Billy's purse been as large as his heart, that question would have been +easily answered. Now he could only shake his head in reply, while Mary next +asked if he had seen Ella. +</p> + +<p> +"I have not seen her," returned he, "but I've heard that rainy as it was this +morning, Mrs. Campbell's maid was out selecting muslins and jaconets for her, +and they say she is not to wear black, as Mrs. Campbell thinks her too young." +</p> + +<p> +Mary did not speak for some time, but her head dropped on Billy's knee and she +seemed to be intently thinking. At last, brushing aside the hair which had +fallen over her forehead, Billy said, "What are you thinking about?" +</p> + +<p> +"I was wondering if Ella wouldn't forget me and Allie now she is rich and going +to be a lady." +</p> + +<p> +Billy had thought the same thing, and lifting the little girl in his lap, he +replied, "If <i>she</i> does, I never will;"—and then he told her again +how, when he was older, and had money, he would take her from the poor-house +and send her to school, and that she should some time be as much of a lady as +Ella. +</p> + +<p> +By this time Mrs. Grundy's work in the kitchen was done. Patsy had been shaken +for stealing a ginger cake; the lame woman had been scolded because her floor +had dried in streaks, which was nothing remarkable considering how muddy it +was. Uncle Peter had been driven from the pantry for asking for milk, and now +the lady herself had come up to change her morning apparel and don the +high-crowned cap with the sky-blue ribbons. Greatly was she surprised at the +sound of voices in the room adjoining, and while Mary was still in Billy's lap +the door opened, and Mrs. Grundy appeared, with her hands thrown up and the +wide border of her morning cap, which also did night service for its fair +owner, flying straight back. +</p> + +<p> +"Mary Howard!" said she; "a <i>man</i> up in this hall where no male is ever +permitted to come! What does it mean? I shall be ruined!" +</p> + +<p> +"No danger, madam, I assure you," said Billy. "I came to bring Alice's cradle, +and did not suppose there was any thing improper in coming up here." +</p> + +<p> +"It's nobody but Billy Bender," said Mary, frightened at Mrs. Grundy's wrathful +looks. +</p> + +<p> +"And who is Billy Bender? A beau? 'Pears to me you are beginning young, and +getting on fast, too, a settin' in his lap. S'posin' I should do +so—wouldn't it be a town's talk?" +</p> + +<p> +Mary tried to get down, but Billy, greatly amused at the highly scandalized +lady's distress, held her tightly, and Mrs. Grundy, slamming the door together, +declared "she'd tell Mr. Parker, and that's the end on't." +</p> + +<p> +But no Mr. Parker made his appearance, and as the sun was getting towards the +west, Billy ere long started up, saying, he must go now, but would come again +next week. Mary followed him down stairs, and then returning to her room cried +herself into so sound a sleep that Mrs. Grundy was obliged to scream to her at +least a dozen times to come down and set the supper table, adding as a finale, +that "she wondered if she thought she was a lady boarder or what." +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> </div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a> +CHAPTER VI<br/> +SAL FURBUSH.</h2> + +<p> +The next morning between nine and ten, as Mary sat by Alice's cradle rocking +her to sleep, she was sensible of an unusual commotion in and around the house. +First there was the sound as of some one dancing in the dark passage. Then +there was the same noise in the kitchen below, and a merry voice was heard +singing snatches of wild songs, while occasionally peals of laughter were heard +mingled with Mrs. Grundy's harsher tones. Mary's curiosity was roused, and as +soon as Alice was fairly asleep, she resolved to go down and ascertain the +cause of the disturbance, which had now subsided. +</p> + +<p> +As she opened her door, she saw advancing towards her from the farthest +extremity of the hall, a little, shrivelled up woman, with wild flashing eyes, +and hair hanging loosely over her shoulders. She was shaking her fist in a very +threatening manner, and as she drew nearer Mary saw that her face was going +through a great variety of changes, being at first perfectly hideous in its +expression, and then instantly changing into something equally ridiculous, +though not quite so frightful. Quickly divining that this must be Sal Furbush, +Mary sprang back, but had not time to fasten her door ere the wild woman was +there. In a tremor of terror Mary ran under the bed as the only hiding-place +the room afforded, but her heart almost ceased beating as she saw her pursuer +about to follow her. Springing out with a bound she would perhaps have made her +egress through the open window, had not Sally prevented her by seizing her arm, +at the same time saying, "Don't be alarmed, duckey, I shan't hurt you; I'm Sal. +Don't you know Sal?" +</p> + +<p> +The voice was low and musical, and there was something in its tones which in a +measure quieted Mary's fears, but she took good care to keep at a respectful +distance. After a while Sally asked, "Have you come here to board?" +</p> + +<p> +"I have come here to live," answered Mary, "I have no other home." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, for your sake I hope there'll be an improvement in the fare, for if +there isn't I declare <i>I</i> won't stay much longer, though to be sure you +don't look as if you'd been used to any thing better than skim-milk. What ails +your teeth, child?" +</p> + +<p> +Involuntarily Mary's hand went up to her mouth, and Sally, who if she expected +an answer, forgot to wait for it, continued. "Do you know grammar, child?" +</p> + +<p> +Mary replied that she had studied it a few months in Worcester, and a few weeks +in Chicopee. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, I am so glad," said Sal, "for now I shall have an associate. Why, the +greatest objection I have to the kind of people one meets with here, is that +they are so horribly vulgar in their conversation and murder the Queen's +English so dreadfully. But won't you and I have good times saying the rules in +concert?" +</p> + +<p> +Unfortunately Mary's knowledge of grammar was rather limited, and as she did +not exactly fancy Sal's proposition, she answered that she had nearly forgotten +all she ever knew of grammar. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, that's nothing, child that's nothing," said Sal. "It will return to you +gradually. Why, things that happened forty years ago and were forgotten twenty +years ago come back to me every day, but then I always did forget more in one +night than some people, Miss Grundy, for instance, ever knew in all their +life." +</p> + +<p> +"Have you lived here long?" asked Mary. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, a great while," and the expression of Sally's face grew graver, as she +added, "Perhaps you don't know that I lost little Willie, and then Willie's +father died too, and left me all alone. Their graves are away on the great +western prairies, beneath the buckeye trees, and one night when the winter wind +was howling fearfully, I fancied I heard little Willie's voice calling to me +from out the raging storm. So I lay down on the turf above my lost darling, and +slept so long, that when I awoke my hair had all turned gray and I was in +Chicopee, where Willie's father used to live. After a while they brought me +here and said I was crazy, but I wasn't. My head was clear as a bell, and I +knew as much as I ever did, only I couldn't tell it, because, you see, the +right words wouldn't come. But I don't care now I've found some one who knows +grammar. How many <i>genders</i> are there, child?" +</p> + +<p> +"Four," answered Mary, who had been studying Smith. +</p> + +<p> +Instantly Sal seized Mary's hands, and nearly wrenching them off in her joy, +capered and danced about the room, leaping over the cradle, and finally +exclaiming, "Capital! You think just as I do, don't you? And have the same +opinion of her? What are the genders, dear? Repeat them" +</p> + +<p> +"Masculine, Feminine, Neuter and Common," said Mary +</p> + +<p> +"O, get out with your <i>common</i> gender," screamed Sal. "<i>My</i> grammar +don't read so. It says Masculine, Feminine Neuter and <i>Grundy</i> gender, to +which last but one thing in the world belongs, and that is the lady below with +the cast iron back and India-rubber tongue." +</p> + +<p> +"Do you mean Mrs. Grundy?" asked Mary, and Sal replied, "<i>Mrs. Grundy</i>? +and who may Mrs. Grundy be? Oh, I understand, she's been stuffing you." +</p> + +<p> +"Been what?" said Mary. +</p> + +<p> +"Excuse me," answered Sal. "That's a slang term I've picked up since I've been +here. It's so easy to get contaminated, when one is constantly associated with +such low people. I mean that during my temporary seclusion Miss Grundy has +probably given you erroneous impressions which I take pleasure in correcting. +She has no more right to order us boarders around, and say when we shall +breathe and when we shan't, than I have. She's nothing more nor less than a +town pauper herself, and has to work at that." +</p> + +<p> +"So do we all," interrupted Mary, and Sal continued. "On that point you are +slightly mistaken, my dear. I don't have to. I didn't come here to work. They +tried it once." +</p> + +<p> +Here pushing her tangled hair back from her brow, she pointed to a long scar, +saying, "Do you see that?" Mary nodded, and Sal continued: "When I first came +here, the overseer was a bad man, not at all like Mr. Parker. One day he told +me to wash the dinner dishes, and to use more than a pint of water, too, so I +gathered them up and threw them into the well; but this method of washing did +not suit the overseer's ideas of housekeeping, so he took a raw hide, and said +he would either 'break my will,' or 'break my neck,' and because he could not +break my will, and dared not break my neck, he contented himself with breaking +my head. Every blow that he struck me was like melted lead poured into my +brains, which puffed out like sausages, and have never recovered their wonted +dimensions. The town took the matter up, but I don't remember much about it, +for I went to sleep again, and when I woke the overseer was gone, and Mr. +Parker was here in his place. I was chained like a wild beast under the garret +stairs, and Miss Grundy's broad, stiff back was hung there for a door. Nobody +asks me to work now, but occasionally, just for pastime, I go into Mrs. +Parker's room and read to her, and tell her about my Willie, who went away." +</p> + +<p> +"How long has Mrs. Parker been sick?" asked Mary. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm no judge of time," answered Sal, "but it seems a great while, for since +her illness Miss Grundy has been at the helm in the kitchen, and perhaps it is +all right that she should be, for somebody must manage, and, as I had declared +I would not work, 'twould hardly have been consistent to change my mind. And +then, too, Miss Grundy seems admirably suited for the place. Her <i>forte</i> +is among pots and kettles, and she will get the most work out of the boarders, +keep them on the least fare, and put more money into Mr. Parker's pocket at the +end of a year, than any one he could hire, and this is the secret of his +bearing so much from her." +</p> + +<p> +"But why does she want to fill his pockets with money?" +</p> + +<p> +Sal gave a knowing wink and replied, "You are not old enough to see into every +thing, so I dare say you wouldn't understand me if I should hint that Mrs. +Parker has the consumption, and can't live always." Mary's looks plainly told +that this remark had given her no idea whatever, and Sal continued, "I knew you +wouldn't understand, for you haven't my discernment to begin with, and then you +were never sent away to school, were you?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, ma'am, was you?" asked Mary. +</p> + +<p> +"Say '<i>were you</i>,' if you please, it is more euphonious Yes, I was at +school in Leicester two years, and was called the best grammarian there, but +since I've sojourned with this kind of people, I've nearly lost my refinement. +To be sure I aim at exclusiveness, and now you've come I shall cut them all, +with the exception of Uncle Peter, who would be rather genteel if he knew more +of grammar." +</p> + +<p> +Just then Alice awoke, and Sally, who had not observed her before, sprang +forward with a scream of joy, and seizing the child in her arms, threw her up +towards the ceiling, catching her as she came down as easily as she would a +feather. Strange to say Alice neither manifested any fear of the woman, nor +dislike of the play, but laid her head on Sally's shoulder as naturally as if +it had been her mother. +</p> + +<p> +"Dear little fellow," said Sal, "he looks like Willie, only not half so +handsome." +</p> + +<p> +"She isn't a boy," quickly interrupted Mary. "Her name is Alice." +</p> + +<p> +"No consequence," said Sally, "he's Willie to me;" and ever after, in spite of +Mary's remonstrance, she persisted in speaking of Alice as "he," and "the +little boy." +</p> + +<p> +Mary soon found that the poor-house with Sal Furbush shut up, and the +poor-house with Sal at liberty, were quite different affairs. Now it was no +longer lonely, for Sal's fertile imagination was constantly suggesting +something new, either by way of pastime or mischief. Towards Miss Grundy, she +and the other paupers evinced a strong dislike, owing, in a great measure, to +the air of superiority which that lady thought proper to assume, and which was +hardly more than natural considering the position which she occupied. She was a +capital housekeeper, and to one unacquainted with the circumstances it seemed +strange, why a person, apparently so strong and healthy, should be in the +Alms-House. Unfortunately, however, she was subject to fits, which made her +presence so unpleasant to the people with whom she lived that at last, no one +was willing to hire her. About that time, too, she was taken very ill, and as +she had no relatives, she was removed to the poor-house, where she had remained +ever since. +</p> + +<p> +When Mrs. Parker became too feeble to work, Miss Grundy immediately stepped +into her place, filling it so well, that as Sal had said, Mr. Parker bore a +great deal from her, knowing that no one whom he could hire would do as well, +or save as much as she did. Sal Furbush she could neither manage nor make work, +and she vented her spite towards her by getting her shut up on the slightest +pretexts. Sal knew very well to whom she was indebted for her "temporary +seclusions," as she called them, and she exerted herself to repay the debt with +interest. Sometimes on a sultry summer morning, when the perspiration stood +thickly on Miss Grundy's face as she bent over a red-hot cook-stove in the +kitchen, Sal with her, feet in the brook, which ran through the back yard, and +a big palm-leaf fan in her hand, would call out from some shady spot, "Hallo, +Miss Grundy, don't you wish you were a lady boarder, and could be as cool and +as comfortable as I am?" Occasionally, too, when safely fastened in the pantry +enjoying her green tea and Boston crackers, she would be startled with the +words, "That must have an excellent relish!" and looking up, she would spy Sal, +cosily seated on the top shelf, eyeing her movements complacently, and +offering, perhaps, to assist her if she found the tea too strong! +</p> + +<p> +Miss Grundy wore a wig, and as she seemed disturbed whenever the fact was +mentioned, the walls of the house both inside and out were frequently +ornamented with ludicrous pictures of herself, in which she was sometimes +represented as entirely bald-headed, while with spectacles on the end of her +nose, she appeared to be peering hither and thither in quest of her wig. On +these occasions Miss Grundy's wrath knew no bounds, and going to Mr. Parker she +would lay the case before him in so aggravated a form, that at last to get rid +of her, he would promise that, for the next offence, Sal should be shut up. In +this way the poor woman, to use her own words, "was secluded from the visible +world nearly half the time." +</p> + +<p> +With the other inmates of the house, however, she was a special favorite, and +many were the kind turns which she had done for the lame woman, whom Miss +Grundy took delight in reminding that "she didn't half earn the salt to her +porridge." +</p> + +<p> +Next to the wig, nothing more annoyed Miss Grundy than to see Sal, with grammar +in hand, perched upon the window sill or table, and repeating at the top of her +voice the "rules," of which every fourth one seemed to have been made with +direct reference to herself. But it was of no use for Miss Grundy to complain +of this, for as Sal said, "Mr. Parker merely winked at it as the vagaries of a +disordered mind," and she was free to quote her grammar from morning till +night. Whenever she was crazier than usual, her command of language was +proportionately greater, and her references to her grammar more frequent, while +no one in the house could venture a remark without being immediately corrected +for some impropriety of speech. +</p> + +<p> +Uncle Peter, who had a high opinion of Sally's abilities, always did his best +to converse as she directed, but in her "inspired days" even he became utterly +confounded, and once when in one of her lofty strains, she had labored hard to +impress upon him the all-important fact that <i>adjectives</i> are frequently +changed into <i>adverbs</i> by the suffix "ly," the old man, quite out of his +wits with his efforts to understand and profit by her teachings, was guilty of +a laughable blunder. +</p> + +<p> +"Uncle Peter," said she, "did you notice how unusually funnily Miss Grundy's +wig was arranged at dinner to-day?" +</p> + +<p> +Thinking that he fully understood the reply which he was expected to make, and +anxious to make amends for his former stupidity, Uncle Peter promptly replied, +"No, madam I did not-<i>ly</i>.'" +</p> + +<p> +The look of horror which Sally's face assumed, convinced Uncle Peter that he +had failed in his attempts at speaking grammatically, and with a sudden +determination never again to try, he precipitately left the house, and for the +next two hours amused himself by playing "Bruce's Address" upon his old cracked +fiddle. From that time Sal gave up all hopes of educating Uncle Peter, and +confined herself mostly to literary efforts, of which we shall speak hereafter. +</p> + +<p> +The night following Sal's first acquaintance with Mary, Alice cried until +nearly day dawn. The milk which Miss Grundy's stinginess allowed her, was not +particularly conducive to her health, and besides that, she missed the +invigorating bath to which she had been accustomed during her mother's +lifetime. Mary had spoken of it two or three times, but Miss Grundy only jerked +her shoulders, saying, "she guessed she wasn't going to have such a slush +around the house. You can bring her down," said she, "to the sink, and pump as +much water on her as you like;" so Mary said no more about it until the night +of which we have spoken, and then she determined on making one more effort. But +her heart almost failed her, when, on entering the kitchen, she saw how the +chairs and Miss Grundy's shoulders danced round. She well knew that something +was wrong, and attributing it to Alice's crying, she awaited in silence for the +storm to burst. +</p> + +<p> +"Rind," said Miss Grundy to the girl with crooked feet, who was washing the +milk-pail, "ain't there nary spare room in the dark passage?" +</p> + +<p> +"None but the wool room, as I know on," was Rind's sullen response. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, wool room 'tis then,—for, as for my being kep' awake night after +night, by a good for nothin' young one, that hain't no business here, any way, +I shan't do it. So (speaking to Mary) you may just pick up your duds and move +this very morning." +</p> + +<p> +"Going to put 'em in with the wool?" asked Rind, suspending operations, and +holding up the pail so that the water ran out of the spout. +</p> + +<p> +"You shet up," said Miss Grundy, "and wait until you're invited to speak. +Goodness alive, look at that slop! Tip up the pail, quick." +</p> + +<p> +By this time Mary had found courage to say she thought Alice would be better if +she could have her usual bath every morning. This only increased Miss Grundy's +wrath, and she whirled round so swiftly, that her forehead came in contact with +the sharp edge of the cellar door, which chanced to be open. +</p> + +<p> +"Good," softly whispered Rind, while the shuffling motion of her club feet +showed how pleased she was. +</p> + +<p> +Mary, on the contrary, was really distressed, for she knew the bumped head +would be charged to her, and felt sure that she was further than ever from the +attainment of her object. Still, after Miss Grundy's forehead was duly bathed +in cold water, and bound up in a blue cotton handkerchief (the lady's favorite +color), she again ventured to say, "Miss Grundy, if you will only let me wash +Alice in my room, I'll promise she shan't disturb you again." +</p> + +<p> +After a great deal of scolding and fretting about whims stuck-up notions, and +paupers trying to be somebody, Miss Grundy, who really did not care a copper +where Alice was washed, consented, and Mary ran joyfully up stairs with the +bucket of clear, cold water, which was so soothing in its effects upon the +feeble child, that in a short time she fell into a deep slumber. Mary gently +laid her down, and then smoothing back the few silken curls which grew around +her forehead, and kissing her white cheek, she returned to the kitchen, +determined to please Miss Grundy that day, if possible. +</p> + +<p> +But Miss Grundy was in the worst of humors, and the moment Mary appeared she +called out, "Go straight back, and fetch that young one down here. Nobody's a +goin' to have you racin' up stairs every ten minutes to see whether or no she +sleeps with her eyes open or shet. She can stay here as well as not, and if she +begins to stir, Patsy can jog the cradle." +</p> + +<p> +Mary cast a fearful glance at Patsy, who nodded and smiled as if in approbation +of Miss Grundy's command. She dared not disobey, so Alice and her cradle were +transferred to the kitchen, which was all day long kept at nearly boiling heat +from the stove room adjoining. Twice Mary attempted to shut the door between, +but Miss Grundy bade her open it so she could "keep an eye on all that was +going on." The new sights and faces round her, and more than all, Patsy's +strange appearance, frightened Alice, who set up such loud screams that Miss +Grundy shook her lustily, and then cuffed Patsy, who cried because the baby +did, and pulling Mary's hair because she "most knew she felt gritty," she went +back to the cheese-tub, muttering something about "Cain's being raised the hull +time." +</p> + +<p> +At last, wholly exhausted and overcome with the heat Alice ceased screaming, +and with her eyes partly closed, she lay panting for breath, while Mary, half +out of her senses tipped over the dishwater, broke the yellow pitcher, and +spilled a pan of morning's milk. +</p> + +<p> +"If there's a stick on the premises, I'll use it, or my name isn't Grundy," +said the enraged woman, at the same time starting for a clump of alders which +grew near the brook. +</p> + +<p> +At this stage of affairs, Sal Furbush came dancing in curtseying, making faces, +and asking Mary if she thought "the temperature of the kitchen conducive to +health." +</p> + +<p> +Mary instinctively drew nearer to her, as to a friend, and grasping her dress, +whispered, "Oh, Sally, Aunt Sally, don't let her whip me for nothing," at the +same time pointing towards Miss Grundy, who was returning with an alder switch, +stripping off its leaves as she came. +</p> + +<p> +"Whip you? I guess she won't," said Sal, and planting herself in the doorway as +Miss Grundy came up, she asked, "Come you with hostile intentions?" +</p> + +<p> +"Out of my way," said Miss Grundy. "I'll teach, that upstart to break things +when she's mad." Pushing Sal aside, she entered the kitchen. +</p> + +<p> +Mary retreated behind the cupboard door, and Miss Grundy was about to follow +her, when Sal, with a nimble bound, sprang upon her back, and pulling her +almost to the floor, snatched the whip from her hand, and broke it in twenty +pieces. How the matter would have ended is uncertain, for at that moment Mr. +Parker himself appeared, and to him Miss Grundy and Sal detailed their +grievances, both in the same breath. +</p> + +<p> +"I can't get at a word," said he, and turning to the pleasant-looking woman, +who was quietly paring apples, he asked what it meant. +</p> + +<p> +In a plain, straightforward manner, she told all, beginning from the time when +Alice was first brought into the kitchen, and adding, as an opinion of her own, +that the child was suffering from heat. Mr Parker was a good-natured, though +rather weak man, and in reality slightly feared Miss Grundy. On this occasion, +however, he did not take sides with her but said, "It was ridiculous to have +such works, and that if Mary wanted whipping, he would do it himself." +</p> + +<p> +"But Sal Furbush," said Miss Grundy, as she adjusted her head-gear, which was +slightly displaced, "can't she be shut up? There's bedlam to pay the whole +durin' time when she's loose." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Parker knew this very well, but before he had time to answer, Mary looked +pleadingly in his face, and said, "if you please, don't shut her up. She was +not to blame, for I asked her to help me." +</p> + +<p> +"Wall, wall, we'll let her off this time, I guess," said he; and as Uncle Peter +just then put his head into the window, saying that "the lord of the manor was +wanted without," Mr. Parker left, glad to get out of the muss so easily. No +sooner was he gone, than Sal, catching up the cradle, sorted for the stairs, +saying, "I won't work, but I can, and will take care of little Willie, and I +choose to do it in a more congenial atmosphere." Then, as Mary looked a little +startled, she added, "Never you fear, dearie, Sal knows what she's about, and +she won't make the little boy the least bit of a face." +</p> + +<p> +From that time there was no more trouble with Alice during the day, for she +seemed to cling naturally to Sally, who hour after hour rocked and took care of +her, while Mary, in the kitchen below, was busy with the thousand things which +Miss Grundy found for her to do. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> </div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a> +CHAPTER VII.<br/> +THE LINCOLNS</h2> + +<p> +Mary had been at the poor-house about three weeks, when Miss Grundy one day +ordered her to tie on her sun-bonnet, and run across the meadow and through the +woods until she came to a rye stubble, then follow the footpath along the fence +until she came to another strip of woods, with a brook running through it. "And +just on the fur edge of them woods," said she, "you'll see the men folks to +work; and do you tell 'em to come to their dinner quick." +</p> + +<p> +Mary tied her sun-bonnet and hurried off, glad to escape for a few moments from +the hot kitchen, with its endless round of washing dishes, scouring knives, +wiping door-sills, and dusting chairs. She had no difficulty in finding the way +and she almost screamed for joy, when she came suddenly upon the sparkling +brook, which danced so merrily beneath the shadow of the tall woods. +</p> + +<p> +"What a nice place this would be to sit and read," was her first exclamation, +and then she sighed as she thought how small were her chances for reading now. +</p> + +<p> +Quickly her thoughts traversed the past, and her tears mingled with the clear +water which flowed at her feet, as she recalled the time when, blessed with a +father's and mother's love, she could go to school and learn as other children +did. She was roused from her sad reverie by the sound of voices, which she +supposed proceeded from the men, whose tones, she fancied, were softer than +usual. "If I can hear them, they can hear me," thought she, and shouting as +loud as she could, she soon heard Mr. Parker's voice in answer, saying he would +come directly. +</p> + +<p> +It was a mild September day, and as Mary knew that Sal would take care of +Alice, she determined not to hurry, but to follow the course of the stream, +fancying she should find it to be the same which ran through the clothes-yard +at home. She had not gone far, when she came suddenly upon a boy and two little +girls, who seemed to be playing near the brook. In the features of the boy she +recognized Henry Lincoln, and remembering what Billy had said of him, she was +about turning away, when the smallest of the girls espied her, and called out, +"Look here, Rose, I reckon that's Mary Howard. I'm going to speak to her." +</p> + +<p> +"Jenny Lincoln, you mustn't do any such thing. Mother won't like it," answered +the girl called Rose. +</p> + +<p> +But whether "mother would like it," or not, Jenny did not stop to think, and +going towards Mary she said, "Have you come to play in the woods?" +</p> + +<p> +"No," was Mary's reply. "I came to call the folks to dinner." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, that was you that screamed so loud. I couldn't think who it was, but it +can't be dinner time?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes 'tis; it's noon." +</p> + +<p> +"Well we don't have dinner until two, and we can stay here till that time. +Won't you play with us?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, I can't, I must go back and work," said Mary. +</p> + +<p> +"Work!" repeated Jenny. "I think it's bad enough to have to live in that old +house without working, but come and see our fish-pond;" and taking Mary's hand, +she led her to a wide part of the stream where the water had been dammed up +until it was nearly two feet deep and clear as crystal. Looking in, Mary could +see the pebbles on the bottom, while a fish occasionally darted out and then +disappeared. +</p> + +<p> +"I made this almost all myself," said Jenny. "Henry wouldn't help me because +he's so ugly, and Rose was afraid of blacking her fingers. But I don't care +Mother says I'm a great,—great,—I've forgotten the word, but it +means dirty and careless, and I guess I do look like a fright, don't I?" +</p> + +<p> +Mary now for the first time noticed the appearance of her companion, and +readily guessed that the word which she could not remember, was "slattern." She +was a fat, chubby little girl, with a round, sunny face and laughing blue eyes, +while her brown hair hung around her forehead in short, tangled curls. The +front breadth of her pink gingham dress was plastered with mud. One of her shoe +strings was untied, and the other one gone. The bottom of one pantalet was +entirely torn off, and the other rolled nearly to the knee disclosing a pair of +ankles of no Liliputian dimensions. The strings of her white sun-bonnet were +twisted into a hard knot, and the bonnet itself hung down her back, partially +hiding the chasm made by the absence of three or four hooks and eyes. +Altogether she was just the kind of little girl which one often finds in the +country swinging on gates and making mud pies. +</p> + +<p> +Mary was naturally very neat; and in reply to Jenny's question as to whether +she looked like a fright, she answered, "I like your face better than I do your +dress, because it is clean." +</p> + +<p> +"Why, so was my dress this morning," said Jenny, "but here can't any body play +in the mud and not get dirty. My pantalet hung by a few threads, and as I +wanted a rag to wash my earthens with, I tore it off. Why don't you wear +pantalets?" +</p> + +<p> +Mary blushed painfully, as she tried to hide her bare feet with her dress, but +she answered, "When mother died I had only two pair, and Miss Grundy says I +sha'nt wear them every day. It makes too much washing." +</p> + +<p> +"Miss Grundy! She's a spiteful old thing. She shook me once because I laughed +at that droll picture Sal Furbush drew of her on the front door. I am afraid of +Sal, ain't you?" +</p> + +<p> +"I was at first, but she's very kind to me, and I like her now." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I always run when I see her. She makes such faces and shakes her fist +so. But if she's kind to you, I'll like her too. You go away (speaking to +Henry), and not come here to bother us." +</p> + +<p> +Henry gave a contemptuous whistle, and pointing to Mary's feet, said, "Ain't +they delicate? Most as small as her teeth!" +</p> + +<p> +The tears came into Mary's eyes, and Jenny, throwing a stick at her brother, +exclaimed, "For shame, Henry Lincoln! You always was the meanest boy. Her feet +ain't any bigger than mine. See," and she stuck up her little dumpy foot, about +twice as thick as Mary's. +</p> + +<p> +"Cracky!" said Henry, with another whistle. "They may be, too, and not be so +very small, for yours are as big as stone boats, any day, and your ankles are +just the size of the piano legs." So saying, he threw a large stone into the +water, spattering both the girls, but wetting Jenny the most. After this he +walked away apparently well pleased with his performance. +</p> + +<p> +"Isn't he hateful?" said Jenny, wiping the water from her neck and shoulders; +"but grandma says all boys are so until they do something with the +oats,—I've forgot what. But there's one boy who isn't ugly. Do you know +Billy Bender?" +</p> + +<p> +"Billy Bender? Oh, yes," said Mary quickly, "he is all the friend I've got in +the world except Sal Furbush." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, he worked for my pa last summer, and oh, I liked him <i>so</i> much. I +think he's the <i>bestest</i> boy in the world. And isn't his face beautiful?" +</p> + +<p> +"I never thought of it," said Mary. "What makes you think him so handsome?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, I don't know unless it's because he makes such nice popple whistles!" and +as if the argument were conclusive, Jenny unrolled her pantalet, and tried to +wipe some of the mud from her dress, at the same time glancing towards her +sister, who at some little distance was reclining against an old oak tree, and +poring intently over "Fairy Tales for Children." +</p> + +<p> +Seeing that she was not observed, Jenny drew nearer to Mary and said, "If +you'll never tell any body as long as you live and breathe, I'll tell you +something." +</p> + +<p> +Mary gave the required promise, and Jenny continued: "I shouldn't like to have +my mother know it, for she scolds all the time now about my 'vulgar tastes,' +though I'm sure Rose likes the same things that I do, except Billy Bender, and +it's about him I was going to tell you. He was so pleasant I couldn't help +loving him, if mother did say I mustn't. He used to talk to me about keeping +clean, and once I tried a whole week, and I only dirtied four dresses and three +pair of pantalets in all that time. Oh, how handsome and funny his eyes looked +when I told him about it. He took me in his lap, and said that was more than he +thought a little girl ought to dirty. Did you ever see any boy you loved as +well as you do Billy Bender?" +</p> + +<p> +Mary hesitated a moment, for much as she liked Billy, there was another whom +she loved better, though he had never been one half as kind to her as Billy +had. After a time she answered, "Yes, I like, or I did like George Moreland, +but I shall never see him again;" and then she told Jenny of her home in +England, of the long, dreary voyage to America, and of her father's death; but +when she came to the sad night when her mother and Franky died, she could not +go on, and laying her face in Jenny's lap, she cried for a long time. Jenny's +tears flowed, too, but she tried to restrain them, for she saw that Rose had +shut her book and was watching her movements. +</p> + +<p> +Ere long, however, she resumed her reading, and then Jenny, softly caressing +Mary, said, "Don't cry so, for I'll love you, and we'll have good times +together too. We live in Boston every winter, but it will be most six weeks +before we go and I mean to see you every day." +</p> + +<p> +"In Boston?" said Mary, inquiringly. "<i>George</i> lives in Boston." +</p> + +<p> +Jenny was silent a moment, and then suddenly clapping her hands together, she +exclaimed. "I know George Moreland. He lives just opposite our house, and is +Ida Selden's cousin. Why he's most as handsome as Billy Bender, only he teases +you more. I'll tell him about you, for mother says he's got lots of money, and +perhaps he'll give you some." +</p> + +<p> +Mary felt that she wouldn't for the world have George know she was in the +poor-house, and she quickly answered, "No, no, you mustn't tell him a word +about me. I don't want you to. Promise that you won't." +</p> + +<p> +Loth as Jenny was to make such a promise, she finally did, adding, "I guess I +won't tell Rose either, for she and Ida are great friends. George says he don't +know which he likes best, though he thinks Rose the handsomest. He like +handsome girls, and so do I." +</p> + +<p> +Mary knew she had no beauty of which to boast, but Ella had, so she very +naturally mentioned her sister, saying how much she wished to see her. +</p> + +<p> +"Why, you can see her at church," answered Jenny. "Why don't you ever go?" +</p> + +<p> +"I am going next Sunday, Sally and I," was Mary's reply. "Billy told me the +last time he was here that he would come and stay with Alice." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, I'm glad, and I hope they'll put you in my Sabbath school class, for Ella +is in it, but if they do I'll contrive to have Rose sit off a good ways +because,—because—" +</p> + +<p> +Here Jenny paused, but seeing that Mary was waiting for her to finish the +sentence, she added, "She's proud, and sometimes laughs at poor girls." +</p> + +<p> +"Thank you, Miss Jenny Lincoln," said Rose, coming forward. "I'll tell mother +of this new intimacy, and she'll put a stop to it, I'll assure you. But come +along, I'm going home." +</p> + +<p> +Jenny arose to obey, but whispered to Mary, "You'll find me most any time in +these woods. I'd ask you to come to our house, only mother wouldn't let you sit +in the parlor. I shall see you Sunday,—Good-bye." +</p> + +<p> +Mary watched her until she disappeared among the bushes and then she too +started for home, with a lighter heart than she had known before for many a +day. She had found a new friend, and though Miss Grundy scolded because she had +been gone so long, and threatened to shut her up in Sal Furbush's cage, she did +not mind it and actually commenced humming a tune while Miss Grundy was +storming about a bowl of sour milk which she had found in the cupboard. A sharp +box on her ears brought her song to an end and the tears into her eyes, but she +thought of Jenny, and the fact that she too knew George made him seem nearer, +and when Miss Grundy did not see her she hastily drew the golden locket from +her bosom, and glancing at the handsome, boyish face it revealed, quickly +thrust it back as she heard a quick step in the passage. +</p> + +<p> +She had no opportunity of seeing Jenny again that week, for she was kept busy +from morning till night, running here and there, first after eggs, then after +water, next for potatoes, and then after wood. And still Miss Grundy told her +fifty times a day that "she didn't half pay her way, to say nothing about the +young one." +</p> + +<p> +"Bolt at once," said Sal. "Bolt, and say you didn't come here to work: that's +the way I did." +</p> + +<p> +Mary was willing to do whatever she could, but she often wished Mrs. Parker +were able to be round, for then she was sure she would not have to work so +hard. She had several times been sent of errands to Mrs. Parker's room, and +that lady had always spoken kindly to her, asking her if she was tired, or what +made her look so pale. It was through Mrs Parker's influence, too, that she had +obtained permission to attend church the following Sabbath. Mrs. Parker was a +professor of religion, and before her illness, some of the family had attended +church every Sunday. But since she had been sick, her husband had thought it +hardly worth while to harness up his horses, though he said any one might go +who chose to walk. Few, however, were able to walk; so they remained at home, +and Sunday was usually the noisiest day in the week. Sal Furbush generally took +the lead, and mounting the kitchen table, sung camp meeting hymns as loud as +she could scream. Uncle Peter fiddled, Patsy nodded and laughed, the girl with +crooked feet by way of increasing the bedlam would sometimes draw a file across +the stove-pipe, while Miss Grundy scolded, and declared "she could not and +would not have such a noise." +</p> + +<p> +"Shut your head, madam, and there'll be less," was Sal's ready rejoinder, as at +the end of a verse she paused for breath. +</p> + +<p> +The first Sabbath Mary looked on in perfect amazement, but the next one she +spent in her own room, and after a deal of trouble, succeeded in coaxing Sal to +stay there too, listening while she read to her from her little Bible. But the +reading was perplexing business, for Sal constantly corrected her +pronunciation, or stopped her while she expounded Scripture, and at last in a +fit of impatience Mary tossed the book into the crazy creature's lap, asking +her to read her self. +</p> + +<p> +This was exactly what Sal wanted, and taking the foot of Mary's bed for her +rostrum, she read and preached so furiously, that Mary felt almost glad when +Miss Grundy came up to stop the racket, and locked Sal in her own room. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> </div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a> +CHAPTER VIII.<br/> +AT CHURCH.</h2> + +<p> +The Sabbath following Mary's first acquaintance with Jenny was the one on which +she was to go to church. Billy Bender promised that if his mother were not +suffering from any new disease, he would come to stay with Alice, and in case +he failed, the pleasant-looking woman was to take his place. Mary would have +preferred going alone, but Sally begged so hard, and promised so fairly "not to +make a speck of a face at the preacher, provided he used good grammar," that +Mary finally asked Mr. Parker to let her go. +</p> + +<p> +He consented willingly, saying he hoped the house would be peaceable for once. +And now, it was hard telling which looked forward to the next Sunday with the +most impatience, Mary or Sal, the latter of whom was anxious to see the +fashions, as she fancied her wardrobe was getting out of date. To Mary's +happiness there was one drawback. A few weeks before her mother's death she had +given to Ella her straw hat, which she had outgrown, and now the only bonnet +she possessed was the veritable blue one of which George Moreland had made fun, +and which by this time was nearly worn out. Mrs. Campbell, who tried to do +right and thought that she did, had noticed Mary's absence from church, and +once on speaking of the subject before Hannah, the latter suggested that +probably she had no bonnet, saying that the one which she wore at her mother's +funeral was borrowed Mrs. Campbell immediately looked over her things, and +selecting a straw which she herself had worn three years before, she tied a +black ribbon across it, and sent it as a present to Mary. +</p> + +<p> +The bonnet had been rather large for Mrs. Campbell, and was of course a world +too big for Mary, whose face looked bit, as Sal expressed it, "like a yellow +pippin stuck into the far end of a firkin." Miss Grundy, however, said "it was +plenty good enough for a pauper," reminding Mary that "beggars shouldn't be +choosers." +</p> + +<p> +"So it is good enough for paupers like you," returned Sal, "but people who +understand grammar always have a keen sense of the ridiculous." +</p> + +<p> +Mary made no remark whatever, but she secretly wondered if Ella wore such a +hat. Still her desire to see her sister and to visit her mother's grave, +prevailed over all other feelings, and on Sunday morning it was a very happy +child which at about nine o'clock bounded down the stairway, tidily dressed in +a ten cent black lawn and a pair of clean white pantalets. +</p> + +<p> +There was another circumstance, too, aside from the prospect of seeing Ella, +which made her eyes sparkle until they were almost black. The night before, in +looking over the articles of dress which she would need, she discovered that +there was not a decent pair of stockings in her wardrobe. Mrs. Grundy, to whom +she mentioned the fact, replied with a violent shoulder jerk, "For the land's +sake! ain't you big enough to go to meetin' barefoot, or did you think we kept +silk stockin's for our quality to wear?" +</p> + +<p> +Before the kitchen looking-glass, Sal was practising a courtesy which she +intended making to any one who chanced to notice her next day; but after +overhearing Miss Grundy's remark, she suddenly brought her exercises to a close +and left the kitchen. Arrived at her room, she commenced tumbling over a basket +containing her wearing apparel, selecting from it a pair of fine cotton +stockings which she had long preserved, because they were the last thing +Willie's father ever gave her. "They are not much too large for her now," +thought she, "but I guess I'll take a small seam clear through them." This +being done, she waited until all around the house was still, and then creeping +stealthily to Mary's room, she pinned the stockings to the pantalets, hanging +the whole before the curtainless window, where the little girl could see them +the moment she opened her eyes! Mary well knew to whom she was indebted for +this unexpected pleasure, and in her accustomed prayer that morning she +remembered the poor old crazy woman, asking that the light of reason might +again dawn upon her darkened mind. +</p> + +<p> +On descending to the kitchen, Mary found Sal waiting for her, and, as she had +expected, rigged out in a somewhat fantastic style. Her dress, which was an old +plum-colored silk, was altogether too short-waisted and too narrow for the +prevailing fashion. A gauze handkerchief was thrown across her neck, and +fastened to her belt in front by a large yellow bow. Her bonnet, which was +really a decent one, was almost entirely covered by a thick green veil, and +notwithstanding the sun was shining brightly, she carried in her hand a large +blue cotton umbrella, for fear it would rain! +</p> + +<p> +"Come, child," said she, the moment Mary appeared, "put on your +<i>tea-kettle</i> (referring to the bonnet which Mary held in her hand), and +let us start." +</p> + +<p> +There was no looking-glass in Mary's room, and she stepped before the one in +the kitchen while she adjusted her hat, but her courage almost failed her as +she saw the queer-looking image reflected by the mirror. She was unusually +thin, and it seemed to her that her teeth were never so prominent before. Her +eyes, always large, now looked unnaturally so and as she placed what Sal had +termed a "tea-kettle" upon her head, she half determined not to go. But Sal +caught her hand, saying, "Come, child, it's time we were off. They'll all know +it's Mrs. Campbell's old bonnet, and will laugh at her for giving it to you." +</p> + +<p> +Billy had not come, but the pleasant-looking woman had succeeded in making +friends with Alice, and as Mary passed out of the yard she saw her little +sister spatting the window sill, and apparently well pleased with her new +nurse. Scarcely were they out of sight of the house, when Sal, seating herself +upon a large stone, commenced divesting her feet of her shoes and stockings. +</p> + +<p> +"What are you doing?" asked Mary, in great surprise. +</p> + +<p> +"I guess I know better than to wear out my kid slippers when I've got no +Willie's father to buy me any more," answered Sal. "I'm going barefoot until I +reach the river bridge, and then I shall put them on again." +</p> + +<p> +The shoes and stockings being carefully rolled up in a paper which Sal produced +from her pocket, they walked briskly forward, and reached the village some time +before the first bell rang for church. +</p> + +<p> +"Come down this street, please," said Mary to her companion, who with slippers +readjusted and umbrella hoisted was mincing along, courtesying to every one she +met, and asking them how they did—"Come down this street; I want to see +my old home." +</p> + +<p> +Sal readily complied, saying as they drew near the low brown house, in which a +strange family were now living, "There is nothing very elegant in the +architecture of this dwelling." +</p> + +<p> +Mary made no reply. With her head resting upon the garden fence, and one hand +clasped around a shrub which Franky had set out, she was sobbing as though her +heart would break. Very gently Sal laid her hand on Mary's shoulder, and led +her away, saying, "What would I not have given for such a command of tears when +Willie's father died. But I could not weep; and my tears all turned to burning +coals, which set my brain on fire." +</p> + +<p> +The next time Mary raised her head they were opposite Mrs. Bender's, where Sal +declared it her intention to stop. As they were passing up to the side door, +Billy, who heard their footsteps, came out, and shaking hands with Mary, and +trying hard to keep from laughing at the wonderful courtesy, which Sal Furbush +made him. On entering the house they found Mrs. Bender flat on her back, the +pillow pulled out from under her head, and the bed clothes tucked closely up +under her chin. +</p> + +<p> +"Mother was so sick I couldn't come," said Billy to Mary, while Sal, walking up +to the bedside, asked, "Is your sickness unto death, my good woman?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, I am afeard not," was the feeble response. "Folks with my difficulty +suffer for years." +</p> + +<p> +Mary looked inquiringly at Billy, and a smile but little according with his +mother's seeming distress parted his lips as he whispered, "She was reading +yesterday about a woman that had been bed-ridden with a spinal difficulty, and +now she declares that she too 'has got a spine in her back,' though I fancy she +would be in a pretty predicament without one. But where did you get that fright +of a bonnet?" he continued. "It's like looking down a narrow lane to see your +face." +</p> + +<p> +Mary knew that Billy was very observing of dress, and she blushed painfully as +she replied, that Mrs. Campbell gave it to her. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, she ought to be ashamed," said he, "with all her money to give you a +corn-basket of a thing like that. Ella doesn't wear such a one, I can tell +you." +</p> + +<p> +Just then the first bell rang, and Sal, who had mischievously recommended a +mustard poultice, as being the most likely to draw Mrs. Bender's spine to a +head, started to go saying, "she wanted to be there in season, so as to see the +folks come in." +</p> + +<p> +Accordingly they again set forward, attracting more attention, and causing more +remarks, than any two who had passed through Chicopee for a long time. On +reaching the church, Sal requested the sexton to give her a seat which would +command a view of the greater part of the congregation, and he accordingly led +them to the farthest extremity of one of the side galleries. Mary had been +there at church before, but as she had always sat near the door, she did not +know in what part of the building Mrs. Campbell's pew was located. As she +leaned over the railing, however, she concluded that the large square one with +crimson velvet cushions must be hers. Erelong the bell began to toll, and soon +a lady dressed in deep mourning appeared, and passing up the middle aisle, +entered the richly cushioned pew. She was accompanied by a little girl, +tastefully dressed in a frock of light-blue silk tissue. A handsome French +straw hat was set jauntily on one side of her head, and her long curls hung +over her white neck and shoulders. Mary knew that this was Ella, and +involuntarily starting up, she leaned forward far enough to bring her bonnet +directly in sight of some thoughtless girls, who immediately commenced +tittering, and pointing her out to those near them. +</p> + +<p> +Blushing scarlet, the poor girl sank back into the seat, saying half aloud, "O, +I wish I hadn't come." +</p> + +<p> +"What's the matter?" said Sal. "Has somebody laughed at you? I'll warrant there +has;" and leaning over the railing herself, she shook her fist threateningly at +the girls, whose eyes were still directed that way. +</p> + +<p> +Mary felt instinctively that her companion was attracting more attention than +her bonnet; and twitching her dress bade her sit down. Sal obeyed; but she had +no opportunity that morning of deciding whether the sermon were grammatical or +not, for she was constantly on the look out, and whenever she saw any one +scrutinizing Mary or herself more closely than they ought, a shake of her fist +and a horrid face warned them to desist. Twice during church time Mary thought, +nay felt sure that she caught her sister's eye, but it was quickly withdrawn, +as if unwilling to be recognized. +</p> + +<p> +When church was out, Sal insisted upon going down immediately; so they +descended together to the porch below, reaching it just as Mrs. Campbell +appeared in the doorway. Had she chosen, Mary could have touched the lady's +dress as she passed; but she rather shrank from being seen, and would probably +not have been observed at all, had not Sal planted herself directly in front of +Mrs. Campbell, saying loudly enough for all near her to hear, "Madam, do you +not recognize your munificent gift of charity in yonder amazing bonnet?" at the +same time pointing towards Mary, who nervously grasped the strings of her hat, +as if to remove the offensive article. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Campbell haughtily pushed Sal aside, and advancing towards the child, +said, "I am glad to see you at church Mary, and hope you will now come +regularly. You can accompany Ella home after the Sabbath school, if you like." +</p> + +<p> +The words and manner were so cold and formal, that Mary was obliged to force +down her tears before she replied, that she was going to her mother's grave, +and wanted Ella to go with her. +</p> + +<p> +"It is pretty warm to walk so far, but if Ella wishes it she has my permission. +Only tell her not to get red and heated," said Mrs. Campbell; and gathering up +the folds of her rich silk, the texture of which Sal Furbush had been +examining, and comparing with her own plum-color, she walked away. +</p> + +<p> +Scarcely was she gone, when Jenny Lincoln came tripping up, and seizing both +Mary's hands, exclaimed, "I am real glad you are here. I thought you hadn't +come, until I heard them talking about a crazy woman. But let's go to my class, +and you'll have a chance to see Ella while the scholars are getting their +seats." +</p> + +<p> +Mary accompanied her young friend to a pew, at the door of which she met her +sister face to face. There was a sudden exclamation of joy on Mary's part, and +an attempt to throw her arms around Ella's neck, but the little girl drew back, +and merely offering her hand, said, "Oh, it's you, isn't it? I didn't know you, +you looked so queer." +</p> + +<p> +"Heavens! what a head-dress! Big as our carriage top any day!" was the next +exclamation which reached Mary's ear, as Rose Lincoln brushed past. Glancing +from her sister to Rose, Mary half determined to tear the bonnet from her head +and trample it under her feet, but Jenny softly squeezed her hand, and +whispered, "Don't mind what Rose says; I love you, and so does Billy Bender. I +saw him in the village yesterday, and asked him if he didn't, and he said he +did." +</p> + +<p> +It required more than Billy Bender's love to soothe Mary then. Her sister's +cool reception, so different from what she had anticipated, had stung her +heart; and sitting down near the door, she burst into a passionate fit of +tears. Jenny, who was really distressed, occasionally pressed her hand in token +of sympathy, at the same time offering her cloves, peanuts and sugar-plums. +There was a brighter flush, too, than usual, on Ella's cheek, for she knew that +she had done wrong, and she so jumbled together the words of her lesson, that +the teacher made her repeat it twice, asking her what was the matter. +</p> + +<p> +By the time Sabbath school was over, Mary had dried her tears; and determining +to make one more advance towards her sister, she said, "Won't you go to +mother's grave with me? I want to tell you about little Allie. I have taught +her to call your name most as plain as <i>I</i> can." +</p> + +<p> +Ella looked down at her embroidered pantalets, and hanging her head on one +side, said, "Oh, it's so dusty. I'm afraid I'll get all dirt,—and hot, +too. Mamma doesn't like to have me get hot." +</p> + +<p> +"Why not?" asked Jenny, who always wished to know the reason of things. +</p> + +<p> +"'Cause it makes folks' skin rough, and break out," was Ella's reply. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, pshaw!" returned Jenny, with a vain attempt to turn up her little bit of a +nose. "I play every day till I am most roasted, and my skin ain't half as rough +as yours. But say, will you go with Mary? for if you don't I shall!" +</p> + +<p> +"I guess I won't," said Ella, and then, anxious to make Mary feel a little +comfortable, she added, "Mamma says Mary's coming to see me before long, and +then we'll have a real good time. I've lots of pretty things—two silk +dresses, and I wear French gaiters like these every day." +</p> + +<p> +Glancing first at Mary, and then at Ella, Jenny replied, "Pho, that's nothing; +Mary knows more than you do, any way. Why, she can say every speck of the +multiplication table, and you only know the 10's!" +</p> + +<p> +When Ella was angry, or felt annoyed, she generally cried; and now declaring +that she knew more than the 10's she began to cry; and announcing her intention +of never speaking to Jenny again "as long as she lived and breathed," she +walked away, while Mary and Jenny proceeded together towards the burying +ground. With a bitter cry Mary threw herself upon her mother's grave, and wept +for a long, long time. +</p> + +<p> +"It would not be so bad," said Mary, "if there was any body left, but I am all +alone in the world. Ella does not love me—nobody loves me." +</p> + +<p> +It was in vain that Jenny told her of Billy Bender's love, of her own, and +George Moreland's too. Mary only wept the more, wishing that she had died, and +Allie too. At last remembering that she had left Sal Furbush behind her, and +knowing that it was time for her to go, she arose, and leaning on Jenny, whose +arm was passed lovingly about her, she started to return. +</p> + +<p> +Afternoon service had commenced ere they reached the church, and as Mary had no +desire of again subjecting her bonnet to the ridicule of Rose Lincoln, and as +Jenny had much rather stay out doors in the shade, they sat down upon the +steps, wondering where Sal Furbush had taken herself. "I mean to look in and +see if she is here," said Jenny, and advancing on tiptoe to the open door, she +cast her eye over the people within; then clapping her hand over her mouth to +keep back a laugh, she returned to Mary, saying, "Oh, if it isn't the funniest +thing in the world. There sits Sal in Mrs. Campbell's pew, fanning herself with +that great palm-leaf, and shaking her fist at Ella every time she stirs!" +</p> + +<p> +It seems that Sal had amused herself during the intermission by examining and +trying the different pews, and taking a fancy to Mrs. Campbell's, she had +snugly ensconced herself in one corner of it, greatly to the fear and +mortification of Ella, who chanced to be the only one of the family present. +When service was out, Sal gathered up her umbrella and courtesying her way +through the crowd, soon found Mary and started for home, declaring the +clergyman to be "a well-read grammarian, only a trifle too emphatic in his +delivery." +</p> + +<p> +As they were descending the long hill which led to the river bridge, Mr. +Lincoln's carriage passed them, and Jenny, who was inside, seized the reins, +saying, "Please, pa, stop and let them ride—there's nobody but Rose and +me in here, and it is so hot and so far." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Lincoln might possibly have complied with his daughter's request, had not +Rose chirrupped to the spirited horses, and said, "Don't, father, for mercy's +sake! ask those paupers to ride." +</p> + +<p> +So the carriage dashed on, but Mary forgot the long walk by remembering the +glance of affection which Jenny gave her as she looked back from the window. +Sal seemed unusually silent, and even forgot to take off her shoes and +stockings when she reached the river bridge. Mary saw there was something +weighing upon her mind, but she forbore asking any questions, knowing that Sal +would in her own good time make her thoughts known. They had nearly reached +home, when Sal suddenly turned aside, and seating herself upon a rock under a +white beech-tree, said, "Miss Howard, I've been thinking what a splendid +minister was spoiled when they put dresses on me! Oh how hard I had to hold +myself to-day to keep from extemporizing to the congregation. I reckon there +wouldn't have been quite so many nodding as there were." +</p> + +<p> +In the excitement of the moment Sal arose, and throwing out her eyes, +gesticulated in a manner rather alarming to Mary, who had never before seen so +wild a look in the crazy woman's eyes. Soon, however, her mood changed, and +resuming her seat, she continued in a milder tone, "Did you ever hear that I +was an authoress?" +</p> + +<p> +"An authoress!" repeated Mary—"an authoress! Why no; are you?" +</p> + +<p> +"To be sure I am," answered Sal. "What's to hinder. Haven't I told you +repeatedly, that I once possessed an unusually large amount of judgment; and +this, added to my knowledge of grammar, and uncommon powers of imagination, +enabled me to produce a work which, but for an unaccountable freak of the +publisher, would have rendered my name immortal." +</p> + +<p> +"I don't understand," said Mary, and Sally continued: "You see, I wrote about +six hundred pages of foolscap, which the publisher to whom it was sent for +examination was impolite enough to return, together with a note, containing, as +I suppose, his reasons for rejection; but if he thinks I read it he's mistaken. +I merely glanced at the words, 'Dear Madam—We regret—' and then +threw it aside. It was a terrible disappointment, and came near turning my +brain; but there are other publishing houses in the world, and one of these +days I shall astonish mankind. But come, we must hasten on, or the gormandizers +will eat up those custard pies which I found in the cellar with the +brass-kettle covered over them." +</p> + +<p> +Accordingly they started for home, but found, as Sal had predicted, that supper +was over and the pies all gone. By a little dexterous management, however, she +managed to find half of one, which Miss Grundy had tucked away under an empty +candle-box for her own future eating. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> </div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a> +CHAPTER IX.<br/> +THE NEW BONNET.</h2> + +<p> +The next morning, for a wonder. Jenny Lincoln was up before the sun, and in the +large dark closet which adjoined her sleeping room, she rummaged through +band-boxes and on the top shelves until she found and brought to light a straw +hat, which was new the fall before, but which her mother had decided unfit to +appear again in the city. Jenny had heard the unkind remarks which Mary's +odd-looking bonnet elicited, and she now determined to give her this one, +though she did not dare to do so without her mother's consent. So after +breakfast, when her mother was seated at her work in the parlor, Jenny drew +near, making known her request, and asking permission to carry the bonnet to +Mary herself. +</p> + +<p> +"Mercy on me!" said Mrs. Lincoln, "what won't you think of next, and where did +you get such vulgar taste. It must have been from your father, for I am sure +you never took it from me. I dare say, now, you had rather play with that town +pauper than with the richest child in Boston." +</p> + +<p> +For a moment Jenny was silent, and then as a new idea came into her head, she +said, "Ma, if you should die, and pa should die, and every body should die, and +we hadn't any money, wouldn't I have to be a town pauper?" +</p> + +<p> +"What absurd questions you ask," said Mrs. Lincoln, overturning a work-box to +find a spool of cotton, which lay directly on top. "Do what you please with the +bonnet, which I fancy you'll find as much too small for Mary as the one she now +has is too large." +</p> + +<p> +Jenny felt fearful of this, but "where there's a will there's a way;" and after +considering a moment, she went in quest of her sister, who had one just like +it. Rose did not care a fig for the bonnet, and after a while she agreed to +part with it on condition that Jenny would give her a coral bracelet, with gold +clasps, which she had long coveted. This fanciful little ornament was a +birth-day present from Billy and at first Jenny thought that nothing would +tempt her to part with it, but as Rose was decided, she finally yielded the +point, brushing away a tear as she placed the bracelet in her sister's hand. +Then putting the bonnet in a basket, and covering it with a newspaper, she +started for the poor-house. +</p> + +<p> +"Good morning, Miss Grundy," said she, as she appeared in the doorway. "May I +see Mary, just a little minute? I've got something for her." +</p> + +<p> +Miss Grundy was crosser than usual this morning on account of a sudden illness +which had come upon Patsy, so she jerked her shoulders, and without turning her +head, replied, "It's Monday mornin', and Mary ain't goin' to be hindered by big +bugs nor nobody else. Here 'tis goin' on nine o'clock, and them dishes not done +yet! If you want to see her, you can go into the back room where she is." +</p> + +<p> +Nothing daunted by this ungracious reception, Jenny advanced towards the "back +room," where she found Mary at the "sink," her arms immersed in dishwater, and +a formidable pile of plates, platters and bowls all ready to be wiped, standing +near her. Throwing aside her bonnet and seizing the coarse dish towel, Jenny +exclaimed, "I'm going to wipe dishes Mary, I know how, and when they are done, +if Miss Grundy won't let you go up stairs a minute, I'll ask Mr. Parker. I saw +him under the woodshed grinding an axe." +</p> + +<p> +It was a rare thing to see Jenny Lincoln in the kitchen at the poor-house, and +now the fact that she was there, and wiping dishes too, circulated rapidly, +bringing to the spot the sour-faced woman, the pleasant-looking woman, the girl +with the crooked feet, and half a dozen others, each of whom commented upon the +phenomenon after her own fashion. +</p> + +<p> +"Do see the little thing," said one; "handles the wiping rag just like any +body!" +</p> + +<p> +"And look there," cried a second; "setting them up in the cupboard! Did you +ever!" While a third remarked that she wore silk stockings, wondering whether +they were bought on purpose for her, or had been cut over from a pair of her +mother's. +</p> + +<p> +Thus noticed and flattered Jenny worked away, assisting in scouring knives and +washing spiders, until her dress was splashed with dishwater, and her white +apron crocked by the kettles. +</p> + +<p> +"Won't your marm scold you for getting so dirty?' asked the girl with the +crooked feet. +</p> + +<p> +"I s'pose so," said Jenny, carelessly; "but then she scolds most all the time, +so I don't mind it!" +</p> + +<p> +The dishes being done, and Miss Grundy making no objections, Mary accompanied +Jenny up stairs, where the latter, opening her basket, held to view a +neat-looking straw hat, far prettier than the one which Mrs. Campbell had +presented. +</p> + +<p> +"See," said she, placing it upon Mary's head; "this is for you. I wanted to +give you mine, but 'twasn't big enough, so Rose let you have hers. It's real +becoming, too." +</p> + +<p> +The tears which fell from Mary's eyes were caused not less by Jenny's kindness, +than by the thought that the haughty Rose Lincoln had given her a bonnet! She +did not know of the sacrifice which the noble-hearted Jenny had made to obtain +it, and it was well she did not, for it would have spoiled all the happiness +she experienced in wearing it. +</p> + +<p> +"Thank you, Jenny, and Rose too," said she. "I am so glad, for I love to go to +church, and I surely would never have gone again and wore that other bonnet." +</p> + +<p> +"I wouldn't either," returned Jenny. "I think it was ridiculous for Mrs. +Campbell to give you such an old dud of a thing, and I know mother thinks so +too, for she laughed hard for her, when I described it, though she said nothing +except that 'beggars shouldn't be choosers.' I wonder what that means. Do you +know?" +</p> + +<p> +Mary felt that she was beginning to know, but she did not care to enlighten +Jenny, who soon sprang up, saying she must go home, or her mother would be +sending Henry after her. "And I don't want him to come here," said she, "for I +know you don't like him, and there don't hardly any body, he's so stuck up and +kind of—I don't know what." +</p> + +<p> +In passing through the hall, the girls met Miss Grundy, who had just come from +Patsy's room. As soon as she saw Mary, she said, "Clap on your bonnet quick, +and run as fast as ever you can to Miss Thornfield's. Dr. Gilbert has gone +there, and do you tell him to come here right away, for Patsy is dreadful sick, +and has fits all the time." +</p> + +<p> +There was a tremor in her voice, and she seemed much excited, which surprised +the girls, who fancied she would not care even if Patsy died. Mrs. Thornfield's +was soon reached, the message given, and then they hurried back. +</p> + +<p> +"Is Patsy worse?" asked Mary, as she saw the bedroom door open, and two or +three women standing near the bed. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Grundy did not answer, and when next her face was visible, the girls saw +that her eyes were red, as if she had been weeping. +</p> + +<p> +"Funny, isn't it?" said Jenny, as she started for home. "I didn't suppose any +thing would make her cry, and I guess now the tears are sort of <i>sour!</i>" +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Gilbert came, but his skill could not save the poor idiot girl, and at +about four that afternoon she died. Around the bed of death there were no tears +or lamentations, for those who stood by and watched the lamp of life as it went +out, felt that the spirit which was leaving them would be happier far in +another world, for never in this had a ray of reason shone upon poor Patsy's +darkened mind. We have said there were no tears, and yet, although the waters +came not to the surface, there was one heart which wept, as with unflinching +nerve the cold, stern woman arrayed the dead girl for the grave. +</p> + +<p> +That night Mary was aroused from sleep, by some one whispering her name in her +ear, and starting up, she saw Sally bending over her. +</p> + +<p> +"Come with me," said she softly, "and I'll show you the queerest sight you ever +saw." +</p> + +<p> +Trembling in every joint, Mary arose and followed Sal, who led her towards the +room where Patsy lay. As she drew near the door they paused, and by the light +of the autumn moon, which streamed through the curtained window Mary saw Miss +Grundy kneeling by the cold body, and sobbing bitterly. Once she spoke, and +Mary caught the words, "My child, my poor child." +</p> + +<p> +Wonderingly she looked up to Sally for an explanation; but the crazy woman only +replied, as they returned to their rooms, "Yes,—there's been queer doings +some time or other, it's very evident; but I know one thing, I'll never draw +her profile again, and I'll call her <i>Mrs.</i> Grundy after this!" +</p> + +<p> +It was hardly worth while, as the neighbors thought, to be at all the trouble +and expense of carrying a foolish girl without friends or relatives to the +graveyard, so they buried her beneath the shadow of a wide-spreading maple, in +a little inclosure where several other unfortunate ones lay sleeping At the +funeral many wondered at the ghastly whiteness of Miss Grundy's face, and why +she grasped at the coffin lid, as if to keep from falling, when with others she +gazed upon the pale face which, in its dreamless slumber, looked calm and +placid as that of a child. +</p> + +<p> +There were but few who knew of Miss Grundy's sin, and her secret was buried in +Patsy's grave, where often a mother's form was bending and a mother's tears +were shed, when the world was dark and still, and there was no eye to see, save +that of Him who said, "Go and sin no more." +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> </div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a> +CHAPTER X<br/> +WINTER AT THE POOR-HOUSE.</h2> + +<p> +One afternoon about the middle of October, Mary sat under an apple-tree in the +orchard, weeping bitterly. It was in vain that Alice, who was with her, and who +by this time was able to stand alone, climbed up to her side, patting her +cheeks, and trying various ways to win her attention. She still wept on, +unmindful of the sound of rapid footsteps upon the grass, nor until twice +repeated did she hear the words, "Why, Mary, what is the matter? What's +happened?"—then looking up she saw Billy Bender, who raised her in his +arms, and insisted upon knowing what was the matter. +</p> + +<p> +Laying her head on his shoulder, she sobbed out, "She's gone,—she's gone, +and there's nobody left but Sally. Oh dear, oh dear!" +</p> + +<p> +"Gone! Who's gone?" asked Billy. +</p> + +<p> +"Jenny," was Mary's reply. "She's gone to Boston, and won't come back till next +May; and I loved her so much." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, yes, I know," returned Billy. "I met them all on their way to the depot; +but I wouldn't feel so badly. Jenny will come again, and besides that, I've got +some real good news to tell you. +</p> + +<p> +"About Ella?" said Mary. +</p> + +<p> +"No, not about Ella, but about myself; I'm coming here to live with you." +</p> + +<p> +"Coming here to live!" repeated Mary with astonishment. "What for? Are your +folks all dead?" +</p> + +<p> +Billy smiled and answered, "Not quite so bad as that. I went to school here two +years ago, and I know I learned more than I ever did at home in two seasons. +The boys, when Henry Lincoln is away, don't act half as badly as they do in the +village; and then they usually have a lady teacher, because it's cheaper I +suppose, for they don't pay them half as much as they do gentlemen, and I think +they are a great deal the best. Any way, I can learn the most when I go to a +woman." +</p> + +<p> +"But what makes you come here, and what will your mother do?" asked Mary. +</p> + +<p> +"She's got a sister come from the West to stay with her, and as I shall go home +every Saturday night, she'll get along well enough. I heard Mr. Parker in the +store one day inquiring for a boy to do chores. So after consulting mother, I +offered my services, and was accepted. Won't we have real nice times going to +school together, and then I've brought a plaything for you. Are you afraid of +dogs?" +</p> + +<p> +So saying he gave a whistle, and a large Newfoundland dog came bounding through +the orchard. At first Mary drew back in alarm, for the dog, though young, was +unusually large; but her fears soon vanished when she saw how affectionate he +was, licking her own and Alice's hands, and bounding playfully upon his +master's shoulders. +</p> + +<p> +"He is a nice fellow," said she, stroking his shaggy sides. What do you call +him?" +</p> + +<p> +"Tasso," answered Billy; and then seeing Mr. Parker at a distance, and wishing +to speak to him, he walked away. +</p> + +<p> +Three weeks from that time the winter school commenced; and Billy took up his +abode at the poor-house, greatly to the satisfaction of Sally and Mary, and +greatly to the annoyance of Miss Grundy, who, since Patsy's death, was crosser +and more fault-finding than ever. +</p> + +<p> +"Smart idea!" said she, "to have that great lummux around to be waited on!" and +when she saw how happy his presence seemed to make Mary, she vented her +displeasure upon her in various ways, conjuring up all sorts of reasons why she +should stay out of school as often as possible, and wondering "what the world +was a coming to, when young ones hardly out of the cradle begun to court! It +wasn't so in her younger days, goodness knew!" +</p> + +<p> +"I wouldn't venture a great many remarks about my younger days, if I were you, +<i>Mrs.</i> Grundy," said Sal, who had adhered to her resolution of always +addressing her old enemy as <i>Mrs.</i>, though she whispered it to Mary as her +opinion that the woman didn't fancy her new title. +</p> + +<p> +Much as Mary had learned to prize Sally's friendship, before winter was over +she had cause to value it still more highly. Wretched and destitute as the poor +crazed creature now was, she showed plainly that at some period or other of her +life, she had had rare advantages for education, which she now brought into use +for Mary's benefit. When Mary first commenced attending school, Miss Grundy +insisted that she should knit every evening, and thus she found no opportunity +for studying at home. One evening when, as usual, a part of the family were +assembled around a blazing fire in the kitchen, Sal Furbush suddenly exclaimed, +"Mary, why don't you bring your books home at night, just as Mr. Bender does." +</p> + +<p> +She had conceived a great respect for Billy, and always called him <i>Mr.</i> +Mary cast a rueful glance at the coarse sock, which certainly was not growing +fast, and replied, "I should like to, but I have to knit all the time." +</p> + +<p> +"Fudge on your everlasting knitting," said Sal, snatching the sock from Mary's +hands and making the needles fly nimbly. "I'm going to be very magnanimous, and +every time you'll bring your books home I'll knit for you—I beg Mrs. +Grundy, that you'll not throw the fire all over the floor," she added, as that +lady gave the forestick a violent kick. +</p> + +<p> +"The Lord save us!" was Miss Grundy's exclamation when after supper the next +evening she saw the three-legged stand loaded down with Billy's and Mary's +school books. +</p> + +<p> +But as no one made her any reply, she quietly resumed her work, appropriating +to her own use the only tallow candle there was burning, and leaving Billy and +Mary to see as best they could by the firelight. For some time Mary pored over +her lesson in Colburn, but coming to the question, "24 is 3/5 of how many times +10?" she stopped, unable to proceed farther. Again and again she read it over, +without gathering a single idea, and was on the point of asking Billy to assist +her, when Sal, who had been watching her, said, "Let me take your book, child." +</p> + +<p> +Mary did so, and then, as if conscious for the first time of Miss Grundy's +monopoly of the candle, Sal seized a large newspaper lying near, and twisting +it up, said, "Let there be light;" then thrusting one end of it into the flames +and drawing it out again, added, "and there is light." +</p> + +<p> +After tumbling over the leaves awhile, she continued, "No, they didn't study +this when I was young; but tell me what 'tis that troubles you." +</p> + +<p> +Mary pointed to the problem, and after looking at it attentively a moment, Sal +said, "The answer to it is 4; and if you will give me some little inkling of +the manner in which you are taught to explain them at school, perhaps I can +tell you about that." +</p> + +<p> +"It begins in this way," said Mary. "If 24 is 3/5 of some number, 1/5 of that +number must be something or other, I don't know what." +</p> + +<p> +"One third of 24 of course," said Sal. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, yes, that's it," exclaimed Mary, who began to understand it herself. "Now, +I guess I know. You find what one third of 24 is, and if that is <i>one</i> +fifth, <i>five</i> fifths would be five times that, and then see how many times +10 will go in it." +</p> + +<p> +"Exactly so," said Sal. "You'll make an arithmetic yet, and have it out just +about the time I do my grammar. But," she added in another tone, "I've +concluded to leave out the Grundy gender!" +</p> + +<p> +Each night after this Mary brought home her books, and the rapid improvement +which she made in her studies was as much owing to Sally's useful hints and +assistance as to her own untiring perseverance. One day when she returned from +school Sally saw there was something the matter, for her eyes were red and her +cheeks flushed as if with weeping. On inquiring of Billy, she learned that some +of the girls had been teasing Mary about her teeth, calling them "tushes," +&c. +</p> + +<p> +As it happened one of the paupers was sick, and Dr. Gilbert was at that time in +the house. To him Sal immediately went, and after laying the case before him, +asked him to extract the offending teeth. Sally was quite a favorite with the +doctor, who readily consented, on condition that Mary was willing, which he +much doubted, as such teeth came hard. +</p> + +<p> +"Willing or not, she shall have them out. It's all that makes her so homely," +said Sal; and going in quest of Mary, she led her to the doctor, who asked to +look in her mouth. +</p> + +<p> +There was a fierce struggle, a scream, and then one of the teeth was lying upon +the floor. +</p> + +<p> +"Stand still," said Sal, more sternly than she had ever before spoken to Mary, +who, half frightened out of her wits stood still while the other one was +extracted. +</p> + +<p> +"There," said Sal, when the operation was finished, "you look a hundred per +cent. better." +</p> + +<p> +For a time Mary cried and spit, hardly knowing whether the relished the joke or +not; but when Billy praised her improved looks, telling her that "her mouth was +real pretty," and when she herself dried her eyes enough to see that it was a +great improvement, she felt better, and wondered why she had never thought to +have them out before. +</p> + +<p> +Rapidly and pleasantly to Mary that winter passed away, for the presence of +Billy was in itself a sufficient reason why she should be happy. He was so +affectionate and brother-like in his deportment towards her, that she began +questioning whether she did not love him as well, if not better, than she did +her sister Ella, whom she seldom saw, though she heard that she had a governess +from Worcester, and was taking music lessons on a grand piano which had been +bought a year before. Occasionally Billy called at Mrs. Campbell's, but Ella +seemed shy and unwilling to speak of her sister. +</p> + +<p> +"Why is there this difference?" he thought more than once, as he contrasted the +situation, of the two girls,—the one petted, caressed, and surrounded by +every luxury, and the other forlorn, desolate, and the inmate of a poor-house; +and then he built castles of a future, when, by the labor of his own head or +hands, Mary, too, should be rich and happy. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> </div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a> +CHAPTER XI.<br/> +ALICE.</h2> + +<p> +As spring advanced, Alice began to droop, and Sally's quick eye detected in her +infallible signs of decay. But she would not tell it to Mary, whose life now +seemed a comparatively happy one. Mr. and Mrs. Parker were kind to +her,—the pleasant-looking woman and the girl with crooked feet were kind +to her. Uncle Peter petted her, and even Miss Grundy had more than once +admitted that "she was about as good as young ones would average." Billy, too, +had promised to remain and work for Mr. Parker during the summer, intending +with the money thus earned to go the next fall and winter to the Academy in +Wilbraham. Jenny was coming back ere long, and Mary's step was light and +buoyant as she tripped singing about the house, unmindful of Miss Grundy's +oft-expressed wish that "she would stop that clack," or of the anxious, pitying +eyes Sal Furbush bent upon her, as day after day the faithful old creature +rocked and tended little Alice. +</p> + +<p> +"No," said she, "I cannot tell her. She'll have tears enough to shed by and by, +but I'll double my diligence, and watch little Willie more closely." So night +after night, when Mary was sleeping the deep sleep of childhood, Sally would +steal noiselessly to her room, and bending over the little wasting figure at +her side, would wipe the cold sweat from her face, and whisper in the +unconscious baby's ear messages of love for "the other little Willie, now +waiting for her in Heaven." +</p> + +<p> +At last Mary could no longer be deceived, and one day when Alice lay gasping in +Sally's lap she said, "Aunt Sally isn't Alice growing worse? She doesn't play +now, nor try to walk." +</p> + +<p> +Sally laid her hand on Mary's face and replied, "Poor child, you'll soon be all +alone, for Willie's going to find his mother." +</p> + +<p> +There was no outcry,—no sudden gush of tears, but nervously clasping her +hands upon her heart, as if the shock had entered there, Mary sat down upon her +bed, and burying her face in the pillow, sat there for a long time. But she +said nothing, and a careless observer might have thought that she cared +nothing, as it became each day more and more evident that Alice was dying. But +these knew not of the long nights when with untiring love she sat by her +sister's cradle, listening to her irregular breathing, pressing her clammy +hands, and praying to be forgiven if ever, in thought or deed, she had wronged +the little one now leaving her. +</p> + +<p> +And all this time there came no kind word or message of love from Ella, who +knew that Alice was dying, for Billy had told her so. "Oh, if she would only +come and see her;" said Mary, "it wouldn't seem half so bad." +</p> + +<p> +"Write to her," said Sal; "peradventure that may bring her." +</p> + +<p> +Mary had not thought of this before, and now tearing a leaf from her +writing-book, and taking her pen, she wrote hurriedly, "Ella, dear Ella, won't +you come and see little Alice once before she dies? You used to love her, and +you would now, if you could see how white and beautiful she looks. Oh, do come. +Mrs. Campbell will let you, I know." +</p> + +<p> +This note, which was blurred and blotted with tears was carried by Billy, who +was going to the village, and delivered to Mrs. Campbell herself. Perhaps the +proud woman remembered the time when her own darling died, or it may be that +conscience upbraided her for caring so much for one orphan and utterly +neglecting the other two. Be that as it may, her tears fell upon the paper and +mingled with Mary's as she replied, "Ella shall come this afternoon." +</p> + +<p> +But before afternoon a drizzling shower came on, and Mary watched and wept in +vain, for Ella did not come. The next morning was bright and beautiful as April +mornings often are, and at as early an hour as was consistent with Mrs. +Campbell's habits, her carriage was before the door, and herself and Ella +seated within it. The little lady was not in the best of humors, for she and +her maid had quarrelled about her dress; Ella insisting upon a light-blue +merino, and the maid proposing a plain delaine, which Ella declared she would +not wear. Mrs. Campbell, to whom the matter was referred, decided upon the +delaine, consequently Ella cried and pouted, saying she wouldn't go, wondering +what Alice wanted to be sick for, or any way why they should send for her. +</p> + +<p> +Meantime in and around the poor-house there was for once perfect silence. Sal +Furbush had been invisible for hours,—the girl with crooked feet trod +softly as she passed up and down the stairs,—Uncle Peter's fiddle was +unstrung, and, securely locked in his fiddle box, was stowed away at the bottom +of his old red chest,—and twice that morning when no one saw her, Miss +Grundy had stolen out to Patsy's grave. Mary was not called to wash the dishes, +but up in her own room she sat with her head resting upon the window sill, +while the sweet, fresh air of the morning swept over her face, lifting the hair +from her flushed brow. Billy Bender was standing near her, his arm thrown +around her, and his lips occasionally pressing her forehead. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly there was the sound of carriage wheels, and he whispered in her ear, +"Ella is coming." +</p> + +<p> +Hastily running down the stairs, Mary met her sister in the doorway, and +throwing her arms around her neck, burst into tears. Ella would gladly have +shaken her off, for she felt that her curls were in danger of being mussed, and +she had besides hardly recovered from her pet. But Mary firmly held her hand, +and led her on through the long hall, into a room which they usually +denominated "the best room." +</p> + +<p> +There, upon the table, lay a little stiffened form. The blue eyes were closed, +and the long eyelashes rested upon the marble cheek, and in the waxen hands, +folded so carefully over the other, there was a single snow-drop. No one knew +who placed it there, or whence it came. Gently Mary laid back the thin muslin +covering, saying as she did so, "Allie is dead. I've got no sister left but +you!" and again her arms closed convulsively about Ella's neck. +</p> + +<p> +"You kind of choke me!" said Ella, trying to get free, and it was not until +Mrs. Campbell, thoroughly ashamed of her want of feeling, took her hand and +placed it on Alice's cold cheek, asking her if she were not sorry her little +sister was dead, that she manifested any emotion whatever. Then, as if +something of her better nature were roused, her lip trembled for a moment, and +she burst into a violent fit of weeping. +</p> + +<p> +"It is hardly natural that she should feel it as deeply as Mary," said Mrs. +Campbell to Billy Bender, who was present. +</p> + +<p> +He made no reply, but he never forgot that scene; and when years after he met +with Ella on terms of perfect equality,—when he saw her petted, +flattered, and admired, he turned away from the fawning multitude, remembering +only the April morning when she stood by the dead body of her sister. +</p> + +<p> +During all this time no trace of Sal Furbush had been seen, and at last a +strict search was instituted but to no effect, until Billy, who chanced to be +passing the dark closet under the garret stairs, heard her whispering to +herself, "Yes, little Willie's dead, and Sally's got <i>three</i> in Heaven +now." +</p> + +<p> +Entering the place, he found her crouched in one corner, her hair hanging down +her back, and her eyes flashing with unusual brightness. +</p> + +<p> +"Why, Sally," said he, "what are you here for?" +</p> + +<p> +"To save the credit of the house," was her ready reply. "When the other Willie +died, they chained me in this dungeon, and thinking they might do so again, I +concluded to come here quietly wishing to save all trouble and confusion, for +the utmost decorum should be preserved in the house of death." +</p> + +<p> +"Poor woman," said Billy kindly, "no one wishes you to stay here. Come with +me,"—and he took her hand to lead her forth. +</p> + +<p> +But she resisted him, saying, that "fasting and solitude were nature's great +restoratives." +</p> + +<p> +"She has showed her good sense for once," said Miss Grundy, on hearing of +Sally's whereabouts, "but' ain't the critter hungry?" and owing to some newly +touched chord of kindness, a slice of toast and a cup of hot tea erelong found +entrance into the darksome cell. +</p> + +<p> +Strange to say, too, the hand which brought it was not repulsed, though very +demurely and in seeming earnestness was the question asked, "Mrs. Grundy, +haven't you met with a change?" +</p> + +<p> +The next day was the funeral. At first there was some talk of burying the child +in the same inclosure with Patsy; but Mary plead so earnestly to have her laid +by her mother, that her request was granted, and that night when the young +spring moon came out, it looked quietly down upon the grave of little Alice, +who by her mother's side was sweetly sleeping. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> </div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a> +CHAPTER XII.<br/> +A NEW FRIEND.</h2> + +<p> +Three weeks had passed away since Alice's death, and affairs at the poor-house +were beginning to glide on as usual. Sal Furbush, having satisfied her own +ideas of propriety by remaining secluded for two or three days, had once more +appeared in society; but now that Alice was no longer there to be watched, time +hung wearily upon her hands, and she was again seized with her old desire for +authorship. Accordingly, a grammar was commenced, which she said would contain +Nine Hundred and Ninety Nine rules for speaking the English language correctly! +</p> + +<p> +Mary, who had resumed her post as dish washer in the kitchen, was almost daily +expecting Jenny; and one day when Billy came in to dinner, he gave her the +joyful intelligence that Jenny had returned, and had been in the field to see +him, bidding him tell Mary to meet her that afternoon in the woods by the +brook. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, I do hope Miss Grundy will let me go," said Mary, "and I guess she will, +for since Allie died, she hasn't been near so cross." +</p> + +<p> +"If she don't, I will," answered Mr. Parker, who chanced to be standing near, +and who had learned to regard the little orphan girl with more than usual +interest. +</p> + +<p> +But Miss Grundy made no objections, and when the last dishcloth was wrung dry, +and the last iron spoon put in its place, Mary bounded joyfully away to the +woods, where she found Jenny, who embraced her in a manner which showed that +she had not been forgotten. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh," said she, "I've got so much to tell you, and so much to hear, though I +know all about dear little Allie' death,—didn't you feel dreadfully?" +</p> + +<p> +Mary's tears were a sufficient answer, and Jenny, as if suddenly discovering +something new, exclaimed, "Why, what have you been doing? Who pulled your +teeth?" +</p> + +<p> +Mary explained the circumstance of the tooth-pulling, and Jenny continued: "You +look a great deal better, and if your cheeks were only a little fatter and your +skin not quite so yellow, you'd be real handsome; but no matter about that. I +saw George Moreland in Boston, and I wanted to tell him about you, but I'd +promised not to; and then at first I felt afraid of him, for you can't think +what a great big fellow he's got to be. Why, he's awful tall! and handsome, +too. Rose likes him, and so do lots of the girls, but I don't believe he cares +a bit for any of them except his cousin Ida, and I guess he does like +her;—any way, he looks at her as though he did." +</p> + +<p> +Mary wondered <i>how</i> he looked at her, and would perhaps have asked, had +she not been prevented by the sudden appearance of Henry Lincoln, who directly +in front of her leaped across the brook. He was evidently not much improved in +his manners, for the moment he was safely landed on terra firma, he approached +her, and seizing her round the waist, exclaimed, "Hallo, little pauper! You're +glad to see me back, I dare say." +</p> + +<p> +Then drawing her head over so that he could look into her face, he continued, +"Had your tusks out, haven't you! Well, it's quite an improvement, so much so +that I'll venture to kiss you." +</p> + +<p> +Mary struggled, and Jenny scolded, while Henry said "Don't kick and flounce so, +my little beauty. If there's any thing I hate, it's seeing girls make believe +they're modest. That clodhopper Bill kisses you every day, I'll warrant." +</p> + +<p> +Here Jenny's wrath exploded; and going up to her brother, she attempted to pull +him away, until bethinking her of the brook, she commenced sprinkling him with +water, but observing that more of it fell upon Mary than her brother, she +desisted, while Henry, having accomplished his purpose, began spitting and +making wry faces, assuring Mary that "she needn't be afraid of his ever +troubling her again, for her lips were musty, and tasted of the poor-house!" +</p> + +<p> +Meanwhile Tasso, who had become a great favorite with Mary, and who, on this +occasion, had accompanied her to the woods, was standing on the other side of +the brook, eyeing Henry's movements, and apparently trying to make up his mind +whether his interference was necessary or not. A low growl showed that he was +evidently deciding the matter, when Henry desisted, and walked leisurely off. +</p> + +<p> +Erelong, however, he returned, and called out, "See, girls, I've got an elegant +necklace for you." +</p> + +<p> +Looking up, they saw him advancing towards them, with a small water snake, +which he held in his hand; and, readily divining his purpose, they started and +ran, while he pursued them, threatening to wind the snake around the neck of +the first one he caught. Jenny, who was too chubby to be very swift-footed, +took refuge behind a clump of alder bushes but Mary kept on, and just as she +reached a point where the brook turned, Henry overtook her, and would perhaps +have carried his threat into execution, had not help arrived from an unexpected +quarter. Tasso, who had watched, and felt sure that this time all was not +right, suddenly pounced upon Henry, throwing him down, and then planting +himself upon his prostrate form, in such a manner that he dared not move. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, good, good," said Jenny, coming out from her concealment; "make Tasso keep +him there ever so long; and," she continued, patting the dog, "if you won't +hurt him much, you may shake him just a little." +</p> + +<p> +"No, no," said Henry, writhing with fear, "call him off, do call him off. Oh, +mercy!" he added, as Tasso, who did not particularly care to have the case +reasoned, showed two rows of very white teeth. +</p> + +<p> +Mary could not help laughing at the figure which Henry cut; but thinking him +sufficiently punished, she called off the dog, who obeyed rather unwillingly, +and ever after manifested his dislike to Henry by growling angrily whenever he +appeared. +</p> + +<p> +One morning about two weeks afterwards, Mary was in the meadow gathering +cowslips for dinner, when she heard some one calling her name; and looking up, +she saw Jenny hurrying towards her, her sun-bonnet hanging down her back as +usual, and her cheeks flushed with violent exercise. As soon as she came up, +she began with, "Oh my, ain't I hot and tired, and I can't stay a minute +either, for I run away. But I had such good news to tell you, that I would +come. You are going to have a great deal better home than this. You know where +Rice Corner is, the district over east?" +</p> + +<p> +Mary replied that she did, and Jenny continued: "We all went over there +yesterday to see Mrs. Mason. She's a real nice lady, who used to live in +Boston, and be intimate with ma, until three or four years ago, when Mr. Mason +died. We didn't go there any more then, and I asked Rose what the reason was, +and she said Mrs. Mason was poor now, and ma had 'cut her;' and when I asked +her what she <i>cut</i> her with, she only laughed, and said she believed I +didn't know any thing. But since then I've learned what it means." +</p> + +<p> +"What does it?" asked Mary, and Jenny replied: "If a person dies and leaves no +money, no matter how good his folks are, or how much you like them, you mustn't +know them when you meet them in the street, or you must cross over the other +side if you see them coming; and then when ladies call and speak about them, +you must draw a great long breath, and wonder 'how the poor thing will get +along, she was so dreadful extravagant.' I positively heard mother say those +very words about Mrs. Mason; and what is so funny, the washwoman the same day +spoke of her, and cried when she told how kind she was, and how she would go +without things herself for the sake of giving to the poor. It's queer, isn't +it?" +</p> + +<p> +Ah, Jenny, Jenny, you've much of life yet to learn! +</p> + +<p> +After a moment's pause, Jenny proceeded: "This Mrs. Mason came into the +country, and bought the prettiest little cottage you ever saw. She has lots of +nice fruit, and for all mother pretends in Boston that she don't visit her, +just as soon as the fruit is ripe, she always goes there. Pa says it's real +mean, and he should think Mrs. Mason would see through it." +</p> + +<p> +"Did you go there for fruit yesterday?" asked Mary. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, no," returned Jenny. "Mother said she was tired to death with staying at +home. Besides that, she heard something in Boston about a large estate in +England, which possibly would fall to Mrs. Mason, and she thought it would be +real kind to go and tell her. Mrs. Mason has poor health, and while we were +there, she asked mother if she knew of any good little girl she could get to +come and live with her; 'one,' she said, 'who could be quiet when her head +ached, and who would read to her and wait on her at other times.' Mother said +she did not know of any; but when Mrs. Mason went out to get tea, I followed +and told her of you, and the tears came into her eyes when I said your folks +were all dead, and you were alone and sorry. She said right off that she would +come round and see you soon, and if she liked you, you should live with her. +But I must run back, for I suppose you know mother brought our governess with +us, and it's time I was turning my toes out and my elbows in. Ugh! how I do +hate such works. If I ever have a house, there shan't be a fashionable thing +about it. I'll have it full of cats, dogs, and poor children, with a swing and +a '<i>teater</i>' in every room, and Billy Bender shall live with me, and drive +the horses!" +</p> + +<p> +So saying, she ran off; and Mary, having gathered her cowslips, sat down to +think of Mrs. Mason, and wonder if she should ever see her. Since Alice's death +she had been in the daily habit of learning a short lesson, which she recited +to Sally, and this afternoon, when the dishes were all washed, she had as usual +stolen away to her books. She had not been long occupied, ere Rind called her, +saying Mr. Knight, who, it will be remembered, had brought her to the +poor-house, was down stairs and wanted to see her, and that there was a lady +with him, too. +</p> + +<p> +Mary readily guessed that the lady must be Mrs. Mason and carefully brushing +her hair, and tying on a clean apron, she descended to the kitchen, where she +was met by Mr. Knight, who called out, "Hallo, my child, how do you do? 'Pears +to me you've grown handsome. It agrees with you to live here I reckon, but I'll +venture you'll be glad enough to leave, and go and live with her, won't you?" +pointing towards a lady, who was just coming from Mrs. Parker's room, and +towards whom Mary's heart instantly warmed. +</p> + +<p> +"You see," continued Mr. Knight, "one of the Lincoln girls has taken a mighty +shine to you, and it's queer, too, for they're dreadful stuck-up folks." +</p> + +<p> +"If you please, sir," said Mary, interrupting him, "Jenny isn't a bit stuck +up." +</p> + +<p> +"Umph!" returned Mr. Knight. "She don't belong to the Lincoln race then, I +guess. I know them, root and branch. Lincoln's wife used to work in the factory +at Southbridge, but she's forgot all about that, and holds her head dreadful +high whenever she sees me. But that's neither here nor there. This woman wants +you to live with her. Miss Mason, this is Mary. Mary, this is Miss Mason." +</p> + +<p> +The introduction being thus happily over, Mrs. Mason proceeded to ask Mary a +variety of questions, and ended by saying she thought she would take her, +although she would rather not have her come for a few days, as she was going to +be absent. Miss Grundy was now interrogated concerning her knowledge of work, +and with quite a consequential air, she replied, "Perhaps, ma'am, it looks too +much like praising myself, considerin' that I've had the managin' of her +mostly, but I must confess that she's lived with me so long and got my ways so +well, that she's as pleasant a mannered, good-tempered child, and will scour as +bright a knife as you could wish to see!" +</p> + +<p> +Mary saw that Mrs. Mason could hardly repress a smile as she replied, "I am +glad about the temper and manners, but the scouring of knives is of little +consequence, for Judith always does that." +</p> + +<p> +Sal Furbush, who had courtesied herself into the room, now asked to say a word +concerning Mary. "She is," said she, "the very apple of my eye, and can parse a +sentence containing three double relatives, two subjunctive moods and four +nominatives absolute, perfectly easily." +</p> + +<p> +"I see you are a favorite here," said Mrs. Mason, laying her hand gently on +Mary's head, "and I think that in time you will be quite as much of one with +me, so one week from Saturday you may expect me." +</p> + +<p> +There was something so very affectionate in Mrs. Mason's manner of speaking, +that Mary could not keep her tears back; and when Sally, chancing to be in a +poetic mood, said to her, "Maiden, wherefore weepest thou?" she replied, "I +can't help it. She speaks so kind, and makes me think of mother." +</p> + +<p> +"Speaks so <i>kindly</i>, you mean," returned Sal, while Mrs. Mason, brushing a +tear from her own eye, whispered to the little girl, "I will be a mother to +you, my child;" then, as Mr. Knight had finished discussing the weather with +Mr. Parker, she stepped into his buggy, and was driven away. +</p> + +<p> +"That's what I call a thoroughly grammatical lady," said Sal, looking after her +until a turn in the road hid her from view, "and I shall try to be resigned, +though the vital spark leaves this house when Mary goes." +</p> + +<p> +Not long after, Rind asked Miss Grundy if William Bender was going away. +</p> + +<p> +"Not as I know on," answered Miss Grundy. "What made you think of that?" +</p> + +<p> +"'Cause," returned Rind, "I heard Sal Furbush having over a mess of stuff about +the <i>spark's</i> leaving when Mary did, and I thought mebby he was going, as +you say he's her spark!" +</p> + +<p> +The next afternoon Jenny, managing to elude the watchful eyes of her mother and +governess, came over to the poor-house. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm so glad you are going," said she, when she heard of Mrs. Mason's visit. "I +shall be lonesome without you, but you'll have such a happy home, and when you +get there mayn't I tell George Moreland about you the next time I see him?" +</p> + +<p> +"I'd rather you wouldn't," said Mary, "for I don't believe he remembers me at +all." +</p> + +<p> +"Perhaps not," returned Jenny, "and I guess you wouldn't know him; for besides +being so tall, he has begun to <i>shave</i>, and Ida thinks he's trying to +raise whiskers!" +</p> + +<p> +That night, when Mary was alone, she drew from its hiding-place the golden +locket, but the charm was broken, and the pleasure she had before experienced +in looking at it, now faded away with Jenny's picture of a whiskered young man, +six feet high! Very rapidly indeed did Mary's last week at the poor-house pass +away, and for some reason or other, every thing went on, as Rind said, "wrong +end up." Miss Grundy was crosser than usual, though all observed that her voice +grew milder in its tone whenever she addressed Mary, and once she went so far +as to say, by way of a general remark, that she "never yet treated any body, +particularly a child, badly, without feeling sorry for it." +</p> + +<p> +Sal Furbush was uncommonly wild, dancing on her toes, making faces, repeating +her nine hundred and ninety-nine rules of grammar, and quoting Scripture, +especially the passage, "The Lord gave, and the Lord taketh away, &c." +Uncle Peter, too, labored assiduously at "Delia's Dirge," which he intended +playing as Mary was leaving the yard. +</p> + +<p> +Saturday came at last, and long before the sun peeped over the eastern hills, +Mary was up and dressed. Just as she was ready to leave her room, she heard +Sally singing in a low tone, "Oh, there'll be +mourning,—mourning,—mourning,—mourning, Oh, there'll be +mourning when Mary's gone away." +</p> + +<p> +Hastily opening her own door, she knocked at Sal's, and was bidden to enter. +She found her friend seated in the middle of the floor, while scattered around +her were the entire contents of the old barrel and box which contained her +wearing apparel. +</p> + +<p> +"Good morning, little deary," said she, "I am looking over my somewhat limited +wardrobe, in quest of something wherewith to make your young heart happy, but +my search is vain. I can find nothing except the original MS. of my first +novel. I do not need it now, for I shall make enough out of my grammar. So take +it, and when you are rich and influential, you'll have no trouble in getting it +published,—none at all." +</p> + +<p> +So saying, she thrust into Mary's hand a large package, carefully wrapped in +half a dozen newspapers, and the whole enveloped in a snuff-colored silk +handkerchief, which "Willie's father used to wear." Here Rind came up the +stairs saying breakfast was ready, and after putting her present aside, Mary +descended to the kitchen, where she found the table arranged with more than +usual care. An old red waiter, which was only used on special occasions, was +placed near Miss Grundy, and on it stood the phenomenon of a hissing +coffee-pot: and what was stranger, still, in the place of the tin basin from +which Mary had recently been accustomed to eat her bread and milk, there was +now a cup and saucer, which surely must have been intended for her. Her wonder +was at its height when Miss Grundy entered from the back room, bearing a plate +filled with snowy white biscuit, which she placed upon the table with an air of +"There! what do you think of that?"—then seating herself, she skimmed all +the cream from the bowl of milk, and preparing a delicious cup of coffee, +passed it to Mary, before helping the rest. +</p> + +<p> +"Is the Millennium about to be ushered in?" asked Sal in amazement; while Uncle +Peter, reverently rising, said, Fellow-citizens, and ladies, for these extras +let us thank the Lord, remembering to ask a continuation of the same!" +</p> + +<p> +"Do let your victuals stop your mouth," said Miss Grundy, "and don't act as +though we never had coffee and biscuit for breakfast before." +</p> + +<p> +"My memory has failed wonderfully, if we ever did," was Uncle Peter's reply. +</p> + +<p> +Breakfast being over, Mary as usual commenced clearing the table, but Miss +Grundy bade her "sit down and <i>rest</i> her," and Mary obeyed, wondering what +she had done to tire herself. About 9 o'clock, Mr. Knight drove up alone, Mrs. +Mason being sick with nervous headache. "I should have been here sooner," said +he, "but the roads is awful rough and old Charlotte has got a stub or somethin' +in her foot But where's the gal? Ain't she ready?" +</p> + +<p> +He was answered by Mary herself, who made her appearance, followed by Billy +bearing the box. And now commenced the leave-takings, Miss Grundy's turn coming +first. +</p> + +<p> +"May I kiss you, Miss Grundy?" said Mary, while Sal exclaimed aside, "What! +kiss those sole-leather lips?" at the same time indicating by a guttural sound +the probable effect such a process would have upon her stomach! +</p> + +<p> +Miss 'Grundy bent down and received the child's kiss, and then darting off into +the pantry, went to skimming pans of milk already skimmed! Rind and the +pleasant-looking woman cried outright, and Uncle Peter, between times, kept +ejaculating, "Oh, Lord!—oh, massy sake!—oh, for land!" while he +industriously plied his fiddle bow in the execution of "Delia's Dirge," which +really sounded unearthly, and dirgelike enough. Billy knew it would be lonely +without Mary, but he was glad to have her go to a better home, go he tried to +be cheerful; telling her he would take good care of Tasso, and that whenever +she chose she must claim her property. +</p> + +<p> +Aside from him, Sally was the only composed one. It is true, her eyes were very +bright, and there was a compression about her mouth seldom seen, except just +before one of her frenzied attacks. Occasionally, too, she pressed her hands +upon her head, and walking to the sink, bathed it in water, as if to cool its +inward heat; but she said nothing until Mary was about stepping into the buggy, +when she whispered in her ear, "If that novel should have an unprecedented run, +and of course it will, you would not mind sharing the profits with me, would +you?" +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> </div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a> +CHAPTER XIII.<br/> +A NEW HOME IN RICE CORNER.</h2> + +<p> +Very different this time was Mary's ride with Mr. Knight from what it had been +some months before, and after brushing away a few natural tears, and sending +back a few heart-sighs to the loved ones left behind, her spirits rallied, and +by the time they reached the borders of Rice Corner, there was such a look of +quiet happiness on her face that even Mr. Knight noticed it. +</p> + +<p> +"I'll be hanged if I know what to make of it," said he. "When you rid with me +afore, I thought you was about as ugly favored a child as I ever see, and now +you look full as well as they'll average. What you been doin'?" +</p> + +<p> +"Perhaps it's because I've had my teeth out," suggested Mary, and Mr. Knight, +with another scrutinizing look in her face, replied, "Wall, I guess 'tis that. +Teeth is good is their place, but when they git to achin', why, yank 'em out." +</p> + +<p> +So saying, he again relapsed into silence, and commenced whipping at the +thistle tops and dandelions. As they rode on, Mary fancied that the country +looked pleasanter and the houses better, than in the region of the poor-house; +and when a sudden turn of the road brought into view a beautiful blue sheet of +water, embosomed by bright green hills, her delight knew no bounds. Springing +up and pointing towards it, she exclaimed, "Oh, please stop a moment and look. +Isn't it lovely! What is it?" +</p> + +<p> +"That? Oh, that's nothing but 'Pordunk Pond, or as folks most generally call +'em, seem' there's two, North and South Pond." +</p> + +<p> +"But it's big enough to be a lake, isn't it?" asked Mary. +</p> + +<p> +"Why, yes," returned her companion. "It's better than five miles long, and a +mile or so wide, and in York State I s'pose they'd call it a lake, but here in +old Massachusetts we stick to fust principles, and call all things by their +right names." +</p> + +<p> +"How far is the pond from Mrs. Mason's?" asked Mary, casting longing glances +towards the distant sandy beach, and the graceful trees which drooped over the +water's edge. +</p> + +<p> +"It's farther back than 'tis there, 'cause it's uphill all the way," said Mr. +Knight, "but here we be at Miss Mason's,—this house right here," and he +pointed to a neat, handsome cottage, almost hidden from view by the dense +foliage which surrounded it. +</p> + +<p> +There was a long lawn in front, and into the carriage road on the right of it +Mr. Knight turned, and driving up to a side door; said to Mary, "Come, jump +down, for my foot is so lame I don't believe I'll get out. But there's your +chest. You can't lift that. Hallo, Judith, come 'ere." +</p> + +<p> +In answer to this call, a fat, pleasant-looking colored woman appeared in the +doorway, and as if fresh from the regions of cookdom, wiped the drops of +perspiration from her round jolly face. +</p> + +<p> +"Here, Judith," said Mr Knight, "help this gal lift her traps out." +</p> + +<p> +Judith complied, and then bidding old Charlotte to "get up," Mr. Knight drove +away, leaving Mary standing by the kitchen door. +</p> + +<p> +"Come in and sit down," said Judith, pushing a chair towards Mary with her +foot. "It's as hot here as oven, but I had crambry sass and ginger snaps, and +massy knows what to make this morning, and I got belated; but set down and make +yourself to home." +</p> + +<p> +Mary took the proffered seat, and then Judith left the room for a few moments, +saying when she returned, that as Mrs. Mason was still suffering from a +headache, she could not see Mary until after dinner. "And," continued Judith +"she told me to entertain you, but I don't know what to say, nor do first. +Harry died just a week to a day before he was to be married, and so I never had +any little girls to talk to. Can't you think of something to talk about? What +have you been used to doing?" +</p> + +<p> +"Washing dishes," was Mary's reply, after glancing about the room, and making +sure that on this occasion there were none to wash. +</p> + +<p> +"Wall," answered Judith, "I guess you won't have that to do here; for one night +when some of the neighbors were in, I heard Miss Mason tell 'em that she got +you to read to her and wait on her. And then she said something about your not +having an equal chance with your sister. You hain't but one, now t'other's +dead, have you?" +</p> + +<p> +Mary replied in the negative, and Judith continued: "Wall, now, you've got over +the first on't, I reckon you'se glad the baby's dead, for she must have been +kind of a bother, wasn't she?" +</p> + +<p> +Instantly Mary's thoughts flew back to an empty cradle, and again a little +golden head was pillowed upon her breast, as often in times past it had been, +and as it would never be again. Covering her face with her hands, she sobbed, +"Oh, Allie, Allie! I wish she hadn't died." +</p> + +<p> +Judith looked on in amazement, and for want of something better to do, placed a +fresh stick of wood in the stove, muttering to herself. "Now I never! I might +of knew I didn't know what to say. What a pity Harry died. I'll give her that +big ginger snap the minute it's baked. See if I don't." +</p> + +<p> +Accordingly, when the snap was done, Judith placed it in Mary's hands, bidding +her eat it quick, and then go up and see the nice chamber Mrs. Mason had +arranged for her. +</p> + +<p> +"If you please," said Mary, rapidly shifting the hot cake from one hand to the +other,—"if you please, I had rather go up now, and eat the cake when it +is cool." +</p> + +<p> +"Come, then," said Judith; and leading the way, she conducted Mary up the +staircase, and through a light, airy hall to the door of a small room, which +she opened, saying "Look, ain't it pretty?" +</p> + +<p> +But Mary's heart was too full to speak, and for several minutes she stood +silent. With the exception of her mother's pleasant parlor in Old England, she +had never before seen any thing which seemed to her so cosy and cheerful as did +that little room, with its single bed, snowy counterpane, muslin curtains, +clean matting, convenient toilet table, and what to her was fairer than all the +rest, upon the mantel-piece there stood two small vases, filled with sweet +spring flowers, whose fragrance filled the apartment with delicious perfume. +All this was so different from the bare walls, uncovered floors, and rickety +furniture of the poor-house, that Mary trembled lest it should prove a dream, +from which erelong she would awake. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, why is Mrs. Mason so kind to me?" was her mental exclamation; and as some +of our readers may ask the same question, we will explain to them that Mrs. +Mason was one of the few who "do to others as they would others should do to +them." +</p> + +<p> +Years before our story opens, she, too, was a lonely orphan, weeping in a +dreary garret, as ofttimes Mary had wept in the poor-house, and it was the +memory of those dark hours, which so warmed her heart towards the little girl +she had taken under her charge. From Jenny we have learned something of her +history. Once a happy, loving wife, surrounded by wealth and friends, she had +thought the world all bright and beautiful. But a change came over the spirit +of her dream. Her noble husband died,—and the day succeeding his burial, +she was told that their fortune, too, was gone. One by one, as misfortune came +upon her, did her fashionable friends desert her, until she was left alone, +with none to lean upon except the God of the widow and fatherless, and in Him +she found a strong help for her dark hour of need. Bravely she withstood the +storm, and when it was over, retired with the small remnant of her once large +fortune to the obscure neighborhood of Rice Corner, where with careful economy +she managed to live comfortably, besides saving a portion for the poor and +destitute. She had taken a particular fancy to Mary, and in giving her a home, +she had thought more of the good she could do the child, than of any benefit +she would receive from her services as waiting maid. She had fully intended to +go for Mary herself; but as we already know, was prevented by a severe +headache, and it was not until three o'clock in the afternoon, that she was +even able to see her at all. Then, calling Judith, she bade her bring the +little girl to her room, and leave them alone. +</p> + +<p> +Judith obeyed, charging Mary to "tread on tiptoe, and keep as still as a mouse, +for Miss Mason's head ached fit to split." +</p> + +<p> +This caution was unnecessary, for Mary had been so much accustomed to sick +persons that she knew intuitively just what to do and when to do it and her +step was so light, her voice so low, and the hand which bathed the aching head +so soft and gentle in its touch, that Mrs. Mason involuntarily drew her to her +bosom, and kissing her lips, called her her child, and said she should never +leave her then laying back in her easy chair, she remained perfectly still, +while Mary alternately fixed her hair, and smoothed her forehead until she fell +into a quiet slumber, from which she did not awake until Judith rang the bell +for supper, which was neatly laid out in a little dining parlor, opening into +the flower garden. There was something so very social and cheering in the +appearance of the room, and the arrangement of the table, with its glossy white +cloth, and dishes of the same hue, that Mary felt almost as much like weeping +as she did on the night of her arrival at the poor-house. But Mrs. Mason seemed +to know exactly how to entertain her; and by the time that first tea was over, +there was hardly a happier child in the world than was Mary. +</p> + +<p> +As soon as Mrs. Mason arose from the table, she, too, sprang up, and taking +hold of the dishes, removed them to the kitchen in a much shorter space of time +than was usually occupied by Judith. "Git away now," said that lady as she saw +Mary making preparations to wash the cups and saucers. "I never want any body +putterin' round under my feet. I always wash and wipe and scour my own things, +and then I know they are done." +</p> + +<p> +Accordingly, she returned to Mrs. Mason, who, wishing to retire early, soon +dismissed her to her own room, where she for some time amused herself with +watching the daylight as it gradually disappeared from the hills which lay +beyond the pond. Then when it all was gone, and the stars began to come out, +she turned her eyes towards one, which had always seemed to her to be her +mother's soul, looking down upon her from the windows of heaven. Now, to-night +there shone beside it a smaller, feebler one, and in the fleecy cloud which +floated around it, she fancied she could define the face of her baby sister. +Involuntarily stretching out her hands, she cried, "Oh, mother, Allie, I am so +happy now;" and to the child's imagination the stars smiled lovingly upon her, +while the evening wind, as it gently moved the boughs of the tall elm trees, +seemed like the rustle of angels' wings. Who shall say the mother's spirit was +not there to rejoice with her daughter over the glad future opening so brightly +before her? +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> </div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a> +CHAPTER XIV.<br/> +VISITORS.</h2> + +<p> +The Tuesday following Mary's arrival at Mrs. Mason's, there was a social +gathering at the house of Mr. Knight. This gathering could hardly be called a +tea party, but came more directly under the head of an "afternoon's visit," for +by two o'clock every guest had arrived, and the "north room" was filled with +ladies, whose tongues, like their hands, were in full play. Leathern reticules, +delicate embroidery, and gold thimbles were not then in vogue in Rice Corner; +but on the contrary, some of Mrs. Knight's visitors brought with them large, +old-fashioned work-bags, from which the ends of the polished knitting-needles +were discernible; while another apologized for the magnitude of her work, +saying that "her man had fretted about his trousers until she herself began to +think it was time to finish them; and so when she found Miss Mason wasn't to be +there, she had just brought them along." +</p> + +<p> +In spite of her uniform kindness, Mrs. Mason was regarded by some of her +neighbors as a bugbear, and this allusion to her immediately turned the +conversation in that direction. +</p> + +<p> +"Now, do tell," said Widow Perkins, vigorously rapping her snuff-box and +passing it around. "Now, do tell if it's true that Miss Mason has took a girl +from the town-house?" +</p> + +<p> +On being assured that such was the fact, she continued "Now I <i>will</i> give +up. Plagued as she is for things, what could have possessed her?" +</p> + +<p> +"I was not aware that she was very much troubled to live," said Mrs. Knight, +whose way of thinking, and manner of expressing herself, was entirely unlike +Mrs. Perkins. +</p> + +<p> +"Wall, she is," was Mrs. Perkins's reply; and then hitching her chair closer to +the group near her, and sinking her voice to a whisper, she added, "You mustn't +speak of it on any account, for I wouldn't have it go from me, but my Sally Ann +was over there t'other day, and neither Miss Mason nor Judy was to home. Sally +Ann has a sight of curiosity,—I don't know nothing under the sun where +she gets it, for I hain't a mite,—Wall, as I was tellin' you, there was +nobody to home, and Sally Ann she slips down cellar and peeks into the pork +barrel, and as true as you live, there warn't a piece there. Now, when country +folks get out of salt pork, they are what I call middlin' poor." +</p> + +<p> +And Mrs. Perkins finished her speech with the largest pinch of maccaboy she +could possibly hold between her thumb and forefinger. +</p> + +<p> +"Miss Perkins," said an old lady who was famous for occasionally rubbing the +widow down, "Miss Perkins, that's just as folks think. It's no worse to be out +of pork than 'tis to eat codfish the whole durin' time." +</p> + +<p> +This was a home thrust, for Mrs. Perkins, who always kept one or two boarders, +and among them the school-teacher was notorious for feeding them on codfish. +</p> + +<p> +Bridling up in a twinkling, her little gray eyes flashed fire as she replied, +"I s'pose it's me you mean, Miss Bates; but I guess I've a right to eat what +I'm a mind to. I only ask a dollar and ninepence a week for boarding the school +marm—" +</p> + +<p> +"And makes money at that," whispered a rosy-cheeked girlish-looking woman, who +the summer before had been the "school-marm," and who now bore the name of a +thrifty young farmer. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Perkins, however, did not notice this interruption but proceeded with, +"Yes, a dollar and ninepence is all I ever ask, and if I kept them so dreadful +slim, I guess the committee man wouldn't always come to me the first one." +</p> + +<p> +"Mrs. Perkins, here's the pint," said Mrs. Bates, dropping a stitch in her zeal +to explain matters; "you see the cheaper they get the school-ma'am boarded, the +further the money goes, and the longer school they have. Don't you understand +it?" +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Knight, fancying that affairs were assuming altogether too formidable an +aspect, adroitly turned the conversation upon the heroine of our story, saying +how glad she was that Mary had at last found so good a home. +</p> + +<p> +"So am I," said Mrs. Bates; "for we all know that Mrs. Mason will take just as +good care of her, as though she were her own; and she's had a mighty hard time +of it, knocked around there at the poor-house under Polly Grundy's thumb." +</p> + +<p> +"They do say," said Mrs. Perkins, whose anger had somewhat cooled, "They do say +that Miss Grundy is mowing a wide swath over there, and really expects to have +Mr. Parker, if his wife happens to die." +</p> + +<p> +In her girlhood Mrs. Perkins had herself fancied Mr. Parker, and now in her +widowhood, she felt an unusual interest in the failing health of his wife. No +one replied to her remark, and Mrs. Bates continued: "It really used to make my +heart ache to see the little forlorn thing sit there in the gallery, fixed up +so old and fussy, and then to see her sister prinked out like a milliner's show +window, a puckerin' and twistin', and if she happens to catch her sister's eye, +I have actually seen her turn up her nose at her,—so—" and Mrs. +Bates's nasal organ went up towards her eyebrows in imitation of the look which +Ella sometimes gave Mary. "It's wicked in me, perhaps," said Mrs. Bates, "but +pride must have a fall, and I do hope I shall live to see the day when Ella +Campbell won't be half as well off as her sister." +</p> + +<p> +"I think Mrs. Campbell is answerable for some of Ella's conduct," said Mrs. +Knight, "for I believe she suffered her to visit the poor-house but once while +Mary was there." +</p> + +<p> +"I guess she'll come oftener now she's living with a city bug," rejoined Mrs. +Perkins. +</p> + +<p> +Just then there was the sound of carriage wheels, and a woman near the door +exclaimed, "If you'll believe it there she is now, going right straight into +Mrs. Mason's yard." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, if that don't beat me," said Mrs. Perkins. "Seems to me I'd have waited +a little longer for look's sake. Can you see what she's got on from here?" and +the lady made a rush for the window to ascertain if possible that important +fact. +</p> + +<p> +Meantime the carriage steps were let down and Mrs. Campbell alighted. As Mrs. +Knight's guests had surmised, she was far more ready to visit Mary now than +heretofore. Ella, too, had been duly informed by her waiting-maid that she +needn't mind denying that she had a sister to the Boston girls who were +spending a summer in Chicopee. +</p> + +<p> +"To be sure," said Sarah, "she'll never be a fine lady like you and live in the +city; but then Mrs. Mason is a very respectable woman, and will no doubt put +her to a trade, which is better than being a town pauper; so you mustn't feel +above her any more, for it's wicked, and Mrs. Campbell wouldn't like it, for +you know she and I are trying to bring you up in the fear of the Lord." +</p> + +<p> +Accordingly Ella was prepared to greet her sister more cordially than she had +done before in a long time, and Mary that day took her first lesson in learning +that too often friends come and go with prosperity. But she did not think of it +then. She only knew that her sister's arm was around her neck, and her sister's +kiss upon her cheek. With a cry of joy, she exclaimed, "Oh, Ella, I knew you'd +be glad to find me so happy." +</p> + +<p> +But Ella wasn't particularly glad. She was too thoroughly heartless to care for +any one except herself, and her reception of her sister was more the result of +Sarah's lesson, and of a wish expressed by Mrs. Campbell, that she would "try +and behave as well as she could towards Mary." Mrs. Campbell, too, kissed the +little girl, and expressed her pleasure at finding her so pleasantly situated; +and then dropping languidly upon the sofa, asked for Mrs. Mason, who soon +appeared, and received her visitor with her accustomed politeness. +</p> + +<p> +"And so you, too, have cared for the orphan," said Mrs. Campbell. "Well, you +will find it a task to rear her as she should be reared, but a consciousness of +doing right makes every thing seem easy. My dear, (speaking to Ella,) run out +and play awhile with your sister, I wish to see Mrs. Mason alone." +</p> + +<p> +"You may go into the garden," said Mrs. Mason to Mary, who arose to obey; but +Ella hung back, saying she 'didn't want to go,—the garden was all nasty, +and she should dirty her clothes." +</p> + +<p> +"But, my child," said Mrs. Campbell, "I wish to have you go, and you love to +obey me, do you not?" +</p> + +<p> +Still Ella hesitated, and when Mary took hold of her hand, she jerked it away, +saying, "Let me be." +</p> + +<p> +At last she was persuaded to leave the room, but on reaching the hall she +stopped, and to Mary's amazement applied her ear to the keyhole. +</p> + +<p> +"I guess I know how to cheat her," said she in a whisper. "I've been sent off +before, but I listened and heard her talk about me." +</p> + +<p> +"Talk about you!" repeated Mary. "What did she say?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, 'set me up,' as Sarah says," returned Ella; and Mary, who had never had +the advantage of a waiting maid, and who consequently was not so well posted on +"slang terms," asked what "setting up" meant. +</p> + +<p> +"Why," returned Ella, "she tells them how handsome and smart I am, and repeats +some cunning thing I've said or done; and sometimes she tells it right before +me, and that's why I didn't want to come out." +</p> + +<p> +This time, however, Mrs. Campbell's conversation related more particularly to +Mary. +</p> + +<p> +"My dear Mrs. Mason," she began, "you do not know how great a load you have +removed from my mind by taking Mary from the poor-house." +</p> + +<p> +"I can readily understand," said Mrs. Mason, "why you should feel more than a +passing interest in the sister of your adopted daughter, and I assure you I +shall endeavor to treat her just as I would wish a child of mine treated, were +it thrown upon the wide world." +</p> + +<p> +"Of course you will," returned Mrs. Campbell, "and I only wish you had it in +your power to do more for her, and in this perhaps I am selfish. I felt badly +about her being in the poor-house, but truth compels me to say, that it was +more on Ella's account than her own. I shall give Ella every advantage which +money can purchase, and I am excusable I think for saying that she is admirably +fitted to adorn any station in life; therefore it cannot but be exceedingly +mortifying to her to know that one sister died a pauper and the other was one +for a length of time. This, however, can not be helped, and now, as I said +before I only wish it were in your power to do more for Mary. I, of course, +know that you are poor, but I do not think less of you for that—" +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Mason's body became slightly more erect, but she made no reply, and Mrs. +Campbell continued. +</p> + +<p> +"Still I hope you will make every exertion in your power to educate and polish +Mary as much as possible, so that if by chance Ella in after years should come +in contact with her, she would not feel,—ahem,—would +not,—would not be—" +</p> + +<p> +"Ashamed to own her sister, I suppose you would say," interrupted Mrs. Mason. +"Ashamed to acknowledge that the same blood flowed in her veins, that the same +roof once sheltered them, and that the same mother bent lovingly over their +pillows, calling them her children." +</p> + +<p> +"Why, not exactly that," said Mrs. Campbell, fidgeting in her chair and growing +very red. "I think there is a difference between feeling mortified and ashamed. +Now you must know that Ella would not be particularly pleased to have a homely, +stupid, rawboned country girl pointed out as her sister to a circle of +fashionable acquaintances in Boston, where I intend taking her as soon as her +education is finished; and I think it well enough for Mary to understand, that +with the best you can do for her there will still be a great difference between +her own and her sister's position." +</p> + +<p> +"Excuse me, madam," again interrupted Mrs. Mason, "a stupid, awkward country +girl Mary is not, and never will be. In point of intellect she is far superior +to her sister, and possesses more graceful and lady-like manners. Instead of +Ella's being ashamed of her, I fancy it will be just the reverse, unless your +daughter's foolish vanity and utter selfishness is soon checked. Pardon me for +being thus plain, but in the short time Mary has been with me, I have learned +to love her, and my heart already warms towards her as towards a daughter, and +I cannot calmly hear her spoken of so contemptuously." +</p> + +<p> +During this conversation, Ella had remained listening at the keyhole, and as +the voices grew louder and more earnest, Mary, too, distinguished what they +said. She was too young to appreciate it fully, but she understood enough to +wound her deeply; and as she just then heard Ella say there was a carriage +coming, she sprang up the stairs, and entering her own room, threw herself upon +the bed and burst into tears. Erelong a little chubby face looked in at the +door, and a voice which went to Mary's heart, exclaimed, +"Why-ee,—Mary,—crying the first time I come to see you!" +</p> + +<p> +It was Jenny, and in a moment the girls were in each other's arms. +</p> + +<p> +"Rose has gone to the garden with Ella," said Jenny, "but she told me where to +find you, and I came right up here. Oh, what a nice little room, so different +from mine with my things scattered every where. But what is the matter? Don't +you like to live with Mrs. Mason?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, very much," answered Mary. "It isn't that," and then she told what she +had overheard. +</p> + +<p> +"It's perfectly ridiculous and out of character for Mrs. Campbell to talk so," +said Jenny, looking very wise. "And it's all, false, too. You are not stupid, +nor awkward, nor very homely either; Billy Bender says so, and he knows. I saw +him this morning, and he talked ever so much about you. Next fall he's going to +Wilbraham to study Latin and Chinese too, I believe, I don't know though. Henry +laughs and says, 'a plough-jogger study Latin!' But I guess Billy will some day +be a bigger man than Henry don't you?" +</p> + +<p> +Mary was sure of it; and then Jenny proceeded to open her budget of news +concerning the inmates of the poor-house. "Sal Furbush," said she, "is raving +crazy now you are gone, and they had to shut her up, but yesterday she broke +away and came over to our house. Tasso was with her, and growled so at Henry +that he ran up garret, and then, like a great hateful, threw bricks at the dog. +I told Sally I was coming to see you, and she said, 'Ask her if she has taken +the first step towards the publication of my novel. Tell her, too, that the +Glory of Israel has departed, and that I would drown myself if it were not for +my clothes, which I fear Mrs. Grundy would wear out!'" +</p> + +<p> +Here Rose called to her sister to come down, and accordingly the two girls +descended together to the parlor, where they found Mrs. Lincoln. She was riding +out, she said, and had just stopped a moment to inquire after Mrs. Mason's +health and to ask for a <i>very few</i> flowers,—they did look so +tempting! She was of course perfectly delighted to meet Mrs. Campbell, and Mrs. +Campbell was perfectly delighted to meet her; and drawing their chairs +together, they conversed for a long time about Mrs. So and So, who either had +come, or was coming from Boston to spend the summer. +</p> + +<p> +"I am so glad," said Mrs. Lincoln, "for we need some thing to keep us alive. I +don't see, Mrs. Campbell, how you manage to live here through the winter, no +society nor any thing." +</p> + +<p> +Here Mrs. Mason ventured to ask if there were not some very pleasant and +intelligent ladies in the village. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, ye-es," said Mrs. Lincoln, with a peculiar twist to her mouth, which Jenny +said she always used when she was "putting on." "They are well enough, but they +are not the kind of folks we would recognize at home. At least they don't +belong to 'our set,'" speaking to Mrs. Campbell who replied, "Oh, certainly +not." It was plain even to a casual observer that Mrs. Lincoln's was the ruling +spirit to which Mrs. Campbell readily yielded, thinking that so perfect a model +of gentility could not err. Mr. Knight possibly might have enlightened her a +little with regard to her friend's pedigree, but he was not present, and for +half an hour more the two ladies talked together of their city acquaintances, +without once seeming to remember that Mrs. Mason, too, had formerly known them +all intimately. At last Mrs. Lincoln arose, saying she must go, as she had +already stopped much longer than she intended, "but when I get with you," said +she, turning to Mrs. Campbell, "I never know when to leave." +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Mason invited her to remain to tea, saying it was nearly ready. Mrs. +Campbell, who had also arisen, waited for Mrs. Lincoln to decide, which she +soon did by reseating herself and saying, laughingly, "I don't know but I'll +stay for a taste of those delicious looking strawberries I saw your servant +carry past the window." +</p> + +<p> +Erelong the little tea-bell rang, and Mrs. Lincoln, who had not before spoken +to Mary, now turned haughtily towards her, requesting her to watch while they +were at supper and see if the coachman did not drive off with the horses as he +sometimes did. Mary could not trust herself to reply for she had agreed to sit +next Jenny at table, and had in her own mind decided to give her little friend +her share of berries. She glanced once at Mrs. Mason, who apparently did not +notice her, and then gulping down her tears, took her station by the window, +where she could see the coachman who, instead of meditating a drive around the +neighborhood was fast asleep upon the box. Jenny did not miss her companion +until she was sitting down to the table, and then noticing an empty plate +between herself and her mother, who managed to take up as much room as +possible, she rather impolitely called out, "Here, mother, sit along and make +room for Mary. That's her place. Why, where is she? Mrs. Mason, may I call +her?" +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Mason, who had seen and heard more than Mary fancied, and who in seating +her guests had contrived to bring Mary's plate next to Mrs. Lincoln, nodded, +and Jenny springing up ran to the parlor, where Mary stood counting flies, +looking up at the ceiling, and trying various other ways to keep from crying. +Seizing both her hands Jenny almost dragged her into the dining-room, where she +found it rather difficult squeezing in between her mother and Rose, whose +elbows took up much more room than was necessary. A timely <i>pinch</i>, +however, duly administered, sent the young lady along an inch or so, and Jenny +and Mary were at last fairly seated. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Lincoln reddened,—Mrs. Campbell looked concerned,—Mrs. Mason +amused,—Rose angry,—Mary mortified,—while Ella, who was not +quick enough to understand, did not look at all except at her strawberries, +which disappeared rapidly. Then in order to attract attention, she scraped her +saucer as loudly as possible; but for once Mrs. Mason was very obtuse, not even +taking the hint when Mrs. Campbell removed a portion of her own fruit to the +plate of the pouting child, bidding her "eat something besides berries." +</p> + +<p> +After a time Mrs. Lincoln thought proper to break the silence which she had +preserved, and taking up her fork said, "You have been buying some new silver, +haven't you?" +</p> + +<p> +"They were a present to me from my friend, Miss Martha Selden," was Mrs. +Mason's reply. +</p> + +<p> +"Possible!" said Mrs. Campbell. +</p> + +<p> +"Indeed!" said Mrs. Lincoln, and again closely examining the fork, she +continued, "Aunt Martha is really getting liberal in her old age. But then I +suppose she thinks Ida is provided for, and there'll be no particular need of +her money in that quarter." +</p> + +<p> +"Provided for? How?" asked Mrs. Mason, and Mrs Lincoln answered, "Why didn't +you know that Mr. Selden's orphan nephew, George Moreland, had come over from +England to live with him? He is heir to a large fortune, and it is said that +both Mr. Selden and Aunt Martha are straining every nerve to eventually bring +about a match between George and Ida." +</p> + +<p> +There was no reason why Mary should blush at the mention of George Moreland, +still she did do so, while Jenny slyly stepped upon her toes. But her +embarrassment was unobserved, for what did she, a pauper girl, know or care +about one whose future destiny, and wife too, were even then the subject of +more than one scheming mother's speculations. Mrs. Mason smiled, and said she +thought it very much like child's play, for if she remembered rightly Ida +couldn't be more than thirteen or fourteen. +</p> + +<p> +"About that," returned Mrs. Lincoln; "but the young man is +older,—eighteen or nineteen, I think." +</p> + +<p> +"No, mother," interrupted Jenny, who was as good at keeping ages as some old +women, "he isn't but seventeen." +</p> + +<p> +"Really," rejoined Mrs. Campbell, "I wouldn't wonder if our little Jenny had +some designs on him herself, she is so anxious to make him out young." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, fy," returned Jenny. "He can't begin with Billy Bender!" +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Lincoln frowned, and turning to her daughter, said 'I have repeatedly +requested, and now I command you not to bring up Billy Bender in comparison +with every thing and every body." +</p> + +<p> +"And pray, who is Billy Bender?" asked Mrs. Mason, and Mrs. Lincoln replied, +"Why, he's a great rough, over grown country boy, who used to work for Mr. +Lincoln, and now he's on the town farm, I believe." +</p> + +<p> +"But he's <i>working</i> there," said Jenny, "and he's going to get money +enough to go to school next fall at Wilbraham; and I heard father say he +deserved a great deal of credit for it and that men that made themselves, or +else men that didn't, I've forgot which, were always the smartest." +</p> + +<p> +Here the older portion of the company laughed, and Mrs. Lincoln, bidding her +daughter not to try to tell any thing unless she could get it straight, again +resumed the subject of the silver forks, saying to Mrs. Mason, "I should think +you'd be so glad. For my part I'm perfectly wedded to a silver fork, and +positively I could not eat without one." +</p> + +<p> +"But, mother," interrupted Jenny, "Grandma Howland hasn't any, and I don't +believe she ever had, for once when we were there and you carried yours to eat +with, don't you remember she showed you a little two tined one, and asked if +the victuals didn't taste just as good when you lived at home and worked in +the,—that great big noisy building,—I forget the name of it?" +</p> + +<p> +It was fortunate for Jenny's after happiness that Mrs. Campbell was just then +listening intently for something which Ella was whispering in her ear, +consequently she did not hear the remark, which possibly might have enlightened +her a little with regard to her friend's early days. Tea being over, the ladies +announced their intention of leaving, and Mrs. Mason, recollecting Mrs. +Lincoln's request for flowers, invited them into the garden, where she bade +them help themselves. It required, however, almost a martyr's patience for her +to stand quietly by, while her choicest flowers were torn from their stalks, +and it was with a sigh of relief that she finally listened to the roll of the +wheels which bore her guests away. +</p> + +<p> +Could she have listened to their remarks, as on a piece of wide road their +carriages kept side by side for a mile or more, she would probably have felt +amply repaid for her flowers and trouble too. +</p> + +<p> +"Dear me," said Mrs. Campbell, "I never could live in such a lonely out of the +way place." +</p> + +<p> +"Nor I either," returned Mrs. Lincoln, "but I think Mrs. Mason appears more at +home here than in the city. I suppose you know she was a poor girl when Mr. +Mason married her, and such people almost always show their breeding. Still she +is a good sort of a woman, and it is well enough to have some such nice place +to visit and get fruit. Weren't those delicious berries, and ain't these +splendid rosebuds?" +</p> + +<p> +"I guess, though," said Jenny, glancing at her mother's huge bouquet, "Mrs. +Mason didn't expect you to gather quite so many. And Rose, too, trampled down a +beautiful lily without ever apologizing." +</p> + +<p> +"And what if I did?" retorted Rose. "She and that girl have nothing to do but +fix it up." +</p> + +<p> +This allusion to Mary, reminded Mrs. Campbell of her conversation with Mrs. +Mason, and laughingly she repeated it. "I never knew before," said she, "that +Mrs. Mason had so much spirit. Why, she really seemed quite angry, and tried +hard to make Mary out beautiful, and graceful, and all that." +</p> + +<p> +"And," chimed in Ella, who was angry at Mrs. Mason for defending her sister, +and angry at her sister for being defended, "don't you think she said that Mary +ought to be ashamed of me." +</p> + +<p> +"Is it possible she was so impudent!" said Mrs. Lincoln; "I wish I had been +present, I would have spoken my mind freely, but so much one gets for +patronizing such creatures." +</p> + +<p> +Here the road became narrow, and as the western sky showed indications of a +storm, the coachmen were told to drive home as soon as possible. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Campbell's advice with regard to Mary, made no difference whatever with +Mrs. Mason's plans. She had always intended doing for her whatever she could, +and knowing that a good education was of far more value than money, she +determined to give her every advantage which lay in her power. There was that +summer a most excellent school in Rice Corner, and as Mrs. Mason had +fortunately no prejudices against a district school, where so many of our best +and greatest men have been educated, she resolved to send her little +protegé, as soon as her wardrobe should be in a suitable condition. +Accordingly in a few days Mary became a regular attendant at the old brown +school-house, where for a time we will leave her, and passing silently over a +period of several years, again in another chapter open the scene in the +metropolis of the "Old Bay State." +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> </div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a> +CHAPTER XV.<br/> +THE THREE YOUNG MEN</h2> + +<p> +It was beginning to be daylight in the city of Boston; and as the gray east +gradually brightened and grew red in the coming of day, a young man looked out +upon the busy world around him, with that feeling of utter loneliness which one +so often feels in a great city where all is new and strange to him. Scarcely +four weeks had passed since the notes of a tolling bell had fallen sadly upon +his ear, and he had looked into a grave where they laid his mother to her last +dreamless rest. A prevailing fever had effected what the fancied ailments of +years had failed to do, and Billy Bender was now an orphan, and alone in the +wide world. He knew that he had his own fortune to make, and after settling his +mother's affairs and finding there was nothing left for him, he had come to the +city, and on the morning which we have mentioned went forth alone to look for +employment, with no other recommendation than the frank, honest expression of +his handsome face. It was rather discouraging, wearisome work, and Billy's +heart began to misgive him as one after another refused his request. +</p> + +<p> +"It was foolish in me to attempt it," thought he, as he stopped once more in +front of a large wholesale establishment on M—— street. +</p> + +<p> +Just then his eye caught the sign on which was lettered, "R.J. Selden & +Co." The name sounded familiar, and something whispered to him to enter. He did +so, and meeting in the doorway a tall, elegant-looking young man, he asked for +Mr. Selden. +</p> + +<p> +"My uncle," returned the gentleman, who was none other than George Moreland, +"has not yet come down, but perhaps I can answer your purpose just as well. Do +you wish to purchase goods?" +</p> + +<p> +Billy, thinking that every one must know his poverty, fancied there was +something satirical in the question, but he was mistaken; the manner was +natural to the speaker, who, as Billy made no direct reply, again asked. "What +would you like, sir?" +</p> + +<p> +"Something to do, for I have neither money nor home," was Billy's prompt +answer. +</p> + +<p> +"Will you give me your name?" asked George. +</p> + +<p> +Billy complied, and when he spoke of his native town, George repeated it after +him, saying, "I have some acquaintances who spend the summer in Chicopee; but +you probably have never known them." +</p> + +<p> +Immediately Billy thought of the Lincolns, and now knew why the name of Selden +seemed so familiar. He had heard Jenny speak of Ida, and felt certain that R.J. +Selden was her father. +</p> + +<p> +For a moment George regarded him intently, and then said, "We seldom employ +strangers without a recommendation; still I do not believe you need any. My +uncle is wanting a young man, but the work may hardly suit you," he added, +naming the duties he would be expected to perform, which certainly were rather +menial. Still, as the wages were liberal, and he would have considerable +leisure, Billy, for want of a better, accepted the situation, and was +immediately introduced to his business. For some time he only saw George at a +distance, but was told by one of the clerks that he was just graduated at Yale, +and was now a junior partner in his uncle's establishment. "We all like him +very much," said the clerk, "he is so pleasant and kind, though a little proud, +I guess." +</p> + +<p> +This was all that Billy knew of him until he had been in Mr. Selden's +employment nearly three weeks; then, as he was one day poring over a volume of +Horace which he had brought with him, George, who chanced to pass by, looked +over his shoulder, exclaiming, "Why, Bender, can you read Latin? Really this is +a novelty. Are you fond of books?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, very," said Billy, "though I have but a few of my own." +</p> + +<p> +"Fortunately then I can accommodate you," returned George, "for I have a +tolerably good library, to which you can at any time have access. Suppose you +come round to my uncle's to-night. Never mind about thanking me," he added, as +he saw Billy about to speak; "I hate to be thanked, so to-night at eight +o'clock I shall expect you." +</p> + +<p> +Accordingly that evening Billy started for Mr. Selden's. George, who wished to +save him from any embarrassment, answered his ring himself, and immediately +conducted him to his room, where for an hour or so they discussed their +favorite books and authors. At, last, George, astonished at Billy's general +knowledge of men and things, exclaimed, "Why, Bender. I do believe you are +almost as good a scholar as I, who have been through college. Pray how does it +happen?" +</p> + +<p> +In a few words Billy explained that he had been in the habit of working +summers, and going to school at Wilbraham winters; and then, as it was nearly +ten, he hastily gathered up the books which George had kindly loaned him, and +took his leave. As he was descending the broad stairway he met a young girl +fashionably dressed, who stared at him in some surprise and then passed on, +wondering no doubt how one of his evident caste came to be in the front part of +the house. In the upper hall she encountered George, and asked of him who the +stranger was. +</p> + +<p> +"His name is Bender, and he came from Chicopee," answered George. +</p> + +<p> +"Bender from Chicopee," repeated Ida. "Why I wonder if it isn't the Billy +Bender about whom Jenny Lincoln has gone almost mad." +</p> + +<p> +"I think not," returned her cousin, "for Mrs. Lincoln would hardly suffer her +daughter to <i>mention</i> a poor boy's name, much less to go mad about him." +</p> + +<p> +"But," answered Ida, "he worked on Mr. Lincoln's farm when Jenny was a little +girl; and now that she is older she talks of him nearly all the time, and Rose +says it would not surprise her if she should some day run off with him." +</p> + +<p> +"Possibly it is the same," returned George. "Any way, he is very fine-looking, +and a fine fellow too, besides being an excellent scholar." +</p> + +<p> +The next day, when Billy chanced to be alone, George approached him, and after +making some casual remarks about the books he had borrowed, &c., he said, +"Did you ever see Jenny Lincoln in Chicopee?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, yes," answered Billy, brightening up, for Jenny had always been and still +was a great favorite with him; "Oh, yes, I know Jenny very well. I worked for +her father some years ago, and became greatly interested in her." +</p> + +<p> +"Indeed? Then you must know Henry Lincoln?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, I know him," said Billy; while George continued, "And think but little of +him of course?" +</p> + +<p> +On this subject Billy was noncommittal. He had no cause for liking Henry, but +would not say so to a comparative stranger, and at last he succeeded in +changing the conversation. George was about moving away, when observing a +little old-fashioned looking book lying upon one of the boxes, he took it up +and turning to the fly-leaf read the name of "Frank Howard." +</p> + +<p> +"Frank Howard! Frank Howard!" he repeated; "where have I heard that name? Who +is he, Bender?" +</p> + +<p> +"He was a little English boy I once, loved very much; but he is dead now," +answered Billy; and George, with a suddenly awakened curiosity, said, "Tell me +about him and his family, will you?" +</p> + +<p> +Without dreaming that George had ever seen them, Billy told the story of +Frank's sickness and death,—of the noble conduct of his little sister, +who, when there was no other alternative, went cheerfully to the poor-house, +winning by her gentle ways the love of those unused to love, and taming the +wild mood of a maniac until she was harmless as a child. As he proceeded with +his story, George became each moment more and more interested, and when at last +there was a pause, he asked, "And is Mary in the poor-house now?" +</p> + +<p> +"I have not mentioned her name, and pray how came you to know it?" said Billy +in some surprise. +</p> + +<p> +In a few words George related the particulars of his acquaintance with the +Howards, and then again asked where both Mary and Ella were. +</p> + +<p> +Billy replied that for a few years back Mary had lived with a Mrs. Mason, while +Ella, at the time of her mother's death had been adopted by Mrs. Campbell. +"But," said he, "I never think of Ella in connection with Mary, they are so +unlike; Ella is proud and vain and silly, and treats her sister with the utmost +rudeness, though Mary is far more agreeable and intelligent, and as I think the +best looking." +</p> + +<p> +"She must have changed very much," answered George; "for if I remember rightly, +she was not remarkable for personal beauty." +</p> + +<p> +"She hasn't a silly, doll baby's face, but there isn't a finer looking girl in +Chicopee, no, nor in Boston either," returned Billy, with so much warmth and +earnestness that George laughed aloud, saying, "Why, really, Bender, you are +more eloquent on the subject of female beauty than I supposed you to be; but go +on; tell me more of her. Is she at all refined or polished?" +</p> + +<p> +"I dare say she would not meet with <i>your</i> ideas of a lady," answered +Billy; "but she does mine exactly, for she possesses more natural refinement +and delicacy than two thirds of the city belles." +</p> + +<p> +"Really, I am getting quite interested in her," said George. "How is her +education?" +</p> + +<p> +"Good, very good," returned Billy, adding that she was now teaching in Rice +Corner, hoping to earn money enough to attend some seminary in the fall. +</p> + +<p> +"Teaching!" repeated George; "why she can't be over sixteen." +</p> + +<p> +He was going to say more, when some one slapped him rudely on the shoulder, +calling out, "How are you, old feller, and what is there in Boston to interest +such a scapegrace as I am?" +</p> + +<p> +Looking up, Billy saw before him Henry Lincoln, exquisitely dressed, but +bearing in his appearance evident marks of dissipation. +</p> + +<p> +"Why, Henry," exclaimed George, "how came you here? I supposed you were drawing +lampblack caricatures of some one of the tutors in old Yale. What's the matter? +What have you been doing?" +</p> + +<p> +"Why you see," answered Henry, drawing his cigar from his mouth and squirting, +by accident of course, a quantity of spittle over Billy's nicely blacked shoes; +"Why you see one of the sophs got his arm broken in a row, and as I am so +tender-hearted and couldn't bear to hear him groan, to say nothing of his +swearing, the faculty kindly advised me to leave, and sent on before me a +recommendation to the old man. But, egad I fixed 'em. I told 'em he was in +Boston, whereas he's in Chicopee, so I just took the letter from the office +myself. It reads beautifully. Do you understand?" +</p> + +<p> +All this time, in spite of the tobacco juice, Henry had apparently taken no +notice of Billy, whom George now introduced, saying, he believed they were old +acquaintances. With the coolest effrontery Henry took from his pocket a +quizzing glass and applying it to his eye, said, "I've absolutely studied until +I'm near-sighted, but I don't think I ever met this chap before." +</p> + +<p> +"Perhaps, sir," said Billy haughtily, "it may refresh your memory a little to +know that I was once the owner of Tasso!" +</p> + +<p> +"Blast the brute," muttered Henry, meaning Billy quite as much as the dog; then +turning to George, he asked, "how long the <i>old folks</i> had been in +Chicopee." +</p> + +<p> +"Several weeks, I think," answered George; and then, either because he wanted +to hear what Henry would say, or because of a re-awakened interest in Mary +Howard, he continued, "By the way. Henry, when you came so unceremoniously upon +us, we were speaking of a young girl in Chicopee whom you have perhaps ferreted +out ere this, as Bender says she is fine looking." +</p> + +<p> +Henry stroked his whiskers, which had received far more cultivation than his +brains, stuck his hat on one side, and answered. "Why, yes, I suppose that in +my way I am some thing of a b'hoy with the fair sex, but really I do not now +think of more than one handsome girl in Chicopee, and that is Ella Campbell, +but she is young yet, not as old as Jenny—altogether too small fry for +Henry Lincoln, Esq. But who is the girl?" +</p> + +<p> +Billy frowned, for he held Mary's name as too sacred to be breathed by a young +man of Henry Lincoln's character; while George replied, "Her name is Mary +Howard." +</p> + +<p> +"What, the pauper?" asked Henry, looking significantly at Billy, who replied, +"The same, sir." +</p> + +<p> +"Whew-ew," whistled Henry, prolonging the diphthong to an unusual length. "Why, +she's got two teeth at least a foot long, and her face looks as though she had +just been in the vinegar barrel, and didn't like the taste of it." +</p> + +<p> +"But without joking, though, how does she look?" asked George; while Billy made +a movement as if he would help the insolent puppy to find his level. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, now, old boy," returned Henry, "I'll tell you honestly, that the last +time I saw her, I was surprised to find how much she was improved. She has +swallowed those abominable teeth, or done something with them, and is really +quite decent looking. In short," he continued, with a malicious leer at Billy, +which made the blood tingle to his finger's end, "In short, she'll do very well +for a city buck like me to play the mischief with for a summer or so, and then +cast off like an old coat." +</p> + +<p> +There was a look in Billy's eye as Henry finished this speech which decided +that young man to make no further remarks concerning Mary, and swaggering +towards the door he added, "Well, Moreland, when will you come round and take a +horn of brandy? Let me know, and I'll have in some of the bloods." +</p> + +<p> +"Thank you," said George, "I never use the article." +</p> + +<p> +"I beg your pardon," returned Henry, in a tone of mock humility. "I remember +now that you've taken to carrying a Prayer Book as big as an old woman's +moulding board, and manage to come out behind in the service about three or +four lines so as to be distinctly heard; but I suppose you think it pleases the +old gent your uncle, and that furthers your cause with the daughter. By the +way, present my compliments to Miss Selden, and ask her if she has any word to +send to Chicopee, for I'll have to go there by and by, though I hate to +mightily, for it'll be just like the old man to put me through in the hay +field; and if there's any thing I abominate, it's work." +</p> + +<p> +So saying, he took his leave. Just then there was a call for Mr. Moreland, who +also departed, leaving Billy alone. +</p> + +<p> +"It is very strange that she never told me she knew him," thought he; and then +taking from his pocket a neatly folded letter, he again read it through. But +there was nothing in it about George, except the simple words, "I am glad you +have found a friend in Mr. Moreland. I am sure I should like him, just because +he is kind to you." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, she's forgotten him," said Billy, and that belief gave him secret +satisfaction. He had known Mary long and the interest he had felt in her when a +homely, neglected child, had not in the least decreased as the lapse of time +gradually ripened her into a fine, intelligent-looking girl. He was to her a +brother still, but she to him was dearer far than a sister; and though in his +letters he always addressed her as such, in his heart he claimed her as +something nearer, and yet he had never breathed in her ear a word of love, or +hinted that it was for her sake he toiled both early and late, hoarding up his +earnings with almost a miser's care that she might be educated. +</p> + +<p> +Regularly each week she wrote to him, and it was the receipt of these letters, +and the thoughts of her that kept his heart so brave and cheerful, as, alone +and unappreciated, except by George, he worked on, dreaming of a bright future, +when the one great object of his life should be realized. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> </div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a> +CHAPTER XVI.<br/> +THE SCHOOL-MISTRESS.</h2> + +<p> +In the old brown school-house, overshadowed by apple-trees and sheltered on the +west by a long steep hill, where the acorns and wild grapes grew, Mary Howard +taught her little flock of twenty-five, coaxing some, urging others, and +teaching them all by her kind words and winsome ways to love her as they had +never before loved an instructor. +</p> + +<p> +When first she was proposed as a teacher in Rice Corner, Widow Perkins, and a +few others who had no children to send, held up their hands in amazement, +wondering "what the world was comin' to, and if the committee man, Mr. Knight, +s'posed they was goin' to be rid over rough-shod by a town pauper; but she +couldn't get a <i>stifficut</i>, for the Orthodox minister wouldn't give her +one; and if he did, the Unitarian minister wouldn't!" +</p> + +<p> +Accordingly, when it was known that the ordeal had been passed, and that Mary +had in her possession a piece of paper about three inches square, authorizing +her to teach a common district school, this worthy conclave concluded that +"either every body had lost their senses, or else Miss Mason, who was present +at the examination, had sat by and whispered in her ear the answers to all hard +questions." "In all my born days I never seen any thing like it," said the +widow, as she distributed her green tea, sweetened with brown sugar, to a party +of ladies, which she was entertaining "But you'll see, she won't keep her time +more'n half out.—Sally Ann, pass them nutcakes.—Nobody's goin' to +send their children to a pauper. There's Miss Bradley says she'll take her'n +out the first time they get licked.—Have some more sass, Miss Dodge. I +want it eat up, for I believe it's a workin',—but I telled her that +warn't the trouble; Mary's too softly to hurt a miskeeter. And so young too. +It's government she'll lack in.—If any body'll have a piece of this dried +apple pie, I'll cut it." +</p> + +<p> +Of course, nobody wanted a piece, and one of the ladies, continuing the +conversation, said she supposed Mary would of course board with Mrs. Mason. The +tea-pot lid, which chanced to be off, went on with a jerk, and with the air of +a much injured woman the widow replied: "Wall, I can tell her this much, it's +no desirable job to board the school-marm, though any body can see that's all +made her so anxious for Mary to have the school. She's short on't, and wants a +little money. Do any on you know how much she charges?" +</p> + +<p> +Nobody knew, but a good many "guessed she didn't charge any thing," and the +widow, rising from the table and telling Sally Ann to "rense the sass dishes, +and pour it in the vinegar bottle," led her guests back to the best room, +saying, "a dollar and ninepence (her usual price) was next to nothing, but +she'd warrant Miss Mason had more'n that" +</p> + +<p> +Fortunately, Mary knew nothing of Mrs. Perkins's displeasure, and never dreamed +that any feeling existed towards her, save that of perfect friendship. Since we +last saw her, she had grown into a fine, healthy-looking girl. Her face and +figure were round and full, and her complexion, though still rather pale, was +clear as marble, contrasting well with her dark brown hair and eyes, which no +longer seemed unnaturally large. Still she was not beautiful, it is true, and +yet Billy was not far from right when he called her the finest looking girl in +Chicopee; and it was for this reason, perhaps, that Mrs. Campbell watched her +with so much jealousy. +</p> + +<p> +Every possible pains had been taken with Ella's education. The best teachers +had been hired to instruct her, and she was now at a fashionable seminary, but +still she did not possess one half the ease and gracefulness of manner, which +seemed natural to her sister. Since the day of that memorable visit, the two +girls had seen but little of each other. Ella would not forgive Mrs. Mason for +praising Mary, nor forgive Mary for being praised; and as Mrs. Campbell, too +pretended to feel insulted, the intercourse between the families gradually +ceased; and oftentimes when Ella met her sister, she merely acknowledged her +presence by a nod, or a simple "how d'ye do?" +</p> + +<p> +When she heard that Mary was to be a teacher, she said "she was glad, for it +was more respectable than going into a factory, or working out." Mrs. Campbell, +too, felt in duty bound to express her pleasure, adding, that "she hoped Mary +would give satisfaction, but 'twas extremely doubtful, she was <i>so</i> young, +and possessed of so little dignity!" +</p> + +<p> +Unfortunately, Widow Perkins's red cottage stood directly opposite the +school-house; and as the widow belonged to that stirring few who always "wash +the breakfast dishes, and make the beds before any one is up in the house," she +had ample leisure to watch and report the proceedings of the new teacher. Now +Mrs. Perkins's clock was like its mistress, always half an hour in advance of +the true time and Mary had scarcely taught a week ere Mr. Knight, "the +committee man," was duly hailed in the street, and told that the 'school-marm +wanted lookin' to, for she didn't begin no mornin' till half-past nine, nor no +afternoon till half past one! "Besides that," she added, "I think she gives 'em +too long a play spell. Any ways, seem's ef some on em was out o'door the hull +time." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Knight had too much good sense to heed the widow's complaints, and he +merely replied, "I'm glad on't. Five hours is enough to keep little shavers +cramped up in the house,—glad on't." +</p> + +<p> +The widow, thus foiled in her attempts at making disturbance, finally gave up +the strife, contenting herself with quizzing the older girls, and asking them +if Mary could do all the hard sums in Arithmetic, or whether she took them home +for Mrs. Mason to solve! Old leathern-bound Daboll, too, was brought to light, +and its most difficult problems selected and sent to Mary, who, being an +excellent mathematician, worked them all out to the widow's astonishment. But +when it was known that quill pens had been discarded, and steel ones +substituted in their place, Mrs. Perkins again looked askance, declaring that +Mary couldn't make a quill pen, and by way of testing the matter, Sally Ann was +sent across the road with a huge bunch of goose quills, which "Miss Howard" was +politely requested "to fix, as ma wanted to write some letters." +</p> + +<p> +Mary candidly confessed her ignorance, saying she had never made a pen in her +life; and the next Sabbath the widow's leghorn was missed from its accustomed +pew in the Unitarian church, and upon inquiry, it was ascertained that "she +couldn't in conscience hear a man preach who would give a 'stifficut' to a girl +that didn't know how to make a pen!" +</p> + +<p> +In spite, however, of these little annoyances, Mary was contented and happy. +She knew that her pupils loved her and that the greater part of the district +were satisfied, so she greeted the widow with her pleasantest smile, and by +always being particularly polite to Sally Ann, finally overcame their +prejudices to a considerable extent. +</p> + +<p> +One afternoon about the middle of July, as Mrs. Perkins was seated by her front +window engaged in "stitching shoes," a very common employment in some parts of +New England, her attention was suddenly diverted by a tall, stylish-looking +young man, who, driving his handsome horse and buggy under the shadow of the +apple-trees, alighted and entered into conversation with a group of little +girls who were taking their usual recess. Mrs. Perkins's curiosity was roused, +and Sally Ann was called to see who the stranger was. But for a wonder, Sally +Ann didn't know, though she "guessed the hoss was one of the East Chicopee +livery." +</p> + +<p> +"He's talkin' to Liddy Knight," said she, at the same time holding back the +curtain, and stepping aside so as not to be visible herself. +</p> + +<p> +"Try if you can hear what he's sayin," whispered Mrs. Perkins; but a class of +boys in the school-house just then struck into the multiplication table, thus +effectually drowning any thing which Sally Ann might otherwise have heard. +</p> + +<p> +"I know them children will split their throats. Can't they hold up a minute," +exclaimed Mrs. Perkins, greatly annoyed at being thus prevented from +overhearing a conversation, the nature of which she could not even guess. +</p> + +<p> +But as some other Widow Perkins may read this story we will for her benefit +repeat what the young man was saying to Lydia Knight, who being nearest to him +was the first one addressed. +</p> + +<p> +"You have a nice place for your school-house and play-grounds." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, sir," answered Lydia, twirling her sun-bonnet and taking up a small round +stone between her naked toes. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you like to go to school?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, sir." +</p> + +<p> +"Have you a good teacher?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, sir." +</p> + +<p> +"What is her name?" +</p> + +<p> +"Miss Howard,—Mary Howard, and she lives with Miss Mason." +</p> + +<p> +"Mary Howard,—that's a pretty name,—is she pretty too?" +</p> + +<p> +"Not so dreadful," chimed in Susan Bradley. "She licked brother Tim to-day, and +I don't think she's much pretty." +</p> + +<p> +This speech quickly called out the opinion of the other girls as follows: +</p> + +<p> +"He ought to be licked, for he stole a knife and then lied about it; and Miss +Howard is real pretty, and you needn't say she ain't, Susan Bradley." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, indeed, she's pretty," rejoined a second. "Such handsome eyes, and little +white hands." +</p> + +<p> +"What color are her eyes?" asked the stranger, to which two replied, "blue," +and three more said "black;" while Lydia Knight, who was the oldest of the +group, finally settled the question by saying, that "they sometimes looked +blue; but if she was real pleased, or sorry either, they turned black!" +</p> + +<p> +The stranger smiled and said, "Tell me more about her. Does she ever scold, or +has she too pretty a mouth for that?" +</p> + +<p> +"No, she never scolds," said Delia Frost, "and she's got the nicest, whitest +teeth, and I guess she knows it, too for she shows them a great deal." +</p> + +<p> +"She's real white, too," rejoined Lydia Knight, "though pa says she used to be +yaller as saffron." +</p> + +<p> +Here there was a gentle rap upon the window, and the girls starting off, +exclaimed, "There, we must go in." +</p> + +<p> +"May I go too?" asked the stranger, following them to the door. +</p> + +<p> +The girls looked at each other, then at him, then at each other again, and at +last Lydia said, "I don't care, but I guess Miss Howard will be ashamed, for +'twas Suke Bradley's turn to sweep the school-house this noon-time, and she +wouldn't do it, 'cause Tim got licked." +</p> + +<p> +"Never mind the school-house," returned the stranger, "but introduce me as Mr. +Stuart." +</p> + +<p> +Lydia had never introduced any body in her life, and following her companions +to her seat, she left Mr. Stuart standing in the doorway. With her usual +politeness, Mary came forward and received the stranger, who gave his name as +Mr. Stuart, saying, "he felt much interested in common schools, and therefore +had ventured to call." +</p> + +<p> +Offering the seat of honor, viz., the splint-bottomed chair, Mary resumed her +usual duties, occasionally casting a look of curiosity at the stranger, whose +eyes seemed constantly upon her. It was rather warm that day, and when Mary +returned from her dinner, Widow Perkins was greatly shocked at seeing her +attired in a light pink muslin dress, the short sleeves of which showed to good +advantage her round white arms. A narrow velvet ribbon confined by a small +brooch, and a black silk apron, completed her toilet, with the exception of a +tiny locket, which was suspended from her neck by a slender gold chain. This +last ornament, immediately riveted Mr. Stuart's attention, and from some +strange cause sent the color quickly to his face. After a time, as if to +ascertain whether it were really a locket, or a watch, he asked "if Miss Howard +could tell him the hour." +</p> + +<p> +"Certainly sir," said she, and stepping to the desk and consulting a silver +time-piece about the size of a dining plate, she told him that it was half-past +three. +</p> + +<p> +He nodded, and seemed very much interested in two little boys who sat near him, +engaged in the laudable employment of seeing which could snap spittle the +farthest and the best. +</p> + +<p> +Just then there was a movement at the door, and a new visitor appeared in the +person of Mrs. Perkins, who, with her large feather fan and flounced gingham +dress, entered smiling and bowing, and saying "she had been trying all summer +to visit the school." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Stuart immediately arose and offered his chair, but there was something in +his manner which led Mary to suppose that an introduction was not at all +desired, so she omitted it, greatly to the chagrin of the widow, who, declining +the proffered seat, squeezed herself between Lydia Knight and another girl, +upsetting the inkstand of the one, and causing the other to make a curious +character out of the letter "X" she chanced to be writing. +</p> + +<p> +"Liddy, Liddy," she whispered, "who is that man?" +</p> + +<p> +But Lydia was too much engrossed with her spoiled apron to answer this +question, and she replied with, "Marm may I g'wout; I've spilt the ink all over +my apron." +</p> + +<p> +Permission, of course, was granted, and as the girl who sat next knew nothing +of the stranger, Mrs. Perkins began to think she might just as well have staid +at home and finished her shoes. "But," thought she, "may-be I shall find out +after school." +</p> + +<p> +Fortune, however, was against the widow, for scarcely was her feather fan in +full play, when Sally Ann came under the window, and punching her back with a +long stick, told her in a loud whisper, that "she must come right home, for +Uncle Jim and Aunt Dolly had just come from the cars." +</p> + +<p> +Accordingly, Mrs. Perkins, smoothing down her gingham flounces, and drawing on +her cotton gloves, arose to go, asking Mary as she passed, "if that was an +acquaintance of hers." +</p> + +<p> +Mary shook her head, and the widow, more puzzled than ever, took her leave. +</p> + +<p> +When school was out, Mr. Stuart, who seemed in no haste whatever, entered into +a lively discussion with Mary concerning schools and books, adroitly managing +to draw her out upon all the leading topics of the day. At last the +conversation turned upon flowers; and when Mary chanced to mention Mrs. Mason's +beautiful garden, he instantly expressed a great desire to see it, and finally +offered to accompany Mary home, provided she had no objections. She could not, +of course, say no, and the Widow Perkins, who, besides attending to "Uncle Jim" +and "Aunt Dolly," still found time to watch the school-house, came very near +letting her buttermilk biscuit burn to a cinder, when she saw the young man +walking down the road with Mary. Arrived at Mrs. Mason's, the stranger managed +to make himself so agreeable, that Mrs. Mason invited him to stay to +tea,—an invitation which he readily accepted. Whoever he was, he seemed +to understand exactly how to find out whatever he wished to know; and before +tea was over, he had learned of Mary's intention to attend the academy in +Wilbraham, the next autumn. +</p> + +<p> +"Excuse me for making a suggestion," said he, "but why not go to Mt. Holyoke? +Do you not think the system of education there a most excellent one?" +</p> + +<p> +Mary glanced at Mrs. Mason, who replied, that "she believed they did not care +to take a pupil at South Hadley for a less period than a year; and as Mary was +entirely dependent upon herself, she could not at present afford that length of +time." +</p> + +<p> +"That does make a difference," returned Mr. Stuart "but I hope she will not +give up Mt. Holyoke entirely, as I should prefer it to Wilbraham." +</p> + +<p> +Tea being over, Mr. Stuart arose to go; and Mary, as she accompanied him to the +door, could not forbear asking how he liked Mrs. Mason's garden, which he had +forgotten even to look at! +</p> + +<p> +Blushing deeply, he replied, "I suppose Miss Howard has learned ere this, that +there are in the world things fairer and more attractive than flowers, but I +will look at them when I come again;" then politely bidding her good night, he +walked away, leaving Mary and Mrs. Mason to wonder,—the one what he came +there for, and the other whether he would ever come again. The widow, too, +wondered and fidgeted, as the sun went down behind the long hill, and still +under the apple-tree the gray pony stood. +</p> + +<p> +"It beats all nater what's kept him so long," said she, when he at last +appeared, and, unfastening, his horse, drove off at a furious rate; "but if I +live I'll know all about it to-morrow;" and with this consolatory remark she +returned to the best room, and for the remainder of the evening devoted herself +to the entertainment of Uncle Jim and his wife Aunt Dolly. +</p> + +<p> +That evening, Mr. Knight, who had been to the Post Office, called at Mrs. +Mason's, bringing with him a letter which bore the Boston postmark. Passing it +to Mary, he winked at Mrs. Mason, saying, "I kinder guess how all this writin' +works will end; but hain't there been a young chap to see the school?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes; how did you know it," returned Mrs. Mason, while Mary blushed more deeply +than she did when Billy's letter was handed her. +</p> + +<p> +"Why, you see," answered Mr. Knight, "I was about at the foot of the Blanchard +hill, when I see a buggy comin' like Jehu. Just as it got agin me it kinder +slackened, and the fore wheel ran off smack and scissors." +</p> + +<p> +"Was he hurt?" quickly asked Mary. +</p> + +<p> +"Not a bit on't," said Mr. Knight, "but he was scared some, I guess. I got out +and helped him, and when he heard I's from Rice Corner, he said he'd been into +school. Then he asked forty-'leven questions about you, and jest as I was +settin' you up high, who should come a canterin' up with their long-tailed +gowns, and hats like men, but Ella Campbell, and a great white-eyed pucker that +came home with her from school. Either Ella's horse was scary, or she did it a +purpose, for the minit she got near, it began to rare and she would have fell +off, if that man hadn't catched it by the bit, and held her on with t'other +hand. I allus was the most sanguinary of men, (Mr. Knight was never so far +wrong in his life,) and I was buildin' castles about him, and our little +school-marm, when Ella came along, and I gin it up, for I see that he was took, +and she did look handsome with her curls a flyin'. Wall, as I wasn't of no more +use, I whipped up old Charlotte and come on." +</p> + +<p> +"When did Ella return?" asked Mary, who had not before heard of her sister's +arrival. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't know," said Mr. Knight. "The first I see of her she was cuttin' +through the streets on the dead run; but I mustn't stay here, gabbin', so good +night, Miss Mason,—good night, Mary, hope you've got good news in that +are letter." +</p> + +<p> +The moment he was gone, Mary ran up to her room, to read her letter, from which +we give the following extract. +</p> + +<p> +"You must have forgotten George Moreland, or you would have mentioned him to +me. I like him very much indeed, and yet I could not help feeling a little +jealous, when he manifested so much interest in you. Sometimes, Mary, I think +that for a brother I am getting too selfish, and do not wish any one to like +you except myself, but I surely need not feel so towards George, the best +friend I have in Boston. He is very kind, lending me books, and has even +offered to use his influence in getting me a situation in one of the best law +offices in the city." +</p> + +<p> +After reading this letter, Mary sat for a long time, thinking of George +Moreland,—of the time when she first knew him,—of all that William +Bender had been to her since,—and wondering, as girls sometimes will, +which she liked the best. Billy, unquestionably, had the strongest claim to her +love, but could he have known how much satisfaction she felt in thinking that +George still remembered and felt interested in her, he would have had some +reason for fearing, as he occasionally did, that she would never be to him +aught save a sister. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> </div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a> +CHAPTER XVII.<br/> +JEALOUSY.</h2> + +<p> +The day following Mr. Stuart's visit was Saturday, and as there was no school, +Mary decided to call upon her sister, whom she had not seen for some months. +Mrs. Mason, who had some shopping to do in the village, offered to accompany +her, and about two in the afternoon, they set forward in Mr. Knight's covered +buggy. The roads were smooth and dry, and in a short time they reached the +bridge near the depot. A train of cars bound for Boston was just going out, and +from one of the windows Mr. Stuart was looking, and waving his hand towards +Mary, who bowed in token of recognition. +</p> + +<p> +The sight and sound of the cars made "old Charlotte," whom Mrs. Mason was +driving, prick up her ears, and feet too, and in a few moments she carried her +load to the village. Leaving Mrs. Mason at the store, Mary proceeded at once to +Mrs. Campbell's. She rang the door-bell a little timidly, for the last time she +saw her sister, she had been treated with so much coldness, that she now felt +some anxiety with regard to the reception she was likely to meet. +</p> + +<p> +"Is Miss Campbell at home?" she asked of the girl who answered her ring. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, she's at home," replied the girl, "but is busy dressing for company." +</p> + +<p> +"Tell her her sister is here, if you please. I won't detain her long," said +Mary, trying hard to shake off the tremor which always came upon her, when she +found herself in Mrs. Campbell's richly furnished house. +</p> + +<p> +Conducting Mary into the parlor, the girl departed with her message to Ella, +who, together with the young lady whom Mr. Knight had styled a "white-eyed +pucker," but whose real name was Eliza Porter, was dressing in the chamber +above. The door of the room was open, and from her position, Mary could hear +distinctly every word which was uttered. +</p> + +<p> +"Miss Ella," said the girl, "your sister is in the parlor, and wants to see +you." +</p> + +<p> +"My sister," repeated Ella, "oh, forlorn! What brought her here to-day? Why +didn't you tell her I wasn't at home?" +</p> + +<p> +"I never told a lie in my life," answered the honest servant girl, while Miss +Porter in unfeigned surprise said "Your sister! I didn't know you had one. Why +doesn't she live at home?" +</p> + +<p> +Concealment was no longer possible, and in a half vexed, half laughing tone, +Ella replied, "Why, I thought you knew that I was an orphan whom Mrs. Campbell +adopted years ago." +</p> + +<p> +"You an orphan!" returned Miss Porter. "Well, if I ever! Who adopted your +sister?" +</p> + +<p> +"A poor woman in the country," was Ella's answer. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Porter, who was a notorious flatterer, replied, "I must see her, for if +she is any thing like you, I shall love her instantly." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, she isn't like <i>me</i>" said Ella, with a curl of her lip. "She's smart +enough, I suppose, but she hasn't a bit of polish or refinement. She doesn't +come here often, and when she does, I am always in a fidget, for fear some of +the city girls will call, and she'll do something <i>outré</i>." +</p> + +<p> +"I guess, then, I won't go down, at least not till I'm dressed," answered Miss +Porter; and Ella, throwing on a dressing-gown, descended to the parlor, where +she met her sister with the ends of her fingers, and a simple, "Ah, Mary, how +d'ye do? Are you well?" +</p> + +<p> +After several commonplace remarks, Ella at last asked, "How did you know I was +at home?" +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Knight told me," said Mary. +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Knight," repeated Ella; "and pray, who is he? I don't believe he's on my +list of acquaintances." +</p> + +<p> +"Do you remember the man who carried me to the poor-house?" asked Mary. +</p> + +<p> +"Hush—sh!" said Ella, glancing nervously towards the door. "There is a +young lady up stairs, and it isn't necessary for her to know you've been a +pauper." +</p> + +<p> +By this time Miss Porter was dressed. She was very fond of display, and wishing +to astonish the "country girl" with her silks and satins, came rustling into +the parlor. +</p> + +<p> +"My sister," said Ella carelessly. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Porter nodded, and then throwing herself languidly upon the sofa, looked +down the street, as if expecting some one. At last, supporting herself on her +elbow, she lisped out, "I don't believe that he'th coming, for here 'tis after +four!" +</p> + +<p> +"Tisn't likely he'll stay in the graveyard all night," returned Ella. "I wish +we'd asked him whose graves he was going to visit, don't you?" Then, by way of +saying something more to Mary, she continued, "Oh, you ought to know what an +adventure I had yesterday. It was a most miraculous escape, for I should +certainly have been killed, if the most magnificent-looking gentleman you ever +saw, hadn't caught me just in time to keep Beauty from throwing me. You ought +to see his eyes, they were perfectly splendid!" +</p> + +<p> +Mary replied, that she herself thought he had rather handsome eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>You!</i> where did you ever see him?" asked Ella. +</p> + +<p> +"He visited my school yesterday afternoon." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, no, that can't be the one," returned Ella, while Miss Porter, too, said, +"Certainly not; our cavalier never thaw the inthide of a district school-houth, +I know." +</p> + +<p> +"I am quite sure he saw one yesterday," said Mary, relating the circumstance of +Mr. Knight's meeting him at the spot where Ella came so near getting a fall. +</p> + +<p> +"Did he go home with you?" asked Ella, in a tone plainly indicating that a +negative answer was expected. +</p> + +<p> +Mary understood the drift of her sister's questioning, and promptly replied, +"Yes, he went home with me, and staid to tea." +</p> + +<p> +Ella's countenance lowered, while Miss Porter exclaimed, "I declare, we may as +well give up all hope, for your sister, it seems, has the first claim." +</p> + +<p> +"Pshaw!" said Ella, contemptuously, while Miss Porter, again turning to Mary, +asked, "Did you learn his name? If you did, you are more fortunate than we +were; and he came all the way home with us, too, leading Ella's pony; and +besides that, we met him in the street this morning." +</p> + +<p> +"His name," returned Mary, "is Stuart, and he lives in Boston, I believe." +</p> + +<p> +"Stuart,—Stuart,—" repeated Ella; "I never heard Lizzie Upton, or +the Lincolns, mention the Stuarts, but perhaps they have recently removed to +the city. Any way, this young man is somebody, I know." +</p> + +<p> +Here Miss Porter, again looking down the road, exclaimed, "There, he's coming, +I do believe." +</p> + +<p> +Both girls rushed to the window, but Mr. Stuart was not there; and when they +were reseated, Mary very gravely remarked, that he was probably ere this in +Worcester, as she saw him in the eastern train. +</p> + +<p> +"Why, really," said Ella, "you seem to be well posted in his affairs. Perhaps +you can tell us whose graves he wished to find. He said he had some friends +buried here, and inquired for the sexton." +</p> + +<p> +Mary knew nothing about it, and Ella, as if thinking aloud, continued, "It must +be that he got belated, and went from the graveyard, across the fields, to the +depot;—but, oh horror!" she added, "there comes Lizzie Upton and the rest +of the Boston girls. Mary, I guess you'll have to go, or rather, I guess you'll +have to excuse me, for I must run up and dress. By the way, wouldn't you like +some flowers? If you would just go into the kitchen, and ask Bridget to show +you the garden." +</p> + +<p> +Mary had flowers enough at home, and so, in spite of Ella's manoeuvre, she went +out at the front door, meeting "Lizzie Upton, and the rest of the Boston +girls," face to face. Miss Porter, who acted the part of hostess while Ella was +dressing, was quickly interrogated by Lizzie Upton, as to who the young lady +was they met in the yard. +</p> + +<p> +"That's Ella Campbell's sister," said Miss Porter. Then lowering her voice to a +whisper, she continued, "Don't you believe, Ella isn't Mrs. Campbell's own +daughter, but an adopted one!" +</p> + +<p> +"I know that," answered Lizzie; "but this sister, where does she live?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, in a kind of a heathenish, out-of-the-way place, and teaches school for a +living." +</p> + +<p> +"Well," returned Lizzie, "she is a much finer looking girl than Ella." +</p> + +<p> +"How can you say so," exclaimed three or four girls in a breath, and Lizzie +replied, "Perhaps she hasn't so much of what is called beauty in her face, but +she has a great deal more intellect." +</p> + +<p> +Here the door-bell again rang; and Ella, having made a hasty toilet, came +tripping down the stairs in time to welcome Rose Lincoln, whom she embraced as +warmly as if a little eternity, instead of three days, had elapsed since they +met. +</p> + +<p> +"I had perfectly despaired of your coming," said she "Oh, how sweet you do +look! But where's Jenny?" +</p> + +<p> +Rose's lip curled scornfully, as she replied, "Why, she met Mary Howard in the +store, and I couldn't drag her away." +</p> + +<p> +"And who is Mary Howard?" asked Lizzie Upton. +</p> + +<p> +Rose glanced at Ella, who said, "Why, she's the girl you met going out of the +yard." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, yes.—I know,—your sister," returned Lizzie. "Isn't she to be +here? I have noticed her in church, and should like to get acquainted with her. +She has a fine eye and forehead." +</p> + +<p> +Ella dared not tell Lizzie, that Mary was neither polished nor refined, so she +answered, that "she could not stay this afternoon, as Mrs. Mason, the lady with +whom she lived, was in a hurry to go home." +</p> + +<p> +Miss Porter looked up quickly from her embroidery, and winked slyly at Ella in +commendation of her falsehood. Jenny now came bounding in, her cheeks glowing, +and her eyes sparkling like diamonds. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm late, I know," said she, "but I met Mary in the store, and I never know +when to leave her. I tried to make her come with me, telling her that as you +were her sister 'twas no matter if she weren't invited; but she said that Mrs. +Mason had accepted an invitation to take tea with Mrs. Johnson, and she was +going there too." +</p> + +<p> +Instantly Lizzie Upton's eyes were fixed upon Ella, who colored scarlet; and +quickly changing the conversation, she commenced talking about her adventure of +the evening before, and again the "magnificent-looking stranger, with his +perfectly splendid eyes," was duly described. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, yes," said Jenny, who generally managed to talk all the time, whether she +was heard or not. "Yes, Mary told me about him. He was in her school yesterday, +and if I were going to describe George Moreland, I could not do it more +accurately than she did, in describing Mr. Stuart. You never saw George, did +you?" +</p> + +<p> +"No," said Ella pettishly, "but seems to me Mary is dreadful anxious to have +folks know that Mr. Stuart visited her school." +</p> + +<p> +"No, she isn't," answered Jenny. "I told her that I rode past her school-house +yesterday, and should have called, had I not seen a big man's head protruding +above the window sill. Of course, I asked who he was, and she told me about +him, and how he saved you from a broken neck." +</p> + +<p> +Ella's temper, never the best, was fast giving way, and by the time the company +were all gone, she was fairly in a fit of the pouts. Running up stairs, and +throwing herself upon the bed, she burst into tears, wishing herself dead, and +saying she knew no one would care if she were, for every body liked Mary better +than they did her. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Porter, who stood by, terribly distressed of course, rightly guessed that +the every body, on this occasion, referred merely to Mr. Stuart and Lizzie +Upton. Ella was always jealous of any commendation bestowed upon Mary seeming +to consider it as so much taken from herself, and consequently, could not bear +that Lizzie should even think well of her. The fact, too, that Mr. Stuart had +not only visited her school, but also walked home with her, was a sufficient +reason why she should he thoroughly angry. Miss Porter knew that the surest +method of coaxing her out of her pouting fit, was to flatter her, and +accordingly she repeated at least a dozen complimentary speeches, some of which +she had really heard, while others were manufactured for the occasion. In this +way the cloud was gradually lifted from her face, and erelong she was laughing +merrily at the idea, that a girl "so wholly unattractive as Mary, should ever +have made her jealous!" +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> </div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a> +CHAPTER XVIII.<br/> +A NEW PLAN.</h2> + +<p> +The summer was drawing to a close, and with it Mary's school. She had succeeded +in giving satisfaction to the entire district with the exception of Mrs. +Bradley, who "didn't know why Tim should be licked and thrashed round just +because his folks wasn't wuth quite so much as some others," this being, in her +estimation, the only reason why the notorious Timothy was never much beloved by +his teachers. Mr Knight, with whom Mary was a great favorite, offered her the +school for the coming winter, but she had decided upon attending school +herself, and after modestly declining his offer, told him of her intention. +</p> + +<p> +"But where's the money coming from?" said he. +</p> + +<p> +Mary laughingly asked him how many bags of shoes he supposed she had stitched +during the last two years. +</p> + +<p> +"More'n two hundred, I'll bet," said he. +</p> + +<p> +"Not quite as many as that," answered Mary; "but still I have managed to earn +my clothes, and thirty dollars besides; and this, together with my school +wages, will pay for one term, and part of another." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, go ahead," returned Mr. Knight. "I'd help you if I could. Go ahead, and +who knows but you'll one day be the President's wife." +</p> + +<p> +Like the majority of New England farmers, Mr Knight was far from being wealthy. +From sunrise until sundown he worked upon the old homestead where his father +had dwelt. Spring after spring, he ploughed and planted the sandy soil. Autumn +after autumn he gathered in the slender harvest, and still said he would not +exchange his home among the hills for all the broad acres of his brother, who +at the far West, counted his dollars by the thousands. He would gladly have +helped Mary, but around his fireside were six children dependent upon him for +food, clothing, and education, and he could only wish his young friend success +in whatever she undertook. +</p> + +<p> +When Widow Perkins heard that Mary was going away to school, she forgot to put +any yeast in the bread which she was making, and bidding Sally Ann "watch it +until it riz," she posted off to Mrs. Mason's to inquire the particulars, +reckoning up as she went along how much fourteen weeks' wages would come to at +nine shillings (a dollar and a half New England currency) per week. +</p> + +<p> +"'Tain't no great," said she, as simultaneously with her arrival at Mrs. +Mason's door, she arrived at the sum of twenty-one dollars. "'Tain't no great, +and I wouldn't wonder if Miss Mason fixed over some of her old gowns for her." +</p> + +<p> +But with all her quizzing, and "pumping," as Judith called it, she was unable +to ascertain any thing of importance, and mentally styling Mrs. Mason, Mary, +Judith and all, "great gumpheads," she returned home, and relieved Sally Ann +from her watch over unleavened bread. Both Mrs. Mason and Mary laughed heartily +at the widow's curiosity, though, as Mary said, "It was no laughing matter +where the money was to come from which she needed for her books and clothing." +</p> + +<p> +Every thing which Mrs. Mason could do for her she did, and even Judith, who was +never famous for generosity; brought in one Saturday morning a half-worn +merino, which she thought "mebby could be turned and sponged, and made into +somethin' decent," adding, in an undertone, that "she'd had it out airin' on +the clothes hoss for more'n two hours!" +</p> + +<p> +Sally Furbush, too, brought over the old purple silk which "Willie's father had +given her." She was getting on finely with her grammar, she said, and in a few +days she should write to Harper, so that he might have time to engage the extra +help he would necessarily need, in bringing out a work of that kind! +</p> + +<p> +"I should dedicate it to Mrs. Grundy," said she, "just to show her how +forgiving I can be, but here is a difficulty. A person, on seeing the name, +'<i>Mrs.</i> Polly Grundy,' would naturally be led to inquire for '<i>Mr.</i> +Polly Grundy,' and this inquiry carried out, might cause the lady some little +embarrassment, so I've concluded to have the dedication read thus:—'To +Willie's father, who sleeps on the western prairie, this useful work is +tremblingly, tearfully, yet joyfully dedicated by his relict, Sarah.'" +</p> + +<p> +Mary warmly approved of this plan, and after a few extra flourishes in the +shape of a courtesy, Sally started for home. +</p> + +<p> +A few days afterward, Jenny Lincoln came galloping up to the school-house door, +declaring her intention of staying until school was out, and having a good +time. "It's for ever and ever since I've seen you," said she, as she gathered +up the skirt of her blue riding-dress, and followed Mary into the house, "but +I've been so bothered with those city girls. Seems as though they had nothing +to do but to get up rides in hay carts, or picnics in the woods and since Henry +came home they keep sending for us. This afternoon they have all gone +blackberrying in a hay cart, but I'd rather come here." +</p> + +<p> +At this point, happening to think that the class in Colburn who were toeing the +mark so squarely, would perhaps like a chance to recite, Jenny seated herself +near the window, and throwing off her hat, made fun for herself and some little +boys, by tickling their naked toes with the end of her riding-whip. When school +was out, and the two girls were alone, Jenny entered at once upon the great +object of her visit. +</p> + +<p> +"I hear you are going to Wilbraham," said she, "but I want you to go to Mount +Holyoke. We are going, a whole lot of us, that is, if we can pass examination. +Rose isn't pleased with the idea, but I am. I think 'twill be fun to wash +potatoes and scour knives. I don't believe that mother would ever have sent us +there if it were not that Ida Selden is going. Her father and her aunt Martha +used to be schoolmates with Miss Lyon, and they have always intended that Ida +should graduate at Mount Holyoke. Now, why can't you go, too?" +</p> + +<p> +Instantly Mary thought of Mr. Stuart, and his suggestion. "I wish I could," +said she, "but I can't. I haven't money enough, and there is no one to give it +to me." +</p> + +<p> +"It wouldn't hurt Mrs. Campbell to help you a little," returned Jenny. "Why, +last term Ella spent almost enough for candies, and gutta-percha toys, to pay +the expense of half a year's schooling, at Mount Holyoke. It's too bad that she +should have every thing, and you nothing." +</p> + +<p> +Here Jenny's remarks were interrupted by the loud rattling of wheels, and the +halloo of many voices. Going to the door she and Mary saw coming down the road +at a furious rate, the old hay cart, laden with the young people from Chicopee, +who had been berrying in Sturbridge, and were now returning home in high glee. +The horses were fantastically trimmed with ferns and evergreens, while several +of the girls were ornamented in the same way. Conspicuous among the noisy +group, was Ella Campbell. Henry Lincoln's broad-brimmed hat was resting on her +long curls, while her white sun-bonnet was tied under Henry's chin. +</p> + +<p> +The moment Jenny appeared, the whole party set up a shout so deafening, that +the Widow Perkins came out in a trice, to see "if the old Harry was to pay, or +what." No sooner did Henry Lincoln get sight of Mary, than springing to his +feet, and swinging his arm around his head, he screamed out, "Three cheers for +the school ma'am and her handsome lover, Billy! Hurrah!" +</p> + +<p> +In the third and last hurrah, the whole company joined, and when that was +finished, Henry struck up on a high key, +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +"Oh, where have you been, Billy boy, Billy boy,<br/> +Oh, where have you been charming Billy?"<br/> +</p> + +<p class="noindent"> +but only one voice joined in with his, and that was Ella's! Mary reddened at +what she knew was intended as an insult, and when she heard her sister's voice +chiming in with Henry, she could not keep back her tears. +</p> + +<p> +"Wasn't that smart?" said Jenny, when at last the hay cart disappeared from +view, and the noise and dust had somewhat subsided. Then as she saw the tears +in Mary's eyes, she added, "Oh, I wouldn't care if they did teaze me about +Billy Bender. I'd as lief be teazed about him as not." +</p> + +<p> +"It isn't that," said Mary, smiling in spite of herself, at Jenny's frankness. +"It isn't that. I didn't like to hear Ella sing with your brother, when she +must have known he meant to annoy me." +</p> + +<p> +"That certainly was wrong," returned Jenny; "but Ella isn't so much to blame as +Henry, who seems to have acquired a great influence over her during the few +weeks he has been at home. You know she is easily flattered, and I dare say +Henry has fully gratified her vanity in that respect, for he says she is the +only decent-looking girl in Chicopee. But see, there comes Mrs. Mason, I guess +she wonders what is keeping you so long." +</p> + +<p> +The moment Mrs. Mason entered the school-room, Jenny commenced talking about +Mount Holyoke, her tongue running so fast, that it entirely prevented any one +else from speaking, until she stopped for a moment to take breath. Then Mrs. +Mason very quietly remarked, that if Mary wished to go to Mount Holyoke she +could do so. Mary looked up inquiringly, wondering what mine had opened so +suddenly at her feet; but she received no explanation until Jenny had bidden +her good-bye, and gone. Then she learned that Mrs. Mason had just received $100 +from a man in Boston, who had years before owed it to her husband, and was +unable to pay it sooner. "And now," said Mrs. Mason, "there is no reason why +you should not go to Mount Holyoke, if you wish to." +</p> + +<p> +The glad tears which came to Mary's eyes were a sufficient evidence that she +did wish to, and the next day a letter was forwarded to Miss Lyon, who promptly +replied, expressing her willingness to receive Mary as a pupil. And now Rice +Corner was again thrown into a state of fermentation. Mary was going to Mount +Holyoke, and what was more marvellous still, Mrs. Mason had bought her a black +silk dress, which cost her a dollar a yard! and more than one good dame +declared her intention of "giving up," if paupers came on so fast. This having +been a pauper was the thing of which Mary heard frequently, now that her +prospects were getting brighter. And even Ella, when told that her sister was +going to Mount Holyoke, said to Miss Porter, who was still with her, "Why, +isn't she getting along real fast for one who has been on the town?" +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Lincoln, too, and Rose were greatly provoked, the former declaring she +would not send her daughters to a school which was so cheap that paupers and +all could go, were it not that Lizzie Upton had been there, and Ida Selden was +going. Jenny, however, thought differently. She was delighted, and as often as +she possibly could, she came to Mrs. Mason's to talk the matter over, and tell +what good times they'd have, "provided they didn't set her to pounding +clothes," which she presumed they would, just because she was so fat and +healthy. The widow assumed a very resigned air, saying "She never did meddle +with other folks' business, and she guessed she shouldn't begin by 'tendin' to +Mary's, but 'twas a miracle where all the money came from." +</p> + +<p> +A few more of the neighbors felt worried and troubled but as no attention was +paid to their remarks, they gradually ceased, and by the time Mary's +preparations were completed, curiosity and gossip seemed to have subsided +altogether. She was quite a favorite in the neighborhood, and on the morning +when she left home, there was many a kind good-bye, and word of love spoken to +her by those who came to see her off. Mr. Knight carried her to the depot, +where they found Sally Furbush, accompanied by Tasso, her constant attendant. +She knew that Mary was to leave that morning, and had walked all that distance, +for the sake of seeing her, and giving her a little parting advice. It was not +quite time for the cars, and Mr. Knight, who was always in a hurry, said "he +guessed he wouldn't stay," so squeezing both of Mary's hands, he bade her +good-bye, telling her "to be a good girl, and not get to running after the +sparks." +</p> + +<p> +Scarcely was he gone, when Mary's attention was attracted by the sound of many +voices, and looking from the window, she saw a group of the city girls +advancing towards the depot. Among them was Ella, talking and laughing very +loudly Mary's heart beat very rapidly, for she thought her sister was coming to +bid her good-bye, but she was mistaken. Ella had no thought or care for her, +and after glancing in at the sitting-room, without seeming to see its inmates, +though not to see them was impossible, she turned her back, and looking across +the river, which was directly in front, she said in her most drawling tone, +"Why don't Rose come? I shan't have time to see her at all, I'm afraid." +</p> + +<p> +Lizzie Upton, who was also there, looked at her in astonishment, and then said, +"Why, Ella, isn't that your sister?" +</p> + +<p> +"My sister? I don't know. Where?" returned Ella. +</p> + +<p> +Mary laughed, and then Ella, facing about, exclaimed, "Why, Mary, you here? I +forgot that you were going this morning." +</p> + +<p> +Before Mary could reply. Sally Furbush arose, and passed her hand carefully +over Ella's head. Partly in fear, and partly in anger, Ella drew back from the +crazy woman, who said, "Don't be alarmed, little one, I only wanted to find the +cavity which I felt sure was there." +</p> + +<p> +Lizzie Upton's half-smothered laugh was more provoking to Ella, than Sally's +insinuation of her want of brains, but she soon recovered her equanimity, for +Mr. Lincoln's carriage at that moment drove up. Henry sprang nimbly out, +kissing his hand to Ella, who blushed, and then turning to Rose, began wishing +she, too, was old enough to go to Mount Holyoke. +</p> + +<p> +"I guess you'd pass about as good an examination now, as some who are going," +returned Rose, glancing contemptuously towards Mary, to whom Jenny was eagerly +talking. +</p> + +<p> +This directed Henry's attention that way, and simultaneously his own and Mary's +eyes met. With a peculiar expression of countenance, he stepped towards her, +saying "Good morning, school ma'am. For what part are you bound with all this +baggage?" pointing to a huge chest with a feather bed tied over it, the whole +the property of a daughter of Erin, who stood near, carefully guarding her +treasure. +</p> + +<p> +Had he addressed Mary civilly, she would have replied with her usual +politeness, but as it was, she made no reply and he turned to walk away. All +this time Tasso lay under the table, winking and blinking at his old enemy, +with an expression in his eyes, which Henry would hardly have relished, could +he have seen him. +</p> + +<p> +"Hark! Isn't that the cars?" said Jenny, as a low, heavy growl fell on her ear; +but she soon ascertained what it was, for as Henry was leaving the room, he +kicked aside the blue umbrella, which Sal had brought with her for fear of a +shower, and which was lying upon the floor. +</p> + +<p> +In an instant, Tasso's growl changed to a bark, and bristling with anger, he +rushed towards Henry, but was stopped by Sal just in time to prevent his doing +any mischief. With a muttered oath, which included the "old woman" as well as +her dog, the young man was turning away, when Jenny said, "Shame on you, to +swear before ladies!" +</p> + +<p> +After assuring himself by a look that Ella and the city girls were all standing +upon the platform, Henry replied with a sneer, "I don't see any ladies in the +room." +</p> + +<p> +Instantly Sal, now more furious than the dog, clutched her long, bony fingers +around his arm, saying, "Take back that insult, sir, or Tasso shall tear you in +pieces! What am I, if I am not a lady?" +</p> + +<p> +Henry felt sure that Sal meant what she said, and with an air of assumed +deference, he replied as he backed himself out of his uncomfortable quarters, +"I beg your pardon Mrs. Furbush, I forgot that you were present." +</p> + +<p> +The whistle of the cars was now heard, and in a moment the locomotive stood +puffing before the depot. From one of the open windows a fair young face looked +out, and a voice which thrilled Mary's every nerve, it seemed so familiar, +called out, "Oh, Rosa, Jenny, all of you, I'm so glad you are here; I was +afraid there would be some mistake, and I'd have to go alone." +</p> + +<p> +"Isn't your father with you?" asked Henry, bowing so low, that he almost +pitched headlong from the platform. +</p> + +<p> +"No," answered the young lady, "he couldn't leave, nor George either, so Aunt +Martha is my escort. She's fast asleep just opposite me, never dreaming, I dare +say, that we've stopped." +</p> + +<p> +"The mischief," said Henry. "What's to be done? The old gent was obliged to be +in Southbridge to-day, so he bade me put Rose and Jenny under your father's +protection; but as he isn't here I'll have to go myself." +</p> + +<p> +"No you won't either," returned Ida, "Aunt Martha is as good as a man any time, +and can look after three as well as one." +</p> + +<p> +"That's Ida Selden! Isn't she handsome?" whispered Jenny to Mary. +</p> + +<p> +But Mary hardly heard her. She was gazing admiringly at Ida's animated face, +and tracing in it a strong resemblance to the boyish features, which looked so +mischievously out from the golden locket, which at that moment lay next to her +heart. +</p> + +<p> +"All aboard," shouted the shrill voice of the conductor and Mary awoke from her +reverie, and twining her arms around Sally Furbush's neck, bade her good-bye. +</p> + +<p> +"The Lord be with you," said Sally, "and be sure you pay strict attention to +Grammar!" +</p> + +<p> +Mary next looked for Ella, but she stood at a distance jesting lightly with +Henry Lincoln, and evidently determined not to see her sister, who was hurrying +towards her, when "All aboard" was again shouted in her ear, while at the same +moment, the conductor lifted her lightly upon the step where Rose and Jenny +were standing. +</p> + +<p> +"This car is brim full," said Rose, looking over her shoulder, "but I guess you +can find a good seat in the next one." +</p> + +<p> +The train was already in motion, and as Mary did not care to peril her life or +limbs for the sake of pleasing Rose, she followed her into the car, where there +was a goodly number of unoccupied seats, notwithstanding Rose's assertion to +the contrary. As the train moved rapidly over the long, level meadow, and +passed the Chicopee burying-ground, Mary looked out to catch a glimpse of the +thorn-apple tree, which overshadowed the graves of her parents, and then, as +she thought how cold and estranged was the only one left of all the home +circle, she drew her veil over her face and burst into tears. +</p> + +<p> +"Who is that young lady?" asked Ida, who was riding backward and consequently +directly opposite to Mary. +</p> + +<p> +"What young lady?" said Rose; and Ida replied, "The one who kissed that +queer-looking old woman and then followed you and Jenny into the cars." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, that was Mary Howard," was Rose's answer. +</p> + +<p> +"Mary Howard!" repeated Ida, as if the name were one she had heard before, "who +is she, and what is she?" +</p> + +<p> +"Nobody but a town pauper," answered Rose, "and one of Jenny's protegee's. You +see she is sitting by her." +</p> + +<p> +"She doesn't seem like a pauper," said Ida. "I wish she would take off that +veil. I want to see how she looks." +</p> + +<p> +"Rough and blowsy, of course, like any other country girl," was Rose's reply. +</p> + +<p> +By this time Mary had dried her tears, and when they reached the station at +Warren, she removed her veil, disclosing to view a face, which instead of being +"rough and blowsy" was smooth and fair almost as marble. +</p> + +<p> +"That isn't a pauper, I know," said Ida; and Rose replied, "Well, she has been, +and what's the difference?" +</p> + +<p> +"But where does she live now?" continued Ida. "I begin to grow interested." +</p> + +<p> +"I suppose you remember Mrs. Mason, who used to live in Boston," answered Rose. +"Well, she has adopted her, I believe, but I don't know much about it, and care +a good deal less." +</p> + +<p> +"Mrs. Mason!" repeated Ida. "Why, Aunt Martha thinks all the world of her, and +I fancy she wouldn't sleep quite so soundly, if she knew her adopted daughter +was in the car. I mean to tell her.—Aunt Martha, Aunt Martha!" +</p> + +<p> +But Aunt Martha was too fast asleep to heed Ida's call, and a gentle shake was +necessary to rouse her to consciousness. But when she became fully awake, and +knew why she was roused, she started up, and going towards Mary, said in her +own peculiarly sweet and winning manner, "Ida tells me you are Mrs. Mason's +adopted daughter, and Mrs. Mason is the dearest friend I ever had. I am +delighted to see you." +</p> + +<p> +Jenny immediately introduced her to Mary, as Miss Selden, whispering in her ear +at the same time that she was George's aunt; then rising she gave her seat to +Aunt Martha, taking another one for herself near Rose and Ida. Without seeming +to be curious at all, Aunt Martha had a peculiar way of drawing people out to +talk of themselves, and by the time they reached the station, where they left +the cars for Mt. Holyoke, she had learned a good share of Mary's early history, +and felt quite as much pleased with the freshness and simplicity of her young +friend, as Mary did with her polished and elegant manners. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> </div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX" id="CHAPTER_XIX"></a> +CHAPTER XIX.<br/> +MT. HOLYOKE</h2> + +<p> +"Oh, forlorn what a looking place!" exclaimed Rose Lincoln, as from the windows +of the crowded vehicle in which they had come from the cars, she first obtained +a view of the not very handsome village of South Hadley. +</p> + +<p> +Rose was in the worst of humors, for by some mischance, Mary was on the same +seat with herself, and consequently she was very much distressed, and crowded. +She, however, felt a little afraid of Aunt Martha, who she saw was inclined to +favor the object of her wrath, so she restrained her fault-finding spirit until +she arrived at South Hadley, where every thing came in for a share of her +displeasure. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>That</i> the Seminary!" said she contemptuously, as they drew up before the +building. "Why, it isn't half as large, or handsome as I supposed. Oh, horror! +I know I shan't stay here long." +</p> + +<p> +The furniture of the parlor was also very offensive to the young lady, and when +Miss Lyon came in to meet them, she, too, was secretly styled, "a prim, fussy, +slippery-tongued old maid." Jenny, however, who always saw the bright side of +every thing, was completely charmed with the sweet smile, and placid face, so +well remembered by all who have seen and known, the founder of Mt. Holyoke +Seminary. After some conversation between Miss Lyon and Aunt Martha it was +decided that Rose and Jenny should room together, as a matter of course, and +that Mary should room with Ida. Rose had fully intended to room with Ida +herself, and this decision made her very angry: but there was no help for it +and she was obliged to submit. +</p> + +<p> +Our readers are probably aware, that an examination in certain branches is +necessary, ere a pupil can be admitted into the school at Mt. Holyoke, where +the course of instruction embraces three years, and three classes, Junior, +Middle, and Senior. Rose, who had been much flattered on account of her +scholarship, confidently expected to enter the Middle class. Jenny, too, had +the same desire, though she confessed to some misgivings concerning her +knowledge of a goodly number of the necessary branches. Ida was really an +excellent scholar, and was prepared to enter the Senior class, while Mary +aspired to nothing higher, than admission into the Junior. She was therefore +greatly surprised, when Aunt Martha, after questioning her as to what she had +studied, proposed that she should be examined for the Middle class. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, no," said Mary quickly, "I should fail, and I wouldn't do that for the +world." +</p> + +<p> +"Have you ever studied Latin?" asked Aunt Martha. +</p> + +<p> +Before Mary could reply, Rose exclaimed, "<i>She</i> study Latin! How absurd! +Why, she was never away to school in her life." +</p> + +<p> +Aunt Martha silenced her with a peculiar look, while Mary answered, that for +more than two years, she had been reading Latin under Mrs. Mason's instruction. +</p> + +<p> +"And you could not have a better teacher," said Aunt Martha. "So try it by all +means." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, do try," said Ida and Jenny, in the same breath; and after a time, Mary +rather reluctantly consented. +</p> + +<p> +"I'll warrant she intends to sit by us, so we can tell her every other word," +muttered Rose to Jenny, but when the trial came she thought differently. +</p> + +<p> +It would be wearisome to give the examination in detail, so we will only say, +that at its close, Rose Lincoln heard with shame and confusion, that she could +only be admitted into the Junior Class, her examination having proved a very +unsatisfactory one. Poor Jenny, too, who had stumbled over almost every thing, +shared the same fate, while Mary, expecting nothing, and hoping nothing, burst +into tears when told that she had acquitted herself creditably, in all the +branches requisite for an admission into the Middle class. +</p> + +<p> +"Mrs. Mason will be so glad, and Billy, too," was her first thought; and then, +as she saw how disappointed Jenny looked, she seized the first opportunity to +throw her arms around her neck, and whisper to her how sorry she was that she +had failed. +</p> + +<p> +Jenny, however, was of too happy a temperament to remain sad for a long time, +and before night her loud, merry laugh had more than once rang out in the upper +hall, causing even Miss Lyon to listen, it was so clear and joyous. That +afternoon, Aunt Martha, who was going to call upon Mrs. Mason, started for +home, leaving the girls alone among strangers. It was a rainy, dreary day, and +the moment her aunt was gone, Ida threw herself upon the bed and burst into +tears. Jenny, who occupied the next room, was also low spirited, for Rose was +terribly cross, calling her a "ninny hammer," and various other dignified +names. Among the four girls, Mary was the only cheerful one, and after a time +she succeeded in comforting Ida, while Jenny, catching something of her spirit, +began to laugh loudly, as she told a group of girls how many ludicrous blunders +she made when they undertook to question her about Euclid, which she had never +studied in her life! +</p> + +<p> +And now in a few days life at Mt. Holyoke commenced in earnest. Although +perfectly healthy, Mary looked rather delicate, and it was for this reason, +perhaps, that the sweeping and dusting of several rooms were assigned to her, +as her portion of the labor. Ida and Rose fared much worse, and were greatly +shocked, when told that they both belonged to the wash circle! +</p> + +<p> +"I declare," said Rose, "it's too bad. I'll walk home before I'll do it;" and +she glanced at her white hands, to make sure they were not already discolored +by the dreaded soap suds! +</p> + +<p> +Jenny was delighted with her allotment, which was dish-washing. +</p> + +<p> +"I'm glad I took that lesson at the poor-house years ago," said she one day to +Rose, who snappishly replied, "I'd shut up about the poor-house, or they'll +think you the pauper instead of Madam Howard." +</p> + +<p> +"Pauper? Who's a pauper?" asked Lucy Downs, eager to hear so desirable a piece +of news. +</p> + +<p> +Ida Selden's large black eyes rested reprovingly upon Rose, who nodded towards +Mary, and forthwith Miss Downs departed with the information, which was not +long in reaching Mary's ears. +</p> + +<p> +"Why, Mary, what's the matter?" asked Ida, when towards the close of the day +she found her companion weeping in her room. Without lifting her head, Mary +replied, "It's foolish in me to cry, I know, but why need I always be +reproached with having been a pauper. I couldn't help it. I promised mother I +would take care of little Allie as long as she lived, and if she went to the +poor-house, I had to go too." +</p> + +<p> +"And who was little Allie?" asked Ida, taking Mary's hot hands between her own. +</p> + +<p> +In few words Mary related her history, omitting her acquaintance with George +Moreland, and commencing at the night when her mother died. Ida was +warm-hearted and affectionate, and cared but little whether one were rich or +poor if she liked them. From the first she had been interested in Mary, and now +winding her arms about her neck, and kissing away her tears, she promised to +love her, and to be to her as true and faithful a friend as Jenny. This +promise, which was never broken, was of great benefit to Mary, drawing to her +side many of the best girls in school, who soon learned to love her for +herself, and not because the wealthy Miss Selden seemed so fond of her. +</p> + +<p> +Neither Ida nor Rose were as happy in school, as Mary and Jenny. Both of them +fretted about the rules, which they were obliged to observe, and both of them +disliked and dreaded their portion of the work. Ida, however, was happier than +Rose, for she was fonder of study, and one day when particularly interested in +her lessons, she said to Mary, that she believed she should be tolerably +contented, were it not for the everlasting washing. +</p> + +<p> +Looking up a moment after, she saw that Mary had disappeared. But she soon +returned, exclaiming, "I've fixed it. It's all right. I told her I was a great +deal stronger than you, that I was used to washing, and you were not, and that +it made your side ache; so she consented to have us exchange, and after this +you are to dust for me, and I am to wash for you." +</p> + +<p> +Ida disliked washing so much, that she raised no very strong objections to +Mary's plan, and then when she found how great a kindness had really been shown +her, she tried hard to think of some way in which to repay it. At last, George +Moreland, to whom she had written upon the subject, suggested something which +met her views exactly. Both Ida and her aunt had told George about Mary, and +without hinting that he knew her, he immediately commenced making minute +inquiries concerning her, of Ida, who communicated them to Mary, wondering why +she always blushed so deeply, and tried to change the conversation. In reply to +the letter in which Ida had told him of Mary's kindness, George wrote, "You say +Miss Howard is very fond of music, and that there is no teacher connected with +the institution. Now why not give her lessons yourself? You can do it as well +as not, and it will be a good way of showing your gratitude." +</p> + +<p> +Without waiting to read farther, Ida ran in quest of Mary, to whom she told +what George had written. "You don't know," said she, "how much George asks +about you. I never saw him so much interested in any one before, and half the +girls in Boston are after him, too." +</p> + +<p> +"Poor fellow, I pity him," said Mary; and Ida continued, "Perhaps it seems +foolish in me to say so much about him, but if you only knew him, you wouldn't +wonder. He's the handsomest young man I ever saw, and then he's so good, so +different from other young men, especially Henry Lincoln." +</p> + +<p> +Here the tea bell rang, and the conversation was discontinued. +</p> + +<p> +When Rose heard that Mary was taking music lessons, she exclaimed to a group of +girls with whom she was talking, "Well, I declare, beggars taking music +lessons! I wonder what'll come next? Why, you've no idea how dreadfully poor +she is. Our summer residence is near the alms-house, and when she was there I +saw a good deal of her. She had scarcely any thing fit to wear, and I gave her +one of my old bonnets, which I do believe she wore for three or four years." +</p> + +<p> +"Why Rose Lincoln," said Jenny, who had overheard all, and now came up to her +sister, "how can you tell what you know is not true?" +</p> + +<p> +"Not true?" angrily retorted Rose. "Pray didn't she have my old bonnet?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," answered Jenny, "but I bought it of you, and paid you for it with a +bracelet Billy Bender gave me,—you know I did." +</p> + +<p> +Rose was cornered, and as she saw noway of extricating herself, she turned on +her heel and walked away, muttering about the meanness of doing a charitable +deed, and then boasting of it! +</p> + +<p> +The next day Jenny chanced to go for a moment to Mary's room. As she entered +it, Mary looked up, saying, "You are just the one I want to see. I've been +writing about you to Billy Bender. You can read it if you choose." +</p> + +<p> +When Jenny had finished reading the passage referred to, she said, "Oh, Mary, I +didn't suppose you overheard Rose's unkind remarks about that bonnet." +</p> + +<p> +"But I did," answered Mary, "and I am glad, too, for I had always supposed +myself indebted to her instead of you. Billy thought so, too, and as you see, I +have undeceived him. Did I tell you that he had left Mr. Selden's employment, +and gone into a law office?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, good, good. I'm so glad," exclaimed Jenny, dancing about the room. "Do you +know whose office he is in?" +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Worthington's," answered Mary, and Jenny continued: "Why, Henry is +studying there. Isn't it funny? But Billy will beat him, I know he +will,—he's so smart. How I wish he'd write to me! Wouldn't I feel grand +to have a gentleman correspondent?" +</p> + +<p> +"Suppose you write to him," said Mary, laughingly. "Here's just room enough," +pointing to a vacant spot upon the paper. "He's always asking about you, and +you can answer his questions yourself." +</p> + +<p> +"I'll do it," said Jenny, and seizing the pen, she thoughtlessly scribbled off +a ludicrous account of her failure, and of the blunders she was constantly +committing, while she spoke of Mary as the pattern for the whole school, both +in scholarship and behavior. +</p> + +<p> +"There!" said she, wiping her gold pen upon her silk apron (for Jenny still +retained some of the habits of her childhood) "I guess he'll think I'm crazy, +but I hope he'll answer it, any way." +</p> + +<p> +Mary hoped so too, and when at last Billy's letter came, containing a neatly +written note for Jenny, it was difficult telling which of the two girls was the +happier. +</p> + +<p> +Soon after Mary went to Mount Holyoke, she had received a letter from Billy, in +which he expressed his pleasure that she was at school, but added that the fact +of her being there interfered greatly with his plan of educating her himself. +"Mother's ill health," said he, "prevented me from doing any thing until now, +and just as I am in a fair way to accomplish my object, some one else has +stepped in before me. But it is all right, and as you do not seem to need my +services at present, I shall next week leave Mr. Selden's employment, go into +Mr. Worthington's law office as clerk, hoping that when the proper time +arrives, I shall not be defeated in another plan which was formed in boyhood, +and which has become the great object of my life." +</p> + +<p> +Mary felt perplexed and troubled. Billy's letters of late had been more like +those of a lover than a brother, and she could not help guessing the nature of +"the plan formed in boyhood." She knew she should never love him except with a +sister's love, and though she could not tell him so, her next letter lacked the +tone of affection with which she was accustomed to write, and on the whole a +rather formal affair. Billy, who readily perceived the change, attributed it to +the right cause, and from that time his letters became far less cheerful than +usual. +</p> + +<p> +Mary usually cried over them, wishing more than once that Billy would transfer +his affection from herself to Jenny, and it was for this reason, perhaps, that +without stopping to consider the propriety of the matter, she first asked Jenny +to write to him, and then encouraged her in answering his notes, which (as her +own letters grew shorter) became gradually longer and longer, until at last his +letters were addressed to Jenny, while the notes they contained were directed +to Mary! +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> </div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX" id="CHAPTER_XX"></a> +CHAPTER XX.<br/> +THE CLOSING OF THE YEAR.</h2> + +<p> +Rapidly the days passed on at Mount Holyoke. Autumn faded into winter, whose +icy breath floated for a time over the mountain tops, and then melted away at +the approach of spring, which, with its swelling buds and early flowers, gave +way in its turn to the long bright days of summer. And now only a few weeks +remained ere the annual examination at which Ida was to be graduated. Neither +Rose nor Jenny were to return the next year, and nothing but Mr. Lincoln's +firmness and good sense had prevented their being sent for when their mother +first heard that they had failed to enter the Middle class. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Lincoln's mortification was undoubtedly greatly increased from the fact +that the despised Mary had entered in advance of her daughters. "Things are +coming to a pretty pass," said she. "Yes, a pretty pass; but I might have known +better than to send my children to such a school." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Lincoln could not forbear asking her in a laughing way, "if the schools +which she attended were of a higher order than Mount Holyoke." +</p> + +<p> +Bursting into tears, Mrs. Lincoln replied that "she didn't think she ought to +be <i>twitted</i> of her poverty." +</p> + +<p> +"Neither do I," returned her husband. "You were no more to blame for working in +the factory, than Mary is for having been a pauper!" +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Lincoln was silent, for she did not particularly care to hear about her +early days, when she had been an operative in the cotton mills of Southbridge. +She had possessed just enough beauty to captivate the son of the proprietor, +who was fresh from college, and after a few weeks' acquaintance they were +married. Fortunately her husband was a man of good sense, and restrained her +from the commission of many foolish acts. Thus when she insisted upon sending +for Rose and Jenny, he promptly replied that they should not come home! Still, +as Rose seemed discontented, complaining that so much exercise made her side +and shoulder ache, and as Jenny did not wish to remain another year unless Mary +did, he consented that they should leave school at the close of the term, on +condition that they went somewhere else. +</p> + +<p> +"I shall never make any thing of Henry," said he, "but my daughters shall +receive every advantage, and perhaps one or the other of them will comfort my +old age." +</p> + +<p> +He had spoken truly with regard to Henry, who was studying, or pretending to +study law in the same office with Billy Bender. But his father heard no +favorable accounts of him, and from time to time large bills were presented for +the payment of carriage hire, wine, and "drunken sprees" generally. So it is no +wonder the disappointed father sighed, and turned to his daughters for the +comfort his only son refused to give. +</p> + +<p> +But we have wandered from the examination at Mount Holyoke, for which great +preparations were being made. Rose, knowing she was not to return, seemed to +think all further effort on her part unnecessary; and numerous were the +reprimands, to say nothing of the black marks which she received. Jenny, on the +contrary, said she wished to retrieve her reputation for laziness, and leave +behind a good impression. So, never before in her whole life had she behaved so +well, or studied so hard as she did during the last few weeks of her stay at +Mount Holyoke. Ida, who was expecting her father, aunt and cousin to be present +at the anniversary, was so engrossed with her studies, that she did not observe +how sad and low spirited Mary seemed. She had tasted of knowledge, and now +thirsted for more; but it could not be; the funds were exhausted, and she must +leave the school, never perhaps to return again. +</p> + +<p> +"How much I shall miss my music, and how much I shall miss you," she said one +day to Ida, who was giving her a lesson. +</p> + +<p> +"It's too bad you haven't a piano," returned Ida, "you are so fond of it, and +improve so fast!" then after a moment she added, "I have a plan to propose, and +may as well do it now as any time. Next winter you must spend with me in +Boston. Aunt Martha and I arranged it the last time I was at home, and we even +selected your room, which is next to mine, and opposite to Aunt Martha's. Now +what does your ladyship say to it?" +</p> + +<p> +"She says she can't go," answered Mary. +</p> + +<p> +"Can't go!" repeated Ida. "Why not? Jenny will be in the city, and you are +always happy where she is; besides you will have a rare chance for taking music +lessons of our best teachers; and then, too, you will be in the same house with +George, and that alone is worth going to Boston for, I think." +</p> + +<p> +Ida little suspected that her last argument was the strongest objection to +Mary's going, for much as she wished to meet George again, she felt that she +would not on any account go to his own home, lest he should think she came on +purpose to see him. There were other reasons, too, why she did not wish to go. +Henry and Rose Lincoln would both be in the city, and she knew that neither of +them would scruple to do or say any thing which they thought would annoy her. +Mrs. Mason, too, missed her, and longed to have her at home; so she resisted +all Ida's entreaties, and the next letter which went to Aunt Martha, carried +her refusal. +</p> + +<p> +In a day or two, Mary received two letters, one from Billy and one from Mrs. +Mason, the latter of which contained money for the payment of her bills; but on +offering it to the Principal, how was she surprised to learn that her bills had +not only been regularly paid and receipted, but that ample funds were provided +for the defraying of her expenses during the coming year. A faint sickness +stole over Mary, for she instantly thought of Billy Bender, and the obligations +she would now be under to him for ever. Then it occurred to her how impossible +it was that he should have earned so much in so short a time; and as soon as +she could trust her voice to speak, she asked who it was that had thus +befriended her. +</p> + +<p> +Miss —— was not at liberty to tell, and with a secret suspicion of +Aunt Martha, who had seemed much interested in her welfare, Mary returned to +her room to read the other letter, which was still unopened. It was some time +since Billy had written to her alone, and with more than her usual curiosity, +she broke the seal; but her head grew dizzy, and her spirits faint, as she read +the passionate outpouring of a heart which had cherished her image for years, +and which, though fearful of rejection, would still tell her how much she was +beloved. "It is no sudden fancy," said he, "but was conceived years ago, on +that dreary afternoon, when in your little room at the poor-house, you laid +your head in my lap and wept, as you told me how lonely you were. Do you +remember it, Mary? I do; and never now does your image come before me, but I +think of you as you were then, when the wild wish that you should one day be +mine first entered my heart. Morning, noon, and night have I thought of you, +and no plan for the future have I ever formed which had not a direct reference +to you. Once, Mary, I believed my affection for you returned, but now you are +changed greatly changed. Your letters are brief and cold, and when I look +around for the cause, I am led to fear that I was deceived in thinking you ever +loved me, as I thought you did. If I am mistaken, tell me so; but if I am not, +if you can never be my wife, I will school myself to think of you as a brother +would think of an only and darling sister." +</p> + +<p> +This letter produced a strange effect upon Mary. She thought how much she was +indebted to one who had stood so faithfully by her when all the world was dark +and dreary. She thought, too, of his kindness to the dead, and that appealed +more strongly to her sympathy than aught else he had ever done for her. There +was no one to advise her, and acting upon the impulse of the moment, she sat +down and commenced a letter, the nature of which she did not understand +herself, and which if sent, would have given a different coloring to the whole +of her after life. She had written but one page, when the study bell rang, and +she was obliged to put her letter by till the morrow. For several days she had +not been well, and the excitement produced by Billy's letter tended to increase +her illness, so that on the following morning when she attempted to rise, she +found herself seriously ill. During the hours in which she was alone that day, +she had ample time for reflection, and before night she wrote another letter to +Billy, in which she told him how impossible it was for her to be the wife of +one whom she had always loved as an own, and dear brother. This letter caused +Mary so much effort, and so many bitter tears, that for several days she +continued worse, and at last gave up all hope of being present at the +examination. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh it's too bad," said Ida, "for I <i>do</i> want you to see Cousin George, +and I know he'll be disappointed too, for I never saw any thing like the +interest he seems to take in you." +</p> + +<p> +A few days afterwards as Mary was lying alone, thinking of Billy, and wondering +if she had done right in writing to him as she did, Jenny came rushing in wild +with delight. +</p> + +<p> +Her father was down stairs, together with Ida's father George, and Aunt Martha. +"Most the first thing I did," said she, "was to inquire after Billy Bender! I +guess Aunt Martha was shocked, for she looked so <i>queer</i>. George laughed, +and Mr. Selden said he was doing well, and was one of the finest young men in +Boston. But why don't you ask about George? I heard him talking about you to +Rose, just as I left the parlor." +</p> + +<p> +Mary felt sure that any information of her which Rose might give would not be +very complimentary, and she thought right; for when Rose was questioned +concerning "Miss Howard," she at first affected her ignorance of such a person; +and then when George explained himself more definitely, she said, "Oh, +<i>that</i> girl! I'm sure I don't know much about her, except that she's a +<i>charity scholar</i>, or something of that kind." +</p> + +<p> +At the words "charity scholar," there was a peculiar smile on George's face; +but he continued talking, saying, "that if that were the case, she ought to be +very studious and he presumed she was." +</p> + +<p> +"As nearly as I can judge of her," returned Rose, "she is not remarkable for +brilliant talents; but," she added, as she met Ida's eye, "she has a certain +way of showing off, and perhaps I am mistaken with regard to her." +</p> + +<p> +Very different from this was the description given of her by Ida, who now came +to her cousin's side, extolling Mary highly, and lamenting the illness which +would prevent George from seeing her. Aunt Martha, also, spoke a word in Mary's +favor, at the same time endeavoring to stop the unkind remarks of Rose, whom +she thoroughly disliked, and who she feared was becoming too much of a favorite +with George. Rose was not only very handsome, but she also possessed a peculiar +faculty of making herself agreeable whenever she chose, and in Boston she was +quite a favorite with a certain class of young men. It was for George Moreland, +however, that her prettiest and most coquettish airs were practised. He was the +object which she would secure; and when she heard Mary Howard so highly +commended in his presence, she could not forbear expressing her contempt, +fancying that he, with his high English notions, would feel just as she did, +with regard to poverty and low origin. As for George, it was difficult telling +whom he did prefer, though the last time Rose was in Boston, rumor had said +that he was particularly attentive to her; and Mrs. Lincoln, who was very +sanguine, once hinted to Ida, the probability that a relationship would sooner +or later exist between the two families. +</p> + +<p> +Rose, too, though careful not to hint at such a thing in Ida's presence, was +quite willing that others of her companions at Mount Holyoke should fancy there +was an intimacy, if not an engagement between herself and Mr. Moreland. +Consequently he had not been in South Hadley twenty-four hours, ere he was +pointed out by some of the villagers, as being the future husband of the elder +Miss Lincoln, whose haughty, disagreeable manners had become subject of general +remark. During the whole of George's stay at Mount Holyoke, Rose managed to +keep him at her side, entertaining him occasionally with unkind remarks +concerning Mary, who, she said, was undoubtedly feigning her sickness, so as +not to appear in her classes, where she knew she could do herself no credit; +"but," said she, "as soon as the examination is over, she'll get well fast +enough, and bother us with her company to Chicopee." +</p> + +<p> +In this Rose was mistaken, for when the exercises closed Mary was still too ill +to ride, and it was decided that she should remain a few days until Mrs. Mason +could come for her. With many tears Ida and Jenny bade their young friend +good-bye, but Rose, when asked to go up and see her turned away disdainfully, +amusing herself during their absence by talking and laughing with George +Moreland. +</p> + +<p> +The room in which Mary lay, commanded a view of the yard and gateway; and after +Aunt Martha, Ida, and Jenny had left her, she arose, and stealing to the +window, looked out upon the company as they departed. She could readily divine +which was George Moreland, for Rose Lincoln's shawl and satchel were thrown +over his arm, while Rose herself walked close to his elbow, apparently +engrossing his whole attention. Once he turned around, but fearful of being +herself observed, Mary drew back behind the window curtain, and thus lost a +view of his face. He, however, caught a glimpse of her, and asked if that was +the room in which Miss Howard was sick. +</p> + +<p> +Rose affected not to hear him, and continued enumerating the many trials which +she had endured at school, and congratulating herself upon her escape from the +"horrid place." But for once George was not an attentive listener. +Notwithstanding his apparent indifference, he was greatly disappointed at not +seeing Mary. It was for this he had gone to Mount Holyoke; and in spite of +Rose's endeavors to make him talk, he was unusually silent all the way, and +when they at last reached Chicopee, he highly offended the young lady by +assisting Jenny to alight instead of herself. +</p> + +<p> +"I should like to know what you are thinking about," she said rather pettishly, +as she took his offered hand to say good-bye. +</p> + +<p> +With a roguish look in his eye, George replied, "I've been thinking of a young +lady. Shall I tell you her name?" +</p> + +<p> +Rose blushed, and looking interestingly embarrassed answered, that of course +'twas no one whom she knew. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, 'tis," returned George, still holding her hand and as Aunt Martha, who +was jealously watching his movements from the window, just then called out to +him "to jump in, or he'd be left," he put his face under Rose's bonnet, and +whispered, "Mary Howard!" +</p> + +<p> +"Kissed her, upon my word!" said Aunt Martha with a groan, which was rendered +inaudible to Ida by the louder noise of the engine. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> </div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI" id="CHAPTER_XXI"></a> +CHAPTER XXI.<br/> +VACATION.</h2> + +<p> +In Mrs. Mason's pleasant little dining parlor, the tea-table was neatly spread +for two, while old Judith, in starched gingham dress, white muslin apron, +bustled in and out, occasionally changing the position of a curtain or chair, +and then stepping backward to witness the effect. The stuffed rocking chair, +with two extra cushions, and a pillow, was drawn up to the table, indicating +that an invalid was expected to occupy that seat, while near one of the plates +was a handsome bouquet, which Lydia Knight had carefully arranged, and brought +over as a present for her young teacher. A dozen times had Lydia been told to +"clip down to the gate and see if they were comin';" and at last, seating +herself resignedly upon the hall stairs, Judith began to wonder "what under the +sun and moon had happened." +</p> + +<p> +She had not sat there long, ere the sound of wheels again drew her to the door, +and in a moment old Charlotte and the yellow wagon entered the yard. Mary, who +was now nearly well, sprang out, and bounding up the steps, seized Judith's +hand with a grasp which told how glad she was to see her. +</p> + +<p> +"Why, you ain't dreadful sick, is you?" said Judith peering under her bonnet. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, no, not sick at all," returned Mary; and then, as she saw the chair, with +its cushions and pillows, she burst into a loud laugh, which finally ended in a +hearty cry, when she thought how kind was every one to her. +</p> + +<p> +She had been at home but a few days when she was solicited to take charge of a +small select school. But Mrs Mason thought it best for her to return to Mount +Holyoke, and accordingly she declined Mr. Knight's offer, greatly to his +disappointment, and that of many others. Mrs. Bradley, who never on any +occasion paid her school bill, was the loudest in her complaints, saying that, +"for all Tim never larnt a speck, and stood at the foot all summer long when +Mary kept before, he'd got so sassy there was no living with him, and she +wanted him out of the way." +</p> + +<p> +Widow Perkins, instead of being sorry was glad, for if Mary didn't teach, there +was no reason why Sally Ann shouldn't. "You'll never have a better chance," +said she to her daughter, "there's no stifficut needed for a private school, +and I'll clap on my things and run over to Mr Knight's before he gets off to +his work." +</p> + +<p> +It was amusing to see Mr. Knight's look of astonishment, when the widow made +her application. Lydia, who chanced to be present, hastily retreated behind the +pantry door, where with her apron over her mouth, she laughed heartily as she +thought of a note, which the candidate for teaching had once sent them, and in +which "i's" figured conspicuously, while her mother was "<i>polightly</i> +thanked for those yeast?" +</p> + +<p> +Possibly Mr. Knight thought of the note, too, for he gave the widow no +encouragement, and when on her way home she called for a moment at Mrs. +Mason's, she "thanked her stars that Sally Ann wasn't obliged to keep school +for a livin', for down below where she came from, teachers warn't fust cut!" +</p> + +<p> +One morning about a week after Mary's return, she announced her intention of +visiting her mother's grave. "I am accustomed to so much exercise," said she, +"that I can easily walk three miles, and perhaps on my way home I shall get a +ride." +</p> + +<p> +Mrs Mason made no objection, and Mary was soon on her way. She was a rapid +walker, and almost before she was aware of it, reached the village. As she came +near Mrs. Campbell's, the wish naturally arose that Ella should accompany her. +Looking up she saw her sister in the garden and called to her. +</p> + +<p> +"Wha-a-t?" was the very loud and uncivil answer which came back to her, and in +a moment Ella appeared round the corner of the house, carelessly swinging her +straw flat, and humming a fashionable song. On seeing her sister she drew back +the corners of her mouth into something which she intended for a smile, and +said, "Why, I thought it was Bridget calling me, you looked so much like her in +that gingham sun-bonnet. Won't you come in?" +</p> + +<p> +"Thank you," returned Mary, "I was going to mother's grave, and thought perhaps +you would like to accompany me." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, no," said Ella, in her usual drawling tone, "I don't know as I want to go. +I was there last week and saw the monument." +</p> + +<p> +"What monument?" asked Mary, and Ella replied "Why, didn't you know that Mrs. +Mason, or the town, or somebody, had bought a monument, with mother's and +father's, and Franky's, and Allie's name on it?" +</p> + +<p> +Mary waited for no more, but turned to leave, while Ella, who was anxious to +inquire about Ida Selden, and who could afford to be gracious, now that neither +Miss Porter, nor the city girls were there, called after her to stop and rest, +when she came back. Mary promised to do so, and then hurrying on, soon reached +the graveyard, where, as Ella had said, there stood by her parents' graves a +large handsome monument. +</p> + +<p> +William Bender was the first person who came into her mind, and as she thought +of all that had passed between them, and of this last proof of his affection, +she seated herself among the tall grass and flowers, which grew upon her +mother's grave, and burst into tears. She had not sat there long, ere she was +roused by the sound of a footstep. Looking up, she saw before her the young +gentleman, who the year previous had visited her school in Rice Corner. Seating +himself respectfully by her side, he spoke of the three graves, and asked if +they were her friends who slept there. There was something so kind and +affectionate in his voice and manner, that Mary could not repress her tears, +and snatching up her bonnet which she had thrown aside she hid her face in it +and again wept. +</p> + +<p> +For a time, Mr. Stuart suffered her to weep, and then gently removed the +gingham bonnet, and holding her hand between his, he tried to divert her mind +by talking upon other topics, asking her how she had been employed during the +year, and appearing greatly pleased, when told that she had been at Mount +Holyoke. Observing, at length, that her eyes constantly rested upon the +monument, he spoke of that, praising its beauty, and asking if it were her +taste. +</p> + +<p> +"No," said she, "I never saw it until to-day, and did not even know it was +here." +</p> + +<p> +"Some one wished to surprise you, I dare say," returned Mr. Stuart. "It was +manufactured in Boston, I see. Have you friends there?" +</p> + +<p> +Mary replied that she had one, a Mr. Bender, to which Mr. Stuart quickly +rejoined, "Is it William Bender? I have heard of him through our mutual friend +George Moreland, whom you perhaps have seen." +</p> + +<p> +Mary felt the earnest gaze of the large, dark eyes which were fixed upon her +face, and coloring deeply, she replied that they came from England in the same +vessel. +</p> + +<p> +"Indeed!" said Mr. Stuart. "When I return to the city shall I refresh his +memory a little with regard to you?" +</p> + +<p> +"I'd rather you would not," answered Mary. "Our paths in life are very +different; and he of course would feel no interest in me." +</p> + +<p> +"Am I to conclude that you, too, feel no interest in him?" returned Mr. Stuart, +and again his large eyes rested on Mary's face, with a curious expression. +</p> + +<p> +But she made no reply, and soon rising up, said it was time for her to go home. +</p> + +<p> +"Allow me to accompany you as far as Mrs. Campbell's," said Mr. Stuart. "I am +going to call upon Miss Ella, whose acquaintance I accidentally made last +summer. Suppose you call too. You know her, of course?" Mary replied that she +did, and was about to speak of the relationship between them, when Mr. Stuart +abruptly changed the conversation, and in a moment more they were at Mrs. +Campbell's door. Ella was so much delighted at again seeing Mr. Stuart, that +she hardly noticed her sister at all, and did not even ask her to remove her +bonnet. After conversing a while upon indifferent subjects, Mr. Stuart asked +Ella to play, saying he was very fond of music. But Ella, like other +fashionable ladies, "couldn't of course play any thing,—was dreadfully +out of practice, and besides that her music was all so old-fashioned." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Stuart had probably seen such cases before, and knew how to manage them, +for he continued urging the matter, until Ella arose, and throwing back her +curls, sauntered to wards the piano, saying she should be obliged to have some +one turn the leases for her. Mr. Stuart of course volunteered his services, and +after a violent turning of the music-stool by way of elevating it, and a +turning back by way of lowering it, Ella with the air of a martyr, declared +herself ready to play whatever Mr. Stuart should select, provided it were not +"old." +</p> + +<p> +A choice being made she dashed off into a spirited waltz, skipping a good many +notes, and finally ending with a tremendous crash. Fond as Mr. Stuart was of +music, he did not call for a repetition from her, but turning to Mary asked if +she could play. +</p> + +<p> +Ella laughed aloud at the idea, and when Mary replied that she did play a +little, she laughed still louder, saying, "Why, <i>she</i> can't play, unless +it's 'Days of Absence,' with one hand, or something of that kind." +</p> + +<p> +"Allow me to be the judge," said Mr. Stuart, and leading Mary to the piano, he +bade her play any thing she pleased. +</p> + +<p> +Ida had been a faithful teacher, and Mary a persevering pupil, so that whatever +she played was played correctly and with good taste; at least Mr. Stuart +thought so, for he kept calling for piece after piece, until she laughingly +told him her catalogue was nearly exhausted, and she'd soon be obliged to +resort to the <i>scales!</i> +</p> + +<p> +Ella looked on in amazement, and when Mary had finished playing, demanded of +her where she had learned so much, and who was her teacher; adding that her +<i>fingering</i> was wretched; "but then," said she, "I suppose you can't help +it, your fingers are so stiff!" +</p> + +<p> +For a moment Mr. Stuart regarded her with an expression which it seemed to Mary +she had seen before, and then consulting his watch, said he must go, as it was +nearly car time, After he was gone, Ella asked Mary endless questions as to +where she met him, what he said, and if she told him they were sisters. "How +elegantly he was dressed," said she, "Didn't you feel dreadfully ashamed of +your gingham sun-bonnet and gown?" +</p> + +<p> +"Why, no," said Mary. "I never once thought of them." +</p> + +<p> +"I should, for I know he notices every thing," returned Ella; and then leaning +on her elbow so as to bring herself in range of the large mirror opposite, she +continued, "seems to me my curls are not arranged becomingly this morning." +</p> + +<p> +Either for mischief, or because she really thought so, Mary replied "that they +did not look as well as usual;" whereupon Ella grew red in the face, saying +that "she didn't think she looked so very badly." +</p> + +<p> +Just then the first dinner bell rang, and starting up Ella exclaimed, "Why-ee, +<i>I</i> forgot that ma expected General H. to dine. I must go and dress this +minute." +</p> + +<p> +Without ever asking her sister to stay to dinner, she hastily left the room. +Upon finding herself so unceremoniously deserted, Mary tied on the despised +gingham bonnet and started for home. She had reached the place where Ella the +year before met with Mr. Stuart, when she saw a boy, whom she knew was living +at the poor-house, coming down the hill as fast as a half blind old horse could +bring him. When he got opposite to her he halted, and with eyes projecting like +harvest apples, told her to "jump in, for Mrs. Parker was dying, and they had +sent for her." +</p> + +<p> +"I've been to your house," said he, "and your marm thought mebby I'd meet you." +</p> + +<p> +Mary immediately sprang in, and by adroitly questioning Mike, whose intellect +was not the brightest in the world, managed to ascertain that Mrs. Parker had +been much worse for several days, that Sal Furbush had turned nurse; faithfully +attending her night and day, and occasionally sharing "her vigils" with a +"sleek, fancy-looking girl, who dressed up in meetin' clothes every day, and +who had first proposed sending for Mary." Mary readily guessed that the "sleek, +fancy-looking" girl was Jenny, and on reaching the poor house she found her +suspicions correct, for Jenny came out to meet her, followed by Sally, who +exclaimed, "Weep, oh daughter, and lament, for earth has got one woman less and +Heaven one female more!" +</p> + +<p> +Passing into the house, Mary followed Jenny to the same room where once her +baby sister had lain, and where now upon the same table lay all that was mortal +of Mrs. Parker. Miss Grundy, who was standing near the body, bowed with a look +of very becoming resignation, and then as if quite overcome, left the room. +Just then a neighbor, who seemed to be superintending affairs, came in, and +Mary asked what she could do to assist them. +</p> + +<p> +"Nothing until to-morrow, when if you please you can help make the shroud," +answered the woman, and Jenny catching Mary around the neck, whispered, "You'll +stay all night with me; there's no one at home but Rose, and we'll have such a +nice time." +</p> + +<p> +Mary thought of the little room up stairs where Alice had died, and felt a +desire to sleep there once more, but upon inquiry she found that it was now +occupied by Sally Furbush. +</p> + +<p> +"You must come and see my little parlor," said she to Mary, and taking her hand +she led her up to the room, which was greatly improved. A strip of faded, but +rich carpeting was before the bed. A low rocking-chair stood near the window, +which was shaded with a striped muslin curtain, the end of which was fringed +out nearly a quarter of a yard, plainly showing Sally's handiwork. The contents +of the old barrel were neatly stowed away in a square box, on the top of which +lay a worn portfolio, stuffed to its utmost capacity with manuscript. +</p> + +<p> +"For all this elegance," said Sally, "I am indebted to my worthy and esteemed +friend, Miss Lincoln." +</p> + +<p> +But Mary did not hear, for her eyes were riveted upon another piece of +furniture. At the foot of the bed stood Alice's cradle, which Billy Bender had +brought there on that afternoon now so well remembered by Mary. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, Sally," said she, "how came this here?" +</p> + +<p> +"Why," returned Sally, hitting it a jog, "I don't sleep any now, and I thought +the nights would seem shorter, if I had this to rock and make believe little +Willie was in it. So I brought it down from the garret, and it affords me a +sight of comfort, I assure you!" +</p> + +<p> +Mary afterwards learned that often during the long winter nights the sound of +that cradle could be heard, occasionally drowned by Sally's voice, which +sometimes rose almost to a shriek, and then died away in a low, sad wail, as +she sang a lullaby to the "Willie who lay sleeping on the prairie at the West." +</p> + +<p> +As there was now no reason why she should not do so, Mary accompanied Jenny +home, where, as she had expected, she met with a cool reception from Rose, who +merely nodded to her, and then resumed the book she was reading. After tea, +Mary stepped for a moment into the yard, and then Rose asked Jenny what she +intended doing with her "genteel visitor." +</p> + +<p> +"Put her in the best chamber, and sleep there myself," said Jenny, adding that +"they were going to lie awake all night just to see how it seemed." +</p> + +<p> +But in spite of this resolution, as midnight advanced Jenny found that Mary's +answers, even when Billy Bender was the topic, became more and more +unsatisfactory, and finally ceased altogether. Concluding to let her sleep a +few minutes, and then wake her up, Jenny turned on her pillow and when her eyes +again opened, the morning sun was shining through the half-closed shutters, and +the breakfast bell was jingling in the lower hall. +</p> + +<p> +When Mary returned to the poor-house, she found a new arrival in the person of +Mrs. Perkins! The widow had hailed Mike as he passed her house the day before, +and on learning how matters stood, offered to accompany him home. Mike, who had +an eye for "fancy-looking girls," did not exactly like Mrs. Perkins' +appearance. Besides that, his orders were to bring Mary, and he had no idea of +taking another as a substitute. Accordingly, when on his return from Mrs. +Mason's, he saw the widow standing at her gate, all equipped with parasol and +satchel, he whipped up his horse, and making the circuit of the school-house, +was some ways down the road ere the widow suspected his intentions. "Thanking +her stars" (her common expression) "that she had a good pair of feet," Mrs. +Perkins started on foot, reaching the poor-house about sunset. She was now +seated in what had been Mrs. Parker's room, and with pursed-up lips, and large +square collar very much like the present fashion, was stitching away upon the +shroud, heaving occasionally a long-drawn sigh, as she thought how lonely and +desolate poor Mr. Parker must feel! +</p> + +<p> +"Will you give me some work?" asked Mary, after depositing her bonnet upon the +table. +</p> + +<p> +"There's nothing for you," returned Mrs. Perkins. "I can do all that is +necessary, and prefer working alone." +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, she shall help too, if she wants to," snapped out Mrs. Grundy, with one +of her old shoulder jerks. "Mary's handy with the needle, for I larnt her +myself." +</p> + +<p> +In a short time Mrs. Perkins disappeared from the room, and Sally's little +bright eyes, which saw every thing, soon spied her out in the woodshed asking +Mr. Parker "if Polly Grundy couldn't be kept in the kitchen where she +belonged." +</p> + +<p> +Scarcely had she left the shed when Miss Grundy herself appeared, fretting +about "the meddlesome old widow who had come there stickin' round before Mrs. +Parker was hardly cold!" +</p> + +<p> +This put a new idea into Sally's head, and the whole household was startled as +she broke out singing, "the loss of one is the gain of another," and so forth. +Mrs. Perkins proposed that she should be shut up, but Miss Grundy, for once in +Sally's favor, declared "she'd fight, before such a thing should be done;" +whereupon Mrs. Perkins lamented that the house had now "no head," wondering how +poor Mr. Parker would get along with "such an unmanageable crew." +</p> + +<p> +Numerous were the ways with which the widow sought to comfort the widower, +assuring him "that she ached for him clear to her heart's core! and I know how +to pity you, too," said she, "for when my Hezekiah died I thought I couldn't +stand it." Then by way of administering further consolation, she added that +"the <i>wust</i> was to come, for only them that had tried it knew how lonesome +it was to live on day after day, and night after night, week in and week out, +without any husband or wife." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Parker probably appreciated her kindness, for when after the funeral the +following day she announced her intention of walking home, he ordered Mike to +"tackle up," and carry her. This was hardly in accordance with the widow's +wishes, and when all was in readiness, she declared that she was afraid to ride +after Mike's driving. Uncle Peter was then proposed as a substitute, but the +old man had such a dread of Mrs. Perkins, who Sal (for mischief) had said was +in love with him, that at the first intimation he climbed up the scuttle hole, +where an hour afterwards he was discovered peeping cautiously out to see if the +coast was clear. Mr. Parker was thus compelled to go himself, Miss Grundy +sending after him the very Christian-like wish that "she hoped he'd tip over +and break the widow's neck!" +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> </div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII" id="CHAPTER_XXII"></a> +CHAPTER XXII.<br/> +EDUCATION FINISHED.</h2> + +<p> +Vacation was over, and again in the halls of Mount Holyoke was heard the tread +of many feet, and the sound of youthful voices, as one by one the pupils came +back to their accustomed places. For a time Mary was undecided whether to +return or not, for much as she desired an education, she could not help feeling +delicate about receiving it from a stranger; but Mrs. Mason, to whom all her +thoughts and feelings were confided, advised her to return, and accordingly the +first day of the term found her again at Mount Holyoke, where she was warmly +welcomed by her teachers and companions. Still it did not seem like the olden +time, for Ida was not there, and Jenny's merry laugh was gone. She had hoped +that her sister would accompany her, but in reply to her persuasions, Ella +answered that "she didn't want to work,—she wasn't obliged to +work,—and she wouldn't work!" quoting Rose Lincoln's "pain in the side, +callous on her hand, and cold on her lungs," as a sufficient reason why every +body should henceforth and for ever stay away from Mount Holyoke. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Lincoln, who forgot that Rose had complained of a pain in her side long +before she ever saw South Hadley, advised Mrs. Campbell, by all means, never to +send her daughter to such a place. "To be sure it may do well enough," said +she, "for a great burly creature like Mary Howard, but your daughter and mine +are altogether too delicate and daintily bred to endure it." +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Campbell of course consented to this, adding that she had secured the +services of a highly accomplished lady as governess for Ella, and proposing +that Rose and Jenny, instead of accompanying their mother to the city as usual, +should remain with her during the winter, and share Ella's advantages. To this +proposition, Mrs. Lincoln readily assented, and while Mary, from habitual +exercise both indoors and out, was growing more and more healthful and +vigorous, Rose Lincoln, who was really delicate, was drooping day by day, and +growing paler and paler in the closely heated school-room, where a breath of +fresh air rarely found entrance, as the "accomplished governess" could not +endure it. Daily were her pupils lectured upon the necessity of shielding +themselves from the winter winds, which were sure "to impart such a rough, +blowzy appearance to their complexion." +</p> + +<p> +Rose profited well by this advice, and hardly any thing could tempt her into +the open air, unless it were absolutely necessary. All day long she half +reclined upon a small sofa, which at her request was drawn close to the stove, +and even then complaining of being chilly she sometimes sat with her shawl +thrown over her shoulders. Jenny, on the contrary, fanned herself furiously at +the farthest corner of the room, frequently managing to open the window slyly, +and regale herself with the snow which lay upon the sill. Often, too, when her +lessons were over for the day, she would bound away, and after a walk of a mile +or so, would return to the house with her cheeks glowing, and her eyes +sparkling like stars. Burnishing a striking contrast to her pale, sickly +sister, who hovered over the stove, shivering if a window were raised, or a +door thrown open. +</p> + +<p> +In the course of the winter Mrs. Lincoln came up to visit her daughters, +expressing herself much pleased with Rose's improved looks and manners. "Her +complexion was so pure" she said, "so different from what it was when she came +from Mount Holyoke." +</p> + +<p> +Poor Jenny, who, full of life and spirits came rushing in to see her mother, +was cut short in her expression of joy by being called "a perfect bunch of +fat!" +</p> + +<p> +"Why, Jenny, what does make you so red and coarse?" said the distressed mother. +"I know you eat too much," and before Mrs. Lincoln went home, she gave her +daughter numerous lectures concerning her diet; but it only made matters worse; +and when six weeks after, Mrs. Lincoln came again she found that Jenny had not +only gained five pounds, but that hardly one of her dresses would meet! +</p> + +<p> +"Mercy me!" said she, the moment her eye fell upon Jenny's round, plump cheeks, +and fat shoulders, "you are as broad as you are long. What a figure you would +cut in Boston!" +</p> + +<p> +For once the merry Jenny cried, wondering how she could help being healthy and +fat. Before Mrs. Lincoln left Chicopee, she made a discovery, which resulted in +the removal of Jenny to Boston. With the exception of the year at Mount +Holyoke, Jenny had never before passed a winter in the country, and now +everything delighted her. In spite of her governess's remonstrance, all her +leisure moments were spent in the open air, and besides her long walks, she +frequently joined the scholars, who from the district school came over at +recess to slide down the long hill in the rear of Mrs. Campbell's barns and +stables. For Jenny to ride down hill at all was bad enough, "but to do so with +<i>district school</i> girls, and then be drawn up by coarse, vulgar boys, was +far worse;" and the offender was told to be in readiness to accompany her +mother home, for she could not stay in Chicopee another week. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, I'm so glad," said Rose, "for now I shan't freeze to death nights." +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Lincoln demanded what she meant, and was told that Jenny insisted upon +having the window down from the top, let the weather be what it might; "and," +added Rose 'when the wind blows hard I am positively obliged to hold on to the +sheets to keep myself in bed!" +</p> + +<p> +"A Mount Holyoke freak," said Mrs. Lincoln. "I wish to mercy neither of you had +ever gone there." +</p> + +<p> +Rose answered by a low cough, which her mother did not hear, or at least did +not notice. Jenny, who loved the country and the country people, was not much +pleased with her mother's plan. But for once Mrs. Lincoln was determined, and +after stealing one more sled-ride down the long hill, and bidding farewell to +the old desk in the school-house, sacred for the name carved three years before +with Billy Bender's jack-knife, Jenny went back with her mother to Boston, +leaving Rose to droop and fade in the hot, unwholesome atmosphere of Miss +Hinton's school-room. +</p> + +<p> +Not long after Jenny's return to the city, she wrote to Mary an amusing account +of her mother's reason for removing her from Chicopee. "But on the whole, I am +glad to be at home," said she, "for I see Billy Bender almost every day. I +first met him coming down Washington Street, and he walked with me clear to our +gate. Ida Selden had a party last week, and owing to George Moreland's +influence, Billy was there. He was very attentive to me, though Henry says +'twas right the other way. But it wasn't. I didn't ask him to go out to supper +with me. I only told him I'd introduce him to somebody who would go, and he +immediately offered me his arm. Oh, how mother scolded, and how angry she got +when she asked me if I wasn't ashamed, and I told her I wasn't! +</p> + +<p> +"Billy doesn't appear just as he used to. Seems as though something troubled +him; and what is very strange, he never speaks of you, unless I do first. +You've no idea how handsome he is. To be sure, he hasn't the air of George +Moreland, and doesn't dress as elegantly, but I think he's finer looking. Ever +so many girls at Ida's party asked who he was, and said 'twas a pity he wasn't +rich, but that wouldn't make any difference with me,—I'd have him just as +soon as though he was wealthy. +</p> + +<p> +"How mother would go on if she should see this! But I don't care,—I like +Billy Bender, and I can't help it, and <i>entre nous</i>, I believe he likes me +better than he did! But I must stop now, for Lizzie Upton has called for me to +go with her and see a poor blind woman in one of the back alleys." +</p> + +<p> +From this extract it will be seen that Jenny, though seventeen years of age, +was the same open-hearted, childlike creature as ever. She loved Billy Bender, +and she didn't care who knew it. She loved, too, to seek out and befriend the +poor, with which Boston, like all other large cities, abounded. Almost daily +her mother lectured her upon her bad taste in the choice of her associates, but +Jenny was incorrigible, and the very next hour might perhaps be seen either +walking with Billy Bender, or mounting the rickety stairs of some crazy old +building, where a palsied old woman or decrepit old man watched for her coming, +and blessed her when she came. +</p> + +<p> +Early in the spring Mr. Lincoln went up to Chicopee to make some changes in his +house, preparatory to his family's removal thither. When he called at Mrs. +Campbell's to see Rose, he was greatly shocked at her altered and languid +appearance. The cough, which her mother had not observed fell ominously on his +ear; for he thought of a young sister who many years before in the bloom of +girlhood had passed away from his side. A physician was immediately called and +after an examination Rose's lungs were pronounced diseased, though not as yet +beyond cure. She was of course taken from school; and with the utmost care, and +skilful nursing, she gradually grew better. +</p> + +<p> +Jenny, who had never been guilty of any great love for books, was also told +that her school days were over, and congratulated herself upon being a "full +grown young lady," which fact no one would dispute, who saw her somewhat large +dimensions. +</p> + +<p> +When Ella learned that Jenny as well as Rose was emancipated from the +school-room, she immediately petitioned her mother for a similar privilege, +saying that she knew all that was necessary for her to know. Miss Hinton, too, +being weary of one pupil, and desiring a change for herself, threw her +influence in Ella's favor, so that at last Mrs. Campbell yielded; and Ella, +piling up her books, carried them away, never again referring to them on any +occasion, but spending her time in anticipating the happiness she should enjoy +the following winter; when she was to be first introduced to Boston society. +</p> + +<p> +Unlike this was the closing of Mary's school days. Patiently and perseveringly, +through the year she had studied, storing her mind with useful knowledge; and +when at last the annual examination came, not one in the senior class stood +higher, or was graduated with more honor than herself. Mrs. Mason, who was +there, listened with all a parent's pride and fondness to her adopted child, as +she promptly responded to every question. But it was not Mrs. Mason's presence +alone which incited Mary to do so well. Among the crowd of spectators she +caught a glimpse of a face which twice before she had seen, once in the +school-room at Rice Corner, and once in the graveyard at Chicopee. Turn which +way she would, she felt, rather than saw, how intently Mr. Stuart watched her, +and when at last the exercises were over, and she with others arose to receive +her Diploma, she involuntarily glanced in the direction where she knew he sat. +For an instant their eyes met, and in the expression of his, she read an +approval warmer than words could have expressed. +</p> + +<p> +That night Mary sat alone in her room, listening almost nervously to the sound +of every footstep, and half starting up if it came near her door. But for +certain reasons Mr. Stuart did not think proper to call, and while Mary was +confidently expecting him, he was several miles on his way home. +</p> + +<p> +In a day or two Mary returned to Chicopee, but did not, like Ella, lay her +books aside and consider her education finished. Two or three hours each +morning were devoted to study, or reading of some kind. For several weeks +nothing was allowed to interfere with this arrangement, but at the end of that +time, the quiet of Mrs. Mason's house was disturbed by the unexpected arrival +of Aunt Martha and Ida, who came up to Chicopee for the purpose of inducing +Mrs. Mason and Mary to spend the coming winter in Boston. At first Mrs. Mason +hesitated, but every objection which either she or Mary raised was so easily +put aside, that she finally consented, saying she would be ready to go about +the middle of November. Aunt Martha, who was a bustling, active little woman, +and fancied that her brother's household always went wrong without her, soon +brought her visit to a close, and within the week went back to Boston, together +with Ida. +</p> + +<p> +The day following their departure, Mrs. Perkins came over to inquire who "them +stuck up folks was, and if the youngest wasn't some kin to the man that visited +Mary's school two years before;" saying "they favored each other enough to be +brother and sister." +</p> + +<p> +"Why, so they do," returned Mary. "I have often tried to think who it was that +Ida resembled; but they are not at all related, I presume." +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Mason said nothing, and soon changing the conversation, told Mrs. Perkins +of her projected visit. +</p> + +<p> +"Wall, if it don't beat all what curis' things turn up!" said the widow. "You +are going to Boston, and mercy knows what'll become of me,—but laws, I +ain't a goin' to worry; I shall be provided for some way." +</p> + +<p> +"Why, what is the matter?" asked Mrs. Mason, noticing for the first time that +her visitor seemed troubled. +</p> + +<p> +After walking to the window to hide her emotions, and then again resuming her +rocking chair, the widow communicated to them the startling information that +Sally Ann was going to be married! +</p> + +<p> +"Married! To whom?" asked Mrs. Mason and Mary in the same breath, but the widow +said they must "guess;" so after guessing every marriageable man or boy in town +they gave it up, and were told that it was no more nor less than Mr. Parker! +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Parker!" repeated Mary. "Why, he's old enough to be her father, ain't he?" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, no," returned Mrs. Perkins; "Sally Ann will be thirty if she lives till +the first day of next January." +</p> + +<p> +"You have kept the matter very quiet," said Mrs. Mason; and the widow, exacting +from each a promise never to tell as long as they lived, commenced the story of +her wrongs. +</p> + +<p> +It seems that not long after Mrs. Parker's demise, Mr. Parker began to call at +the cottage of the widow, sometime to inquire after her health, but oftener to +ask about a <i>red heifer</i> which he understood Mrs. Perkins had for sale! On +these occasions Sally Ann was usually invisible, so week after week Mr. Parker +continued to call, talking always about the "red heifer," and whether he'd +better buy her or not. +</p> + +<p> +"At last," said the widow, "I got sick on't, and one day after he'd sat more'n +two hours, says I, 'Ebenezer, if you want that red heifer, say so, and that'll +end it.' Up he jumps, and says he, 'I'll let you know in a few days;' then +pullin' from his trowsers pocket two little nurly apples, he laid 'em on the +table as a present for Sally Ann! Wall, the next time he come I was sick, and +Sally Ann let him in. I don't know what possessed me, but thinks to me I'll +listen, and as I'm a livin' woman, instead of ever mentioning the heifer, he +asked as fair and square as ever a man could, if she'd have him! and Sally Ann, +scart nigh about to death, up and said 'Yes.'" +</p> + +<p> +Here the widow, unable to proceed further, stopped, but soon regaining breath +continued, "Nobody but them that's passed through it can guess how I felt. My +head swam, and when I come to I was lyin' on the broad stair." +</p> + +<p> +"Are they to be married soon?" asked Mrs. Mason, and Mrs. Perkins answered, "Of +course. Was there ever an old fool of a widower who wasn't in a hurry? Next +Thursday is the day sot, and I've come to invite you, and see if you'd lend me +your spoons and dishes, and them little towels you use on the table, and your +<i>astor</i> lamps, and some flowers if there's any fit, and let Judy come over +to help about cookin' the turkey and sperrib!" +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Mason promised the loan of all these things, and then the widow arose to +go. Mary, who accompanied her to the door, could not help asking whether Mr. +Parker had finally bought her red heifer. +</p> + +<p> +The calico sun-bonnet trembled, and the little gray eyes flashed indignantly as +she said, "That man never wanted my red heifer a bit more than he wanted me!" +</p> + +<p> +True to her promise, Mrs. Mason the next Thursday sent Judith over to the +cottage with her "spoons, dishes, little towels, and <i>astor</i> lamp," while +she herself carried over the best and fairest flowers which had escaped the +frosts of autumn. Mary was chosen to dress the bride, who, spite of her red +hair, would have looked quite well, had her skirt been a trifle longer and +wider. Mrs. Perkins had insisted that five breadths of silk was sufficient, +consequently Sally Ann looked as Sal Furbush said, "not wholly unlike a long +tallow candle, with a red wick." +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Perkins, who flourished in a lace cap and scarlet ribbons, greeted her +son-in-law with a burst of tears, saying she little thought when they were +young that she should ever be his mother! +</p> + +<p> +For the sake of peace Mr. Parker had invited Miss Grundy to be present at the +wedding, but as this was the first intimation that Miss Grundy had received of +the matter, she fell into a violent fit of anger, bidding him to "go to grass +with his invitations," and adding very emphatically, that "she'd have him to +know she never yet saw the day when she'd marry <i>him</i>, or any other living +man." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Parker of course couldn't dispute her, so he turned away, wondering within +himself "what made <i>wimmen</i> so queer!" +</p> + +<p> +The day following the wedding, the bride went to her new home, where she was +received by Miss Grundy with a grunt which was probably intended for a "how +d'ye do." Uncle Peter expressed his pleasure at making the acquaintance of one +more of the "fair sect," but hoped that "estimable lady her mother, wouldn't +feel like visiting her often, as mothers were very apt to make mischief." Sally +Furbush was the only cool and collected one present, and she did the honors of +the house so gracefully and well, that but for the wildness of her eyes and an +occasional whispering to herself, the bride would never have suspected her of +insanity. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> </div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a> +CHAPTER XXIII.<br/> +LIFE IN BOSTON.</h2> + +<p> +"Come this way, Mary. I'll show you your chamber. It's right here next to +mine," said Ida Selden, as on the evening of her friend's arrival she led her +up to a handsomely furnished apartment, which for many weeks had borne the +title of "Mary's room." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, how pleasant!" was Mary's exclamation, as she surveyed the room in which +every thing was arranged with such perfect taste. +</p> + +<p> +A cheerful coal fire was blazing in the grate, for no murderous stove was ever +suffered to invade the premises where Aunt Martha ruled. The design of the +Brussels carpet was exquisitely beautiful, and the roses upon it looked as if +freshly plucked from the parent stalk. At one end of the room, and just +opposite the grate, were two bay windows, overlooking Mr. Selden's fine, large +garden, and shaded by curtains of richly embroidered lace. In front of the fire +was a large easy chair, covered with crimson damask; and scattered about the +room were ottomans, divans, books, pictures, and every thing which could in any +way conduce to a young lady's comfort or happiness. On the marble mantel there +stood two costly vases, filled with rare flowers, among which Mary recognized +her favorites. But ere she had time to speak of it, Ida opened a side door, +disclosing to view a cosy little bedroom, with a large closet and bathing room +adjoining. +</p> + +<p> +"Here," said she, "you are to sleep; but you needn't expect to be entirely +exclusive, for every night when I feel cold or fidgety, I shall run in here and +sleep with you. Is it a bargain?" +</p> + +<p> +Mary was too happy to speak, and dropping into the easy chair she burst into +tears. In a moment Ida, too, was seated in the same chair, and with her arm +around Mary's neck was wondering why she wept. Then as her own eyes chanced to +fall upon the vases, she brought one of them to Mary, saying, "See, these are +for you,—a present from one, who bade me present them with his +compliments to the little girl who nursed him on board the Windermere, and who +cried because he called her ugly!" +</p> + +<p> +Mary's heart was almost audible in its beatings, and her cheeks took the hue of +the cushions on which she reclined. Returning the vase to the mantel-piece, Ida +came back to her side, and bending closer to her face, whispered, "Cousin +George told me of you years ago when he first came here, but I forgot all about +it, and when we were at Mount Holyoke, I never suspected that you were the +little girl he used to talk so much about. But a few days before he went away +he reminded me of it again, and then I understood why he was so much interested +in you. I wonder you never told me you knew him, for of course you like him. +You can't help it." +</p> + +<p> +Mary only heard a part of what Ida said. "Just before he went away.—" Was +he then gone, and should she not see him after all? A cloud gathered upon her +brow, and Ida readily divining its cause, replied, "Yes, George is gone. Either +he or father must go to New Orleans, and so George of course went. Isn't it too +bad? I cried and fretted, but he only pulled my ears, and said he should think +I'd be glad for he knew we wouldn't want a great six-footer domineering over +us, and following us every where, as he would surely do were he at home." +</p> + +<p> +Mary felt more disappointed than she was willing to acknowledge, and for a +moment she half wished herself back in Chicopee, but soon recovering her +equanimity, she ventured to ask how long George was to be gone. +</p> + +<p> +"Until April, I believe," said Ida; "but any way you are to stay until he +comes, for Aunt Martha promised to keep you. I don't know exactly what George +said to her about you, but they talked together more than two hours, and she +says you are to take music lessons and drawing lessons, and all that. George is +very fond of music." +</p> + +<p> +Here thinking she was telling too much, Ida suddenly stopped, and as the tea +bell just then rang, she started up, saying, "Oh, I forgot that father was +waiting in the parlor to see you. I've said so much about you that his +curiosity is quite roused, but I can introduce you at the table just as well." +Our lady readers will pardon Mary if before meeting Mr. Selden she gave herself +a slight inspection in the long mirror, which hung in her dressing room. +Passing the brush several times through her glossy hair, and smoothing down the +folds of her neatly fitting merino, she concluded that she looked well enough +for a traveller, and with slightly heightened color, followed Ida into the +supper room, where she found assembled Mrs. Mason, Aunt Martha, and Mr. Selden. +The moment her eye fell upon the latter, she recognized the same kindly beaming +eye and pleasant smile, which had won her childish heart, when on board the +Windermere he patted her head, as George told how kind she had been to him. +</p> + +<p> +"We have met before, I believe," said he, and warmly shaking her hand he bade +her welcome to Boston. +</p> + +<p> +Then seating her by his side at the table he managed by his kind attentions to +make both her and Mrs. Mason feel perfectly at home. Aunt Martha, too, was +exceedingly polite, but after what Ida had told her, Mary could not help +feeling somewhat embarrassed in her presence. This, however, gradually wore +away, and before the evening was over she began to feel very much at home, and +to converse with Aunt Martha as freely and familiarly as with Ida. +</p> + +<p> +The next morning between ten and eleven the door bell rang, and in a moment +Jenny Lincoln, whose father's house was just opposite, came tripping into the +parlor. She had lost in a measure that rotundity of person so offensive to her +mother, and it seemed to Mary that there was a thoughtful expression on her +face never seen there before, but in all other respects, she was the same +affectionate, merry-hearted Jenny. +</p> + +<p> +"I just this minute heard you were here, and came over just as I was," said +she, glancing at the same time at her rich, though rather untidy morning +wrapper. After asking Mary if she wasn't sorry George had gone, and if she +expected to find Mr. Stuart, she said, "I suppose you know Ella is here, and +breaking every body's heart, of course. She went to a concert with us last +evening, and looked perfectly beautiful. Henry says she is the handsomest girl +he ever saw, and I do hope she'll make something of him, but I'm afraid he is +only trifling with her, just as he tries to do with every body." +</p> + +<p> +"I am afraid so too," said Ida, "but now Mary has come perhaps he'll divide his +attentions between the two." +</p> + +<p> +If there was a person in the world whom Mary thoroughly detested, it was Henry +Lincoln, and the idea of his trifling with <i>her</i>, made her eyes sparkle +and flash so indignantly that Ida noticed it, and secretly thought that Henry +Lincoln would for once find his match. After a time Mary turned to Jenny, +saying, "You haven't told me a word about,—about William Bender. Is he +well?" +</p> + +<p> +Jenny blushed deeply, and hastily replying that he was the last time she saw +him, started up, whispering in Mary's ear, "Oh, I've got so much to tell +you,—but I must go now." +</p> + +<p> +Ida accompanied her to the door, and asked why Rose too did not call. In her +usual frank, open way, Jenny answered, "You know why. Rose is so queer." +</p> + +<p> +Ida understood her and replied, "Very well; but tell her that if she doesn't +see fit to notice my visitors, I certainly shall not be polite to hers." +</p> + +<p> +This message had the desired effect; for Rose, who was daily expecting a Miss +King, from Philadelphia, felt that nothing would mortify her more than to be +neglected by Ida, who was rather a leader among the young fashionables. +Accordingly after a long consultation with her mother, she concluded it best to +call upon Mary. In the course of the afternoon, chancing to be near the front +window, she saw Mr. Selden's carriage drive away from his door, with Ida and +her visitor. +</p> + +<p> +"Now is my time," thought she; and without a word to her mother or Jenny, she +threw on her bonnet and shawl, and in her thin French slippers, stepped across +the street and rang Mr. Selden's door bell. Of course she was "so disappointed +not to find the young ladies at home," and leaving her card for them, tripped +back, highly pleased with her own cleverness. +</p> + +<p> +Meantime Ida and Mary were enjoying their ride about the city, until coming +suddenly upon an organ-grinder and monkey, the spirited horses became +frightened and ran, upsetting the carriage, and dragging it some distance. +Fortunately Ida was only bruised, but Mary received a severe cut upon her head, +which, with the fright, caused her to faint. A young man, who was passing down +the street and saw the accident, immediately came to the rescue; and when Mary +awoke to consciousness, Billy Bender was supporting her, and gently pushing +back from her face the thick braids of her long hair. At first she thought she +was not much hurt, but when she attempted to lift her head she uttered a cry of +pain, and laid it heavily back upon his bosom. +</p> + +<p> +"Who is she?—Who is she?" asked the eager voices of the group around, but +no one answered, until a young gentleman, issuing from one of the fashionable +drinking saloons, came blustering up, demanding "what the row was." +</p> + +<p> +Upon seeing Ida, his manner instantly changed, and after learning that she, +with another young lady, had been upset, he ordered the crowd "to stand back," +at the same time forcing his way forward until he caught a sight of Mary's +face. +</p> + +<p> +"Whew, Bill," said he, "your old flame the pauper, isn't it?" +</p> + +<p> +It was fortunate for Henry Lincoln that Billy Bender's arms were both in use, +otherwise he might have measured his length upon the side walk, which exercise +he would hardly have relished in the presence of Ida. As it was, Billy frowned +angrily upon him, and in a fierce whisper bade him beware how he used Miss +Howard's name. By this time the horses were caught, anther carriage procured, +and Mary, still supported by Billy Bender, was carefully lifted into it, and +borne back to Mr. Selden's house. Henry Lincoln also accompanying her, and +giving out numerous orders as to "what ought to be done!" +</p> + +<p> +Many of Ida's friends, hearing of the accident, flocked in to see her, and to +inquire after the young lady who was injured. Among the first who called was +Lizzie Upton, whom the reader has once met in Chicopee. On her way home she +stopped at Mrs. Campbell's, where she was immediately beset by Ella, to know +"who the beautiful young lady was that Henry Lincoln had so heroically saved +from a violent death,—dragging her out from under the horses' heels!" +</p> + +<p> +Lizzie looked at her a moment in surprise, and then replied, "Why, Miss +Campbell, is it possible you don't know it was your own sister!" +</p> + +<p> +It was Henry Lincoln himself who had given Ella her information, without, +however, telling the lady's name; and now, when she learned that 'twas Mary, +she was too much surprised to answer, and Lizzie continued, "I think you are +laboring under a mistake. It was not Mr. Lincoln, who saved your sister's life, +but a young law student, whom you perhaps have seen walking with George +Moreland." +</p> + +<p> +Ella replied that she never saw George Moreland, as he left Boston before she +came; and then as she did not seem at all anxious to know whether Mary was much +injured or not, Lizzie soon took her leave. Long after she was gone, Ella sat +alone in the parlor, wondering why Henry should tell her such a falsehood, and +if he really thought Mary beautiful. Poor simple Ella,—she was fast +learning to live on Henry Lincoln's smile, to believe each word that he said, +to watch nervously for his coming and to weep if he stayed away. There were +other young men in Boston, who, attracted by her pretty face, and the wealth of +which she was reputed to be heiress, came fawningly around her, but with most +strange infatuation, she turned from them all, caring only for Henry Lincoln. +He, on the contrary, merely sought her society for the sake of passing away an +idle hour, boasting among his male acquaintances of the influence had acquired +over her, by complimenting her curls and pretty face! He knew that she was +jealous of any praise or attention bestowed by him upon another, and had +purposely told her what he did of Mary, exulting within himself as he saw the +pain his words inflicted. +</p> + +<p> +"I know he was only trying to tease me," was the conclusion to which Ella +finally came, and then there arose in her mind a debate as to whether, under +the circumstances, it were not best to treat her sister with rather more +respect than she was wont to do. "The Seldens," thought she, "are among the +first. If they notice her others will, and why should not I?" +</p> + +<p> +This question was at last decided in the affirmative, and towards the close of +the afternoon, she started for Mr. Selden's, on her way meeting with Henry, who +asked "where she was going?" +</p> + +<p> +"To see that <i>beautiful</i> young lady," returned Ella, rather pettishly; +whereupon Henry laughed aloud, and asked "if it were not a little the richest +joke he had ever put upon her." +</p> + +<p> +Ella saw no joke at all, but as Henry had turned about, and was walking back +with her, she could not feel angry, and prattled on, drinking in his words of +flattery, as he told her how charmingly she looked at the concert, and how +jealous he felt when he saw so many admiring eyes gazing upon what he +considered his own exclusive property! The very expressive look which +accompanied this remark made Ella's heart beat rapidly, for Henry had never +before said any thing quite so pointed, and the cloud, which for a time had +rested on her brow, disappeared. +</p> + +<p> +When they reached Mr. Selden's house, Henry announced his intention of calling +also to inquire after Mary whom he respected on her sister's account! "But," +said he, "I am in something of a hurry, and as you girls have a thousand things +to talk about, I hardly think I can wait for you." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, pray, don't wait," returned Ella, hoping in her heart that he would. +</p> + +<p> +Upon asking for Mary, she was taken immediately to her room, where she found +her reclining upon a sofa, attired in a tasteful crimson morning gown, which +gave a delicate tint to her cheeks. She was paler than usual, and her thick +shining hair was combed up from her forehead in a manner highly becoming to her +style of beauty. Until that day Ella had never heard her sister called +handsome—never even thought such a thing possible; but now, as she looked +upon her, she acknowledged to herself that Henry was more than half right, and +she felt a pang of jealousy,—a fear that Mary might prove her rival. +Still she tried to be agreeable, telling her how fortunate she was in being at +Mr. Selden's, "for," said she, "I dare say some of our first people will notice +you just because you are here!" +</p> + +<p> +Ida hastily walked to the window, standing with her back towards Ella, who +continued. "I think it's so funny. I've inquired and inquired about Mr. Stuart, +but no one knows him, and I've come to the conclusion he was an +impostor,—or a country schoolmaster, one or the other." +</p> + +<p> +There was a suppressed laugh behind the lace curtain where Ida stood, and when +Mary began to defend Mr. Stuart, she came out, and with great apparent interest +asked who he was, and where they had seen him. Afterwards Mary remembered the +mischief which shone in Ida's eyes as they described Mr. Stuart, but she +thought nothing of it then. +</p> + +<p> +After asking Mary who paid for her music lessons,—how many new dresses +she'd got, and who cut them, Ella started to go, carelessly saying as she left +the room, that when Mary was able she should expect to see her at Mrs. +Campbell's. +</p> + +<p> +In the mean time Henry had become so much engaged in a conversation with Mr. +Selden, that he forgot the lapse of time until he heard Ella coming down the +stairs. Then impelled by a mean curiosity to see what she would do, he sat +still, affecting not to notice her. She heard his voice, and knew that he was +still in the parlor. So for a long time she lingered at the outer door, talking +very loudly to Ida, and finally, when there was no longer any excuse for +tarrying, she suddenly turned back, and shaking out her cloak and tippet, +exclaimed, "Why, where can my other glove be? I must have dropped it in the +parlor, for I do not remember of having had it up stairs!" +</p> + +<p> +The parlor was of course entered and searched, and though no missing glove was +found, the company of Henry Lincoln was thus secured. Have my readers never +seen a Henry Lincoln, or an Ella Campbell? +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> </div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV" id="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a> +CHAPTER XXIV.<br/> +A CHANGE OF OPINION.</h2> + +<p> +"Oh, mother won't you take this pillow from my head, and put another blanket on +my feet, and fix the fire, and give me some water, or something? Oh, dear, +dear!—" groaned poor Rose Lincoln, as with aching head and lungs, she did +penance for her imprudence in crossing the wet, slippery street in thin +slippers and silken hose. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Lincoln, who knew nothing of this exposure, loudly lamented the extreme +delicacy of her daughter's constitution, imputing it wholly to Mount Holyoke +discipline, and wishing, as she had often done before, that "she'd been wise +and kept her at home." Jenny would have wished so, too, if by this means Rose's +illness could have been avoided, for it was not a very agreeable task to stay +in that close sick room, listening to the complaints of her fault-finding +sister, who tossed and turned and fretted, from morning until night, sometimes +wishing herself dead, and then crying because she "wanted something, and didn't +know what." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, dear," said she, one evening several days after the commencement of her +illness, "how provoking to be obliged to lie here moping with the dullest of +all dull company, when there's Mrs. Russell's party next week, and I've such a +lovely dress to wear. Why ain't I as strong and healthy as you? though I +wouldn't be so fat for any thing." +</p> + +<p> +Jenny knew that whatever answer she could make would not be the right one, so +she said nothing, and after a moment Rose again, spoke. +</p> + +<p> +"I'll go to that party sick or well. I wouldn't miss of it for any thing." +</p> + +<p> +This time Jenny looked up in surprise, asking why her sister was so +particularly anxious to attend the party. +</p> + +<p> +"Because," returned Rose, "Mary Howard will be there, and you know as well as I +how awkward she'll appear,—never was in any kind of society in her life." +</p> + +<p> +"I don't see what inducement that can be for you to expose your health," said +Jenny, and Rose continued: "I want to see Ida mortified once, for she might +know better than to bring a green, country girl here, setting her up as +something wonderful, and expecting every body to believe it just because +<i>Miss Selden</i> said so. Didn't you tell me there was some one continually +going to inquire after Mary?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," answered Jenny; whereupon Rose got very angry, complaining that no one +called upon her except that little simpleton Ella, who only came, when she +thought there was a chance of seeing Henry! +</p> + +<p> +"Seems to me you've changed your mind with regard to Ella," said Jenny. +</p> + +<p> +"No I hain't either," answered Rose, "I always thought her silly, and now she +hangs round Henry so much I'm thoroughly disgusted. But see,—there's +Henry now, at Mr. Selden's gate,—with another gentleman." +</p> + +<p> +The moon was shining brightly, and looking out, Jenny saw Billy Bender and her +brother mounting the steps which led to Mr. Selden's door. +</p> + +<p> +"It's funny that they should be together," thought she, while Rose continued, +"Nothing will surprise me now, if Henry has got to running after her. I am glad +George Moreland is away, though I fancy he's too much good sense to swallow a +person, just because Ida and his old maid aunt say he must." +</p> + +<p> +Here the conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Mr. Lincoln, who came +as usual to see his daughter. In the mean time the two young men, who +accidentally met at the gate, had entered Mr. Selden's parlor, and inquired for +the young ladies. +</p> + +<p> +"Come, you must go down," said Ida to Mary, when the message was delivered. +This is the third time Mr. Bender has called, and you have no excuse for not +now seeing him. "By the way," she continued, as Mary said something about +'Billy,' "don't call him Billy; we know him as <i>Mr.</i> Bender and Billy is +so,—so,—" +</p> + +<p> +"So countrified," suggested Mary. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, countrified if you please," returned Ida. "So after this he is +<i>William</i>. Haven't you noticed that Jenny calls him so? But come," she +added mischievously, "never mind brushing your hair. Mr. Stuart isn't down +there!" +</p> + +<p> +With the exception of the time when she was hurt, Mary had not seen William for +more than two years and a half and now when she met him, she was so much +embarrassed that she greeted him with a reserve, amounting almost to coldness. +He on the contrary, was perfectly self-possessed, but after a few commonplace +remarks, he seated himself on the opposite side of the room, and entered into +conversation with Mrs. Mason concerning Chicopee and its inhabitants. +Frequently Mary's eyes rested upon him, and she felt a thrill of pride when she +saw how much his residence in Boston had improved him, and how handsome he +really was. But any attempt to converse with him was rendered impossible by +Henry Lincoln, who, toady as he was, thought proper to be exceedingly polite to +Mary, now that the Seldens noticed her so much. Seating himself by her side +with all the familiarity of an old friend, and laying his arm across the back +of the sofa, so that to William it looked as if thrown around her shoulders, he +commenced a tirade of nonsense as meaningless as it was disagreeable. More than +once, too, he managed to let fall a very pointed compliment, feeling greatly +surprised to see with what indifference it was received. +</p> + +<p> +"Confound the girl!" thought he, beginning to feel piqued at her coldness. "Is +she made of ice, or what?" +</p> + +<p> +And then he redoubled his efforts at flattery, until Mary, quite disgusted, +begged leave to change her seat, saying by way of apology that she was getting +too warm. In the course of the evening George Moreland was mentioned. +Involuntarily Mary blushed, and Henry, who was watching her proposed that she +resume her former seat, "for," said he, "you look quite as warm and red where +you are." +</p> + +<p> +"The nearest I ever knew him come to any thing witty," whispered Ida, from +behind a fire screen. "I do believe you've rubbed up his ideas, and I predict +that you win him instead of Ella." +</p> + +<p> +Mary did not even smile, for to her there was something revolting in the idea +of being even teased about Henry, who was conceited enough to attribute her +reserve to the awe which he fancied his "elegant presence" inspired! If Ella +with all her wealth and beauty placed an invaluable estimate upon his +attentions, why should not her unpretending sister be equally in love with him? +And the young dandy stroked his mustache with his white fingers, and wondered +what Ella Campbell would say if she knew how much her sister admired him, and +how very nearly his admiration was returned! +</p> + +<p> +At length William arose to go, and advancing towards Mary, he took her hand, +saying in a low tone with marked emphasis on the word <i>sister</i>, "I find my +sister greatly changed and improved since I last saw her." +</p> + +<p> +"And you too are changed," returned Mary, her eyes filling with tears, for +William's manner was not as of old. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, in more respects than one," said he, "but I shall see you again. Do you +attend Mrs. Russell's party?" +</p> + +<p> +Mary replied in the affirmative, and the next moment he was gone. Half an hour +after, Henry, too, departed, saying to Mary as he went out, "You musn't fail to +be at Mrs. Russell's, for I shall only go for the sake of seeing +you.—Truth, upon my honor, what little I have," he continued, as Mary's +eyes flashed forth her entire disbelief of what he said. "I am in earnest now, +if I never was before." +</p> + +<p> +Ida laughed aloud at the mystified picture which Mary's face presented as the +door closed upon Henry. "You are too much of a novice to see through every +thing, but you'll learn in time that opinions frequently change with +circumstances," said she. +</p> + +<p> +That night in his chamber, with his heels upon the marble mantel, and his box +of cigars and bottle of brandy at his side, the man of fashion soliloquized as +follows: "Zounds! How that girl has improved. Never saw the like in my +life.—Talk about family and rank, and all that stuff. Why, there isn't a +lady in Boston that begins to have the <i>air distingué</i> which Mary +Howard has. Of course she'll be all the go. Every thing the Seldens take up is. +Ain't I glad Moreland is in New Orleans; for with his notions he wouldn't +hesitate to marry her if he liked her, poor as she is. Now if she only had the +chink, I'd walk up to her quick. I don't see why the deuce the old man need to +have got so involved just now, as to make it necessary for me either to work or +have a rich wife. Such eyes too, as Mary's got! Black and fiery one minute, +blue and soft the next. Well, any way I'll have a good time flirting with her, +just for the sake of seeing Ella wince and whimper, if nothing more. Bah! What +a simpleton she is, compared with Mary. I wonder how much Mrs. Campbell +<i>is</i> worth, and if Ella will have it all." +</p> + +<p> +And the young man retired to dream of debts liquidated by the gold which a +marriage with Ella Campbell would bring him. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> </div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXV" id="CHAPTER_XXV"></a> +CHAPTER XXV.<br/> +THE PARTY.</h2> + +<p> +"Bring me my new dress, Jenny; I want to see if the Honiton lace on the caps is +as wide as Ida Selden's." +</p> + +<p> +"What do you mean?" asked Jenny, turning quickly towards her sister, whose +white, wasted face looked fitter for a shroud than a gay party dress. +</p> + +<p> +"I mean what I say," returned Rose; "I'm not going to be cooped up here any +longer. I'm going to the party to-morrow night, if I never go again!" +</p> + +<p> +"Why, Rose Lincoln, are you crazy?" asked Jenny. "You haven't been in the +street yet, and how do you expect to go to-morrow night? Mother wouldn't let +you, if she were here." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, thank fortune, she and father both are in Southbridge; and besides that, +I'm a great deal better; so hand me my dress." +</p> + +<p> +Jenny complied, and reclining on pillows scarcely whiter than herself, Rose +Lincoln examined and found fault with a thin gossamer fabric, none suited for +any one to wear in a cold wintry night, and much less for her. +</p> + +<p> +"There, I knew it wasn't as wide as Ida's into an eighth of an inch," said she, +measuring with her finger the expensive lace. "I'll have some new. Come, Jenny, +suppose you go down street and get it, for I'm bent upon going;" and the +thoughtless girl sprang lightly upon the floor, and <i>chasséd</i> half +way across the room to show how well and strong she was. +</p> + +<p> +Jenny knew that further expostulation from her was useless, but she refused to +go for the lace, and Sarah, the servant girl, was sent with a note from Rose +saying she wanted a nice article, 8 or 10 dollars per yard. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't believe father would like to have you make such a bill," said Jenny +when Sarah was gone. "Mother didn't dare tell him about your new dress, for he +told her she mustn't get any thing charged, and he said, too, something about +hard times. Perhaps he's going to fail. Wouldn't it be dreadful?" +</p> + +<p> +If Rose heard the last part of this sentence she did not need it, for to her +the idea of her father's failing was preposterous. When the dinner bell rang +she threw on a heavy shawl, and descending to the dining parlor, remained below +stairs all the afternoon, forcing back her cough, and chatting merrily with a +group of young girls who had called to see her, and congratulated her upon her +improved health, for excitement lent a deep glow to her cheek, which would +easily deceive the inexperienced. The next day, owing to overexertion, Rose's +temples were throbbing with pain, and more than once, she half determined not +to go; but her passion for society was strong, and Mrs. Russell's party had so +long been anticipated and talked about that she felt she would not miss it for +the world, and as she had confessed to Jenny, there was also a mean curiosity +to see how Mary Howard would appear at a fashionable party. +</p> + +<p> +"Saturate my handkerchief with cologne, and put the vinaigrette where I can +reach it while you arrange my hair," said she to Sarah, who at the usual hour +came up to dress her young mistress for the evening. "There, be careful and not +brush so hard, for that ugly pain isn't quite gone—now bring me the glass +and let me see if I do look like a ghost." +</p> + +<p> +"Pale, delicate folks is always more interesting than red, hearty ones," said +the flattering servant, as she obeyed. +</p> + +<p> +"Mercy, how white I am!" exclaimed Rose, glancing at the ashen face reflected +by the mirror. "Rub my cheeks with cologne, Sarah, and see if that won't bring +some color into them. There, that'll do. Now hand me my dress. Oh, isn't it +beautiful?" she continued, as she threw aside the thickly wadded double gown, +and assumed a light, thin dress, which fell in soft, fleecy folds around her +slight figure. +</p> + +<p> +"Faith, an ye looks sweet, God bless you," said Sarah as she clasped the +diamond bracelet around the snowy arms and fastened the costly ornaments in the +delicate ears. +</p> + +<p> +When her toilet was completed, Rose stood up before the long mirror, and a glow +of pride came to her cheeks, as she saw how lovely she really was. +</p> + +<p> +"You's enough sight handsomer than Miss Jenny," whispered Sarah, as the door +opened and Jenny appeared, more simply arrayed than her sister, but looking as +fresh and blooming as a rose-bud. +</p> + +<p> +"How beautiful you are, Rosa," said she, "only it makes me shiver to look at +your neck and arms. You'll wear your woollen sack, besides your shawl and +cloak, won't you?" +</p> + +<p> +"Nonsense, I'm not going to be bundled up this way, for don't you see it musses +the lace," said Rose, refusing the warm sack which Jenny brought her. +</p> + +<p> +A rap at the door and a call from Henry that the carriage was waiting, ended +the conversation, and throwing on their cloaks and hoods, the girls descended +to the hall, where with unusual tenderness Henry caught up his invalid sister, +and drawing her veil closely over her face, carried her to the covered sleigh, +so that her feet might not touch the <i>icy walk</i>. +</p> + +<p> +"What! Rose Lincoln here!" exclaimed half a dozen voices as Rose bounded into +the dressing-room. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, Rose Lincoln <i>is</i> here," she replied, gayly divesting herself of her +wrapping. "I'm not going to die just yet, I guess, neither am I going to be +housed up all winter. The fresh air has done me good already,—see," and +she pointed to a bright round spot which burnt upon her cheeks. +</p> + +<p> +A young girl, whose family had one by one fallen victims to the great New +England plague, consumption, shuddered and turned way, for to her eye the glow +which Rose called health was but the hectic bloom of death. +</p> + +<p> +"How beautiful she is!" said more than one, as with her accustomed grace Rose +entered the brilliant drawing-room. And truly Rose was beautiful that night, +but like the gorgeous foliage of the fading autumn 'twas the beauty of decay, +for death was written on her blue-veined brow, and lurked amid the roses on her +cheek. But little thought she of that, as with smiling lip and beaming eye she +received the homage of the admiring throng. +</p> + +<p> +"Upon my word, you do look very well," said Henry, coming for a moment to his +sister's side. "Why, you'd be the star of the evening, were it not for <i>ma +belle</i> Ella. See, there she comes," and he pointed to a group just entering +the room. +</p> + +<p> +An expression of contempt curled Rose's lip, as she glanced at Ella, and +thought of being outshone by her dollish figure and face. "I'm in no danger, +unless a more formidable rival than that silly thing appears," thought she; and +she drew up her slender form with a more queenly grace, and bowed somewhat +haughtily to Ella, who came up to greet her. There was a world of affection in +Ella's soft hazel ayes, as they looked eagerly up to Henry, who for the sake of +torturing the young girl feigned not to see her until she had stood near him +some minutes. Then offering her his hand he said, with the utmost nonchalance, +"Why, Ella, are you here? I was watching so anxiously for your sister that I +did not notice your entrance." +</p> + +<p> +Ella had dressed herself for the party with more than usual care, and as she +smoothed down the folds of her delicate pink silk, and shook back her long +glossy curls, she thought, "He cannot think Mary handsomer than I am to-night;" +and now when the first remark he addressed to her was concerning her sister, +she replied rather pettishly, "I believe you are always thinking about Mary." +</p> + +<p> +"Now, don't be jealous," returned Henry, "I only wish to see the contrast +between you." +</p> + +<p> +Ella fancied that the preference would of course be in her favor, and casting +aside all unpleasant feelings, she exerted herself to the utmost to keep Henry +at her side, asking him numberless questions, and suddenly recollecting +something which she wished to tell him, if he made a movement towards leaving +her. +</p> + +<p> +"Confound it. How tight she sticks to a fellow," thought he, "but I'll get away +from her yet." +</p> + +<p> +Just then Ida and Mary were announced. Both Aunt Martha and Ida had taken great +pains to have their young friend becomingly dressed, and she looked unusually +well in the embroidered muslin skirt, satin waist, and blonde bertha which Aunt +Martha had insisted upon her accepting as a present. The rich silken braids of +her luxuriant hair were confined at the back of her finely formed head with a +golden arrow, which, with the exception of a plain band of gold on each wrist, +was the only ornament she wore. This was her first introduction to the gay +world, but so keen was her perception of what was polite and proper, that none +would ever have suspected it and yet there was about her something so fresh and +unstudied, that she had hardly entered the room ere many were struck with her +easy, unaffected manners, so different from the practised airs of the city +belles. +</p> + +<p> +Ella watched her narrowly, whispering aside to Henry how sorry she felt for +poor Mary, she was so <i>verdant</i>, and really hoping she wouldn't do any +thing very awkward, for 'twould mortify her to death! "but, look," she added, +"and see how many people Ida is introducing her to." +</p> + +<p> +"Of course, why shouldn't she?" asked Henry; and Ella replied, "I don't +know,—it seems so funny to see Mary here, don't it?" +</p> + +<p> +Before Henry could answer, a young man of his acquaintance touched his +shoulder, saying, "Lincoln, who is that splendid-looking girl with Miss Selden? +I haven't seen a finer face in Boston, for many a day." +</p> + +<p> +"That? Oh, that's Miss Howard, from Chicopee. An intimate friend of our family. +Allow me the pleasure of introducing you," and Henry walked away, leaving Ella +to the tender mercies of Rose, who, as one after another quitted her side, and +went over to the "enemy," grew very angry, wondering if folks were bewitched, +and hoping Ida Selden "felt better, now that she'd <i>made</i> so many notice +her protegée." +</p> + +<p> +Later in the evening, William Bender came, and immediately Jenny began to talk +to him of Mary, and the impression she was making. Placing her hand familiarly +upon his arm, as though that were its natural resting place, she led him +towards a group, of which Mary seemed the centre of attraction. Near her stood +Henry Lincoln, bending so low as to threaten serious injury to his fashionable +pants, and redoubling his flattering compliments, in proportion as Mary grew +colder, and more reserved in her manner towards him. Silly and conceited as he +was, he could not help noticing how differently she received William Bender +from what she had himself. But all in good time, thought he, glancing at Ella, +to see how she was affected by his desertion of her, and his flirtation with +her sister. She was standing a little apart from any one, and with her elbow +resting upon a marble stand, her cheeks flushed, and her eyelashes moist with +the tears she dared not shed, she was watching him with feelings in which more +of real pain than jealousy was mingled; for Ella was weak and simple-hearted, +and loved Henry Lincoln far better than such as he deserved to be loved. +</p> + +<p> +"Of what are you thinking, Ella?" asked Rose, who finding herself nearly alone, +felt willing to converse with almost any one. +</p> + +<p> +At the sound of her voice Ella looked up, and coming quickly to her side, said, +"It's so dull and lonesome here, I wish I'd staid at home." +</p> + +<p> +In her heart Rose wished so too, but she was too proud to acknowledge it, and +feeling unusually kind towards Ella, whose uneasiness she readily understood, +she replied, "Oh, I see you are jealous of Henry, but he's only trying to teaze +you, for he can't be interested in that awkward thing." +</p> + +<p> +"But he is. I 'most <i>know</i> he is," returned Ella, with a trembling of the +voice she tried in vain to subdue; and then, fearing she could not longer +restrain her emotion, she suddenly broke away from Rose, and ran hastily up to +the dressing-room. +</p> + +<p> +Nothing of all this escaped Henry's quick eye, and as sundry unpaid bills for +wine, brandy, oyster suppers, and livery, came looming up before his mind, he +thought proper to make some amends for his neglect. Accordingly when Ella +returned to the drawing-room, he offered her his arm, asking "what made her +eyes so red," and slyly pressing her hand, when she averted her face saying, +"Nothing,—they weren't red." +</p> + +<p> +Meantime William Bender, having managed to drop Jenny from his arm, had asked +Mary to accompany him to a small conservatory, which was separated from the +reception rooms by a long and brilliantly lighted gallery. As they stood +together, admiring a rare exotic, William's manner suddenly changed, and +drawing Mary closer to his side, he said distinctly, though hurriedly, "I +notice, Mary, that you seem embarrassed in my presence, and I have, therefore, +sought this opportunity to assure you that I shall not again distress you by a +declaration of love, which, if returned, would now give me more pain than +pleasure, for as I told you at Mr. Selden's, I am changed in more respects than +one. It cost me a bitter struggle to give you up, but reason and judgment +finally conquered, and now I can calmly think of you, as some time belonging to +another, and with all a brother's confidence, can tell you that I, too, love +another,—not as once I loved you, for that would be impossible but with a +calmer, more rational love." +</p> + +<p> +All this time Mary had not spoken, though the hand which William had taken in +his trembled like an imprisoned bird; but when he came to speak of loving +another, she involuntarily raised his hand to her lips, exclaiming, "It's +Jenny, it's Jenny." +</p> + +<p> +"You have guessed rightly," returned William, smiling at the earnestness of her +manner. "It is Jenny, though how such a state of things ever came about, is +more than I can tell." +</p> + +<p> +Mary thought of the old saying, "Love begets love," but she said nothing, for +just then Jenny herself joined them. Looking first at William, then at Mary, +and finally passing her arm around the latter, she whispered, "I know he's told +you, and I'm glad, for somehow I couldn't tell you myself." +</p> + +<p> +Wisely thinking that his company could be dispensed with, William walked away, +leaving the two girls alone. In her usual frank way, Jenny rattled on, telling +Mary how happy she was, and how funny it seemed to be engaged, and how +frightened she was when William asked her to marry him. +</p> + +<p> +Fearing that they might be missed, they at last returned to the parlor, where +they found Ella seated at the piano, and playing a very spirited polka. Henry, +who boasted that he "could wind her around his little finger," had succeeded in +coaxing her into good humor, but not at all desiring her company for the rest +of the evening, he asked her to play, as the easiest way to be rid of her. She +played unusually well, but when, at the close of the piece, she looked around +for commendation, from the one for whose ear alone she had played, she saw him +across the room, so wholly engrossed with her sister that he probably did not +even know when the sound of the piano ceased. +</p> + +<p> +Poor Ella; it was with the saddest heartache she had ever known that she +returned from a party which had promised her so much pleasure, and which had +given her so much pain. Rose, too, was bitterly disappointed. One by one her +old admirers had left her for the society of the "pauper," as she secretly +styled Mary, and more than once during the evening had she heard the "beauty" +and "grace" of her rival extolled by those for whose opinion she cared the +most; and when, at one o'clock in the morning, she threw herself exhausted upon +the sofa, she declared "'twas the last party she'd ever attend." +</p> + +<p> +Alas, for thee, Rosa, that declaration proved too true! +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> </div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVI" id="CHAPTER_XXVI"></a> +CHAPTER XXVI.<br/> +MAKING UP HIS MIND.</h2> + +<p> +For more than an hour there had been unbroken silence in the dingy old law +office of Mr. Worthington, where Henry Lincoln and William Bender still +remained, the one as a practising lawyer and junior partner of the firm, and +the other as a student still, for he had not yet dared to offer himself for +examination. Study was something which Henry particularly disliked; and as his +mother had trained him with the idea, that labor for him was wholly +unnecessary, he had never bestowed a thought on the future, or made an exertion +of any kind. +</p> + +<p> +Now, however, a different phase of affairs was appearing. His father's fortune +was threatened with ruin; and as, on a morning several weeks subsequent to Mrs. +Russell's party, he sat in the office with his heels upon the window sill, and +his arms folded over his head, he debated the all-important question, whether +it were better to marry Ella Campbell, for the money which would save him from +poverty, or to rouse himself to action for the sake of Mary Howard, whom he +really fancied he loved! +</p> + +<p> +Frequently since the party had he met her, each time becoming more and more +convinced of her superiority over the other young ladies of his acquaintance. +He was undoubtedly greatly assisted in this decision by the manner with which +she was received by the fashionables of Boston, but aside from that, as far as +he was capable of doing so, he liked her, and was now making up his mind +whether to tell her so or not. +</p> + +<p> +At last, breaking the silence, he exclaimed, "Hang me if I don't believe she's +bewitched me, or else I'm in love.—Bender, how does a chap feel when he's +in love?" +</p> + +<p> +"Very foolish, judging from yourself," returned William; and Henry replied, "I +hope you mean nothing personal, for I'm bound to avenge my honor, and t'would +be a deuced scrape for you and me to fight about 'your sister,' as you call +her, for 'tis she who has inspired me, or made a fool of me, one or the other." +</p> + +<p> +"You've changed your mind, haven't you?" asked William, a little sarcastically. +</p> + +<p> +"Hanged if I have," said Henry. "I was interested in her years ago, when she +was the ugliest little vixen a man ever looked upon, and that's why I teazed +her so,—I don't believe she's handsome now, but she's something, and that +something has raised the mischief with me. Come, Bender, you are better +acquainted with her than I am, so tell me honestly if you think I'd better +marry her." +</p> + +<p> +The expression of William's face was a sufficient answer, and with something of +his old insolence, Henry continued, "You needn't feel jealous, for I tell you +Mary Howard looks higher than you. Why, she'd wear the crown of England, as a +matter of course, any day." +</p> + +<p> +With a haughty frown, William replied, "You have my permission, sir, to propose +as soon as you please. I rather wish you would," then taking his hat, he left +the office, while Henry continued his soliloquy, as follows:—"I wonder +what the old folks would say to a penniless bride. Wouldn't mother and Rose +raise a row? I'd soon quiet the old woman, though, by threatening to tell that +she was once a factory girl,—yes, a factory girl. But if dad smashes up +I'll have to work, for I haven't brains enough to earn my living by my wit. I +guess on the whole, I'll go and call on Ella, she's handsome, and besides that, +has the rhino too, but, Lord, how shallow!" and the young man broke the blade +of his knife as he struck it into the hard wood table, by way of emphasizing +his last words. +</p> + +<p> +Ella chanced to be out, and as Henry was returning, he overtook Ida Selden and +Mary Howard, who were taking their accustomed walk. Since her conversation with +William a weight seemed lifted from Mary's spirits, and she now was happier far +than she ever remembered of having been before. She was a general favorite in +Boston, where all of her acquaintances vied with each other in making her stay +among them as agreeable as possible. Her facilities for improvement, too, were +great, and what was better than all the rest, George Moreland was to return +much sooner than he at first intended. While she was so happy herself, Mary +could not find it in her heart to be uncourteous to Henry, and her manner +towards him that morning was so kind and affable that it completely upset him; +and when he parted with her at Mr. Selden's gate, his mind was quite made up to +offer her his heart and hand. +</p> + +<p> +"I shall have to work," thought he, as he entered his room to decide upon the +best means by which to make his intentions known. "I shall have to work, I +know, but for her sake I'd do any thing." +</p> + +<p> +There was a bottle of Madeira standing upon the table and as he announced his +determination of "doing any thing for the sake of Mary Howard," his eye fell +upon his favorite beverage. A deep blush mounted to his brow, and a fierce +struggle between his love for Mary and his love for the wine-cup ensued. The +former conquered, and seizing the bottle he hurled it against the marble fire +jamb, exclaiming, "I'll be a <i>man</i>, a sober man, and never shall the light +of Mary's eyes grow dim with tears wept for a drunken husband!" +</p> + +<p> +Henry was growing eloquent, and lest the inspiration should leave him, he sat +down and wrote to Mary, on paper what he could not tell her face to face. Had +there been a lingering doubt of her acceptance, he would undoubtedly have +wasted at least a dozen sheets of the tiny gilt-edged paper, but as it was, one +would suffice, for <i>she</i> would not scrutinize his +handwriting,—<i>she</i> would not count the blots, or mark the omission +of punctuating pauses. She would almost say <i>yes</i> before she read it. So +the letter, which contained a sincere apology for his uncivil treatment of her +in former years, and an ardent declaration of love for her now, was written +sealed, and directed, and then there was a gentle rap upon the door. Jenny +wished to come in for a book which was lying upon the table. +</p> + +<p> +Henry had resolved to keep his family ignorant of his intentions, but at the +sight of Jenny he changed his mind,—Jenny loved Mary, too. Jenny would be +delighted at the prospect of having her for a sister, and would help him brave +the storm of his mother's displeasure. +</p> + +<p> +"Jenny," said he, grasping at her dress, as she passed him on her way from the +room, "Jenny, sit down here. I want to tell you something." Jenny glanced at +the fragments of the wine bottle, then at her brother's flushed face, and +instantly conjecturing that he had been drinking, said reproachfully, as she +laid her soft, white hand on his brow "Oh, brother, brother!" +</p> + +<p> +He understood her meaning, and drawing her so closely to him that his warm +breath floated over her cheek, replied, "I'm not drunk, for see, there is no +scent of alcohol in my breath, for I have sworn to reform,—sworn that no +drop of ardent spirits shall ever again pass my lips." +</p> + +<p> +The sudden exclamation of joy, the arms thrown so affectionately around his +neck, the hot tears upon his cheek, and the kisses that warm-hearted sister +imprinted upon his lips should have helped him to ratify that vow. But not for +her sake had it been made, and shaking her off, he said, "Don't make a fool of +yourself, Jenny, I wasn't in any danger of disgracing you, for I was only a +moderate drinker. But really, I do want to talk with you on a very important +subject. I want to ask who of all your acquaintances you would prefer to have +for a sister, for I am going to be married." +</p> + +<p> +"To Ella?" asked Jenny, and Henry replied scornfully, "No, ma'am! my wife must +have a soul, a heart, and a mind, to make up for my deficiency on those points. +To be plain, how would you like to have me marry Mary Howard?" +</p> + +<p> +"Not at all—Not at all," was Jenny's quick reply, while her brother said +angrily, "And why not? Are you, too, proud as Lucifer, like the rest of us? I +could tell you something, Miss, that would bring your pride down a peg or two. +But answer me, why are you unwilling for me to marry Mary?" +</p> + +<p> +Jenny's spirit was roused too, and looking her brother fully in his face, she +unhesitatingly replied, "You are not worthy of her; neither would she have +you." +</p> + +<p> +"And this from my own sister?" said Henry, hardly able to control his wrath. +"Leave the room, instantly,—But stay," he added, "and let me hear the +reasons for what you have asserted." +</p> + +<p> +"You know as well as I," answered Jenny, "that one as pure and gentle as Mary +Howard, should never be associated with you, who would trample upon a woman's +better nature and feelings, for the sake of gratifying your own wishes. +Whenever it suits your purpose, you flatter and caress Ella Campbell, to whom +your slightest wish is a law, and then when your mood changes, you treat her +with neglect; and think you, that knowing all this, Mary Howard would look +favorably upon you, even if there were no stronger reason why she should refuse +you?" +</p> + +<p> +"If you mean the brandy bottle," said Henry, growing more and more excited, +"have I not sworn to quit it, and is it for you to goad me on to madness, until +I break that vow?" +</p> + +<p> +"Forgive me if I have been too harsh," said Jenny, taking Henry's hand. "You +are my brother, and Mary my dearest friend, and when I say I would not see her +wedded to you, 'tis not because I love you less, but her the more. You are +wholly unlike, and would not be happy together. But oh, if her love would win +you back to virtue, I would almost beg her, on my bended knees, not to turn +away from you." +</p> + +<p> +"And I tell you her love <i>can</i> win me back, when nothing else in the +kingdom will," said Henry, snatching up the note and hurrying away. +</p> + +<p> +For a time after he left the room, Jenny sat in a kind of stupefied maze. That +Mary would refuse her brother, she was certain, and she trembled for the effect +that refusal would produce upon him. Other thoughts, too, crowded upon the +young girl's mind, and made her tears flow fast. Henry had hinted of something +which he could tell her if he would, and her heart too well foreboded what that +something was. The heavy sound of her father's footsteps, which sometimes kept +her awake the livelong night, his pale haggard face in the morning, and her +mother's nervous, anxious manner, told her that ruin was hanging over them. +</p> + +<p> +In the midst of her reverie, Henry returned. He had delivered the letter, and +now, restless and unquiet, he sat down to await its answer. It came at +last,—his rejection, yet couched in language so kind and conciliatory, +that he could not feel angry. Twice,—three times he read it over, hoping +to find some intimation that possibly she might relent; but no, it was firm and +decided, and while she thanked him for the honor he conferred upon her, she +respectfully declined accepting it, assuring him that his secret should be kept +inviolate. +</p> + +<p> +"There's some comfort in that," thought he, "for I wouldn't like to have it +known that I had been refused by a poor unknown girl," and then, as the +conviction came over him that she would never he his, he laid his head upon the +table, and wept such tears as a spoiled child might weep when refused a toy, +too costly and delicate to be trusted in its rude grasp. +</p> + +<p> +Erelong, there was another knock at the door, and, hastily wiping away all +traces of his emotion, Henry admitted his father, who had come to talk of their +future prospects, which were even worse than he had feared. But he did not +reproach his wayward son, nor hint that his reckless extravagance had hastened +the calamity which otherwise might possibly have been avoided. Calmly he stated +the extent to which they were involved, adding that though an entire failure +might be prevented a short time, it would come at last; and that an honorable +payment of his debts would leave them beggars. +</p> + +<p> +"For myself I do not care," said the wretched man, pressing hard his aching +temples, where the gray hairs had thickened within a few short weeks. "For +myself I do not care but for my wife and children,—for Rose, and that she +must miss her accustomed comforts, is the keenest pang of all." +</p> + +<p> +All this time, Henry had not spoken, but thought was busily at work. He could +not bestir himself; he had no energy for that now; but he could marry Ella +Campbell, whose wealth would keep him in the position he now occupied, besides +supplying many of Rose's wants. +</p> + +<p> +Cursing the fate which had reduced him to such an extremity, towards the dusk +of evening, Henry started again for Mrs. Campbell's. Lights were burning in the +parlor and as the curtains were drawn back, he could see through the partially +opened shutter, that Ella was alone. Reclining in a large sofa chair, she sat, +leaning upon her elbow, the soft curls of her brown hair falling over her white +arm, which the full blue cashmere sleeve exposed to view. She seemed deeply +engaged in thought, and never before had she looked so lovely to Henry, who, as +he gazed upon her, felt a glow of pride, in thinking that fair young girl could +be his for the asking. +</p> + +<p> +"I wish she was not so confounded flat," thought he, hastily ringing the +door-bell. +</p> + +<p> +Instantly divining who it was, Ella sprang up, and when Henry entered the +parlor, he found her standing in the centre of the room, where the full blaze +of the chandelier fell upon her childish features, lighting them up with +radiant beauty. +</p> + +<p> +"And so my little pet is alone," said he, coming forward, and raising to his +lips the dainty fingers which Ella extended towards him. "I hope the old aunty +is out," he continued, "for I want to see you on special business." +</p> + +<p> +Ella noticed how excited he appeared, and always on the alert for something +when he was with her, she began to tremble, and without knowing what she said, +asked him "what he wanted of her?" +</p> + +<p> +"Zounds!" thought Henry, "she meets me more than half-way;" and then, lest his +resolution should fail, he reseated her in the chair she had left, and drawing +an ottoman to her side, hastily told her of his love, ending his declaration, +by saying that from the first time he ever saw her, he had determined that she +should be his wife! And Ella, wholly deceived, allowed her head to droop upon +his shoulder, while she whispered to him her answer. Thus they were +betrothed,—Henry Lincoln and Ella Campbell. +</p> + +<p> +"Glad am I to be out of that atmosphere," thought the newly engaged young man, +as he reached the open air, and began to breathe more freely. "Goodness me, +won't I lead a glorious life, with that jar of tomato sweetmeats! Now, if she'd +only hung back a little,—but no, she said yes before I fairly got the +words out; but money covereth a multitude of sins,—I beg your pardon, +ma'am," said he quickly, as he became conscious of having rudely jostled a +young lady, who was turning the corner. +</p> + +<p> +Looking up, he met Mary Howard's large, dark eyes fixed rather inquiringly upon +him. She was accompanied by one of Mr. Selden's servants, and he felt sure she +was going to visit her sister. Of course, Ella would tell her all, and what +must Mary think of one who could so soon repeat his vows of love to another? In +all the world there was not an individual for whose good opinion Henry Lincoln +cared one half so much as for Mary Howard's; and the thought that he should now +surely lose it maddened him. The resolution of the morning was forgotten, and +that night a fond father watched and wept over his inebriate son, for never +before had Henry Lincoln been so beastly intoxicated. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> </div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVII" id="CHAPTER_XXVII"></a> +CHAPTER XXVII.<br/> +THE SHADOWS DEEPEN.</h2> + +<p> +From one of the luxuriously furnished chambers of her father's elegant mansion, +Jenny Lincoln looked mournfully out upon the thick angry clouds, which, the +livelong day, had obscured the winter sky. Dreamily for a while she listened to +the patter of the rain as it fell upon the deserted pavement below, and then, +with a long, deep sigh, she turned away and wept. Poor Jenny!—the day was +rainy, and dark, and dreary, but darker far were the shadows stealing over her +pathway. Turn which way she would, there was not one ray of sunshine, which +even her buoyant spirits could gather from the surrounding gloom. Her only +sister was slowly, but surely dying, and when Jenny thought of this she felt +that if Rose could only live, she'd try and bear the rest; try to forget how +much she loved William Bender, who that morning had honorably and manfully +asked her of her parents, and been spurned with contempt,—not by her +father, for could he have followed the dictates of his better judgment, he +would willingly have given his daughter to the care of one who he knew would +carefully shield her from the storms of life. It was not he, but the cold, +proud mother, who so haughtily refused William's request, accusing him of +taking underhanded means to win her daughter's affections. +</p> + +<p> +"I had rather see you dead!" said the stony-hearted woman, when Jenny knelt at +her feet, and pleaded for her to take back the words she had spoken—"I +had rather see you dead, than married to such as <i>he</i>. I mean what I have +said, and you will never be his." +</p> + +<p> +Jenny knew William too well to think he would ever sanction an act of +disobedience to her mother, and her heart grew faint, and her eyes dim with +tears, as she thought of conquering the love which had grown with her growth, +and strengthened with her strength. There was another reason, too, why Jenny +should weep as she sat there alone in her room. From her father she had heard +of all that was to happen. The luxuries to which all her life she had been +accustomed, were to be hers no longer. The pleasant country house in Chicopee, +dearer far than her city home, must be sold, and nowhere in the wide world, was +there a place for them to rest. +</p> + +<p> +It was of all this that Jenny was thinking that dreary afternoon; and when at +last she turned away from the window, her thoughts went back again to her +sister, and she murmured, "If <i>she</i> could only live." +</p> + +<p> +But it could not be;—the fiat had gone forth, and Rose, like the fair +summer flower whose name she bore, must fade and pass away. For several days +after Mrs. Russell's party she tried to keep up, but the laws of nature had +been outraged, and now she lay all day in a darkened room, moaning with pain, +and wondering why the faces of those around her were so sad and mournful. +</p> + +<p> +"Jenny," said she one day when the physician, as usual, had left the room +without a word of encouragement—"Jenny, what does make you look so blue +and forlorn. I hope you don't fancy I'm going to die? Of course I'm not." +</p> + +<p> +Here a coughing fit ensued, and after it was over, she continued, "Isn't George +Moreland expected soon?" +</p> + +<p> +Jenny nodded, and Rose proceeded, "I must, and <i>will</i> be well before he +comes, for 'twill never do to yield the field to that Howard girl, who they say +is contriving every way to get him,—coaxing round old Aunt Martha, and +all that. But how ridiculous! George Moreland, with his fastidious, taste, +marry a pauper!" and the sick girl's fading cheek glowed, and her eyes grew +brighter at the absurd idea! +</p> + +<p> +Just then Mr. Lincoln entered the room. He had been consulting with his wife +the propriety of taking Rose to her grandmother's in the country. She would +thus be saved the knowledge of his failure, which could not much longer be kept +a secret; and besides that, they all, sooner or later, must leave the house in +which they were living; and he judged it best to remove his daughter while she +was able to endure the journey. At first Mrs. Lincoln wept bitterly for if Rose +went to Glenwood, she, too, must of course go and the old brown house, with its +oaken floor and wainscoted ceiling, had now no charms for the gay woman of +fashion who turned with disdain from the humble roof which had sheltered her +childhood. +</p> + +<p> +Lifting her tearful eyes to her husband's face, she said "Oh, I can't go there. +Why not engage rooms at the hotel in Glenwood village. Mother is so odd and +peculiar in her ways of living, that I never can endure it," and again Mrs. +Lincoln buried her face in the folds of her fine linen cambric, thinking there +was never in the world a woman as wretched as herself. +</p> + +<p> +"Don't, Hatty, don't; it distresses me to see you feel thus. Rooms and board at +the hotel would cost far more than I can afford to pay, and then, too,—" +here he paused, as if to gather courage for what he was next to say; "and then, +too, your mother will care for Rose's <i>soul</i> as well as body." +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Lincoln looked up quickly, and her husband continued, "Yes, Hatty, we need +not deceive ourselves longer. Rose must die, and you know as well as I whether +our training has been such as will best fit her for another world." +</p> + +<p> +For a time Mrs. Lincoln was silent, and then in a more subdued tone, she said, +"Do as you like, only you must tell Rose. <i>I</i> never can." +</p> + +<p> +Half an hour after, Mr. Lincoln entered his daughter's room, and bending +affectionately over her pillow, said, "How is my darling to-day?" +</p> + +<p> +"Better, better,—almost well," returned Rose, raising herself in bed to +prove what she had said. "I shall be out in a few days, and then you'll buy me +one of those elegant plaid silks, won't you? All the girls are wearing them, +and I haven't had a new dress this winter, and here 'tis almost March." +</p> + +<p> +Oh, how the father longed to tell his dying child that her next dress would be +a shroud. But he could not. He was too much a man of the world to speak to her +of death,—he would leave that for her grandmother; so without answering +her question, he said, "Rose, do you think you are able to be moved into the +country?" +</p> + +<p> +"What, to Chicopee? that horrid dull place! I thought we were not going there +this summer." +</p> + +<p> +"No, not to Chicopee, but to your grandma Howland's, in Glenwood. The physician +thinks you will be more quiet there, and the pure air will do you good." +</p> + +<p> +Rose looked earnestly in her father's face to see if he meant what he said, and +then replied, "I'd rather go any where in the world than to Glenwood. You've no +idea how, I hate to stay there. Grandma is so queer, and the things in the +house so fussy and countrified,—and cooks by a <i>fireplace</i>, and +washes in a tin basin, and wipes on a crash towel that hangs on a roller!" +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Lincoln could hardly repress a smile at Rose's reasoning, but perceiving +that he must be decided, he said, "We think it best for you to go, and shall +accordingly make arrangements to take you in the course of a week or two. Your +mother will stay with you, and Jenny, too, will be there a part of the time;" +then, not wishing to witness the effect of his words, he hastily left the room, +pausing in the hall to wipe away the tears which involuntarily came to his +eyes, as he overheard Rose angrily wonder, "why she should be turned out of +doors when she wasn't able to sit up!" +</p> + +<p> +"I never can bear the scent of those great tallow candles, never," said she; +"and then to think of the coarse sheets and patchwork bedquilts—oh, it's +dreadful!" +</p> + +<p> +Jenny's heart, too, was well-nigh bursting, but she forced down her own sorrow, +while she strove to comfort her sister, telling her how strong and well the +bracing air of the country would make her, and how refreshing when her fever +was on would be the clear, cold water which gushed from the spring near the +thorn-apple tree, where in childhood they so oft had played. Then she spoke of +the miniature waterfall, which not far from their grandmother's door, made +"fairy-like music;" all the day long, and at last, as if soothed by the sound +of that far-off falling water, Rose forgot her trouble, and sank into a sweet, +refreshing slumber, in which she dreamed that the joyous summer-time had come, +and that she, well and strong as Jenny had predicted, was the happy bride of +George Moreland, who led her to a grass-grown grave,—the grave of Mary +Howard, who had died of consumption and been buried in Glenwood! +</p> + +<p> +While Rose was sleeping, Jenny stole softly down the stairs, and throwing on +her shawl and bonnet, went across the street, to confide her troubles with Mary +Howard; who, while she sympathized deeply with her young friend, was not +surprised, for, from her slight acquaintance with Mrs Lincoln, she could +readily believe that one so ambitious and haughty, would seek for her daughter +a wealthier alliance than a poor lawyer. All that she could say to comfort +Jenny she did, bidding her to wait patiently, and hope for the best. +</p> + +<p> +"You are blue and dispirited," said she, "and a little fresh air will do you +good. Suppose we walk round a square or two; for see, the rain is over now." +</p> + +<p> +Jenny consented, and they had hardly gone half the length of a street when +William himself joined them. Rightly guessing that her absence would not be +noticed, Mary turned suddenly into a side street, leaving William and Jenny to +themselves. From that walk Jenny returned to her home much happier than she +left it. She had seen William,—had talked with him of the past, present, +and future,—had caught from his hopeful spirit the belief that all would +be well in time, and in a far more cheerful frame of mind, she re-entered her +sister's room; and when Rose, who was awake, and noticed the change in her +appearance, asked what had happened, she could not forbear telling her. +</p> + +<p> +Rose heard her through, and then very kindly informed her that "she was a fool +to care for such a rough-scuff." +</p> + +<p> +In a few days, preparations were commenced for moving Rose to Glenwood, and in +the excitement of getting ready, she in a measure forgot the tallow candles and +patchwork bedquilt, the thoughts of which had so much shocked her at first. +</p> + +<p> +"Put in my embroidered merino morning gown," said she to Jenny, who was packing +her trunk, "and the blue cashmere one faced with white satin; and don't forget +my best cambric skirt, the one with so much work on it, for when George +Moreland comes to Glenwood I shall want to look as well as possible; and then, +too, I like to see the country folks open their mouths, and stare at city +fashions.' +</p> + +<p> +"What makes you think George will come to Glenwood?" asked Jenny, as she packed +away dresses her sister would never wear. +</p> + +<p> +"I know, and that's enough," answered Rose; "and now, before you forget it, put +in my leghorn flat, for if I stay long, I shall want it; and see how nicely you +can fold the dress I wore at Mrs. Russell's party!" +</p> + +<p> +"Why, Rose, what can you possibly want of that?" asked Jenny, and Rose replied, +"Oh, I want to show it to grandma, just to hear her groan over our +extravagance, and predict that we'll yet come to ruin!" +</p> + +<p> +Jenny thought that if Rose could have seen her father that morning, when the +bill for the dress and its costly trimmings was presented, she would have +wished it removed for ever from her sight. Early in the winter Mr. Lincoln had +seen that all such matters were settled, and of this bill, more recently made, +he knew nothing. +</p> + +<p> +"I can't pay it now," said he promptly to the boy who brought it. "Tell Mr. +Holton I will see him in a day or two." +</p> + +<p> +The boy took the paper with an insolent grin, for he had heard the fast +circulating rumor, "that one of the <i>big bugs</i> was about to smash up;" and +now, eager to confirm the report, he ran swiftly back to his employer, who +muttered, "Just as I expected. I'll draw on him for what I lent him, and +that'll tell the story. My daughters can't afford to wear such things, and I'm +not going to furnish money for his." +</p> + +<p> +Of all this Rose did not dream, for in her estimation there was no end to her +father's wealth, and the possibility of his failing had never entered her mind. +Henry indeed had once hinted it to her on the occasion of her asking him "how +he could fancy Ella Campbell enough to marry her." +</p> + +<p> +"I'm not marrying <i>her</i>, but her <i>money</i>" was his prompt answer; "and +I assure you, young lady, we are more in need of that article than you +imagine." +</p> + +<p> +Rose paid no attention to this speech, and when she found that her favorite +Sarah was not to accompany her, she almost wept herself into convulsions, +declaring that her father, to whom the mother imputed the blame, was cruel and +hard-hearted, and that if it was Jenny instead of herself who was sick, she +guessed "she'd have forty waiting-maids if she wanted them." +</p> + +<p> +"I should like to know who is to take care of me?" said she. "Jenny isn't +going, and grandma would think it an unpardonable extravagance to hire a +servant. I will not go, and that ends it! If you want to be rid of me, I can +die fast enough here." +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Lincoln had nothing to say, for she well knew she had trained her daughter +to despise every thing pertaining to the old brown house, once her childhood +home, and where even now the kind-hearted grandmother was busy in preparing for +the reception of the invalid. From morning until night did the little active +form of Grandma Howland flit from room to room, washing windows which needed no +washing, dusting tables on which no dust was lying, and doing a thousand things +which she thought would add to the comfort of Rose. On one room in particular +did the good old lady bestow more than usual care. 'Twas the "spare chamber," +at whose windows Rose, when a little girl, had stood for hours, watching the +thin, blue mist and fleecy clouds, as they floated around the tall green +mountains, which at no great distance seemed to tower upward, and upward, until +their tops were lost in the sky above. At the foot of the mountain and nearer +Glenwood, was a small sheet of water which now in the spring time was plainly +discernible from the windows of Rose's chamber, and with careful forethought +Mrs. Howland arranged the bed so that the sick girl could look out upon the +tiny lake and the mountains beyond. Snowy white, and fragrant with the leaves +of rose and geranium which had been pressed within their folds, were the sheets +which covered the bed, the last Rose Lincoln would ever rest upon. Soft and +downy were the pillows, and the patchwork quilt, Rose's particular aversion, +was removed, and its place supplied by one of more modern make. +</p> + +<p> +Once Mrs. Howland thought to shade the windows with the Venetian blinds which +hung in the parlor below; but they shut out so much sunlight, and made the room +so gloomy, that she carried them back, substituting in their place plain white +muslin curtains. The best rocking chair, and the old-fashioned carved mirror, +were brought up from the parlor; and then when all was done, Mrs. Howland gave +a sigh of satisfaction that it was so well done, and closed the room until Rose +should arrive. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> </div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVIII" id="CHAPTER_XXVIII"></a> +CHAPTER XXVIII.<br/> +GLENWOOD.</h2> + +<p> +Through the rich crimson curtains which shaded Rose Lincoln's sleeping room, +the golden beams of a warm March sun wore stealing, lighting up the thin +features of the sick girl with a glow so nearly resembling health, that Jenny, +when she came to wish her sister good morning, started with surprise at seeing +her look so well. +</p> + +<p> +"Why, Rose, you are better," said she, kissing the fair cheek on which the ray +of sunlight was resting. +</p> + +<p> +Rose had just awoke from her deep morning slumber, and now remembering that +this was the day appointed for her dreaded journey to Glenwood, she burst into +tears, wondering "why they would persist in dragging her from home." +</p> + +<p> +"It's only a pretence to get me away, I know," said she, "and you may as well +confess it at once. You are tired of waiting upon me." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Lincoln now came in to see his daughter, but all his attempts to soothe her +were in vain. She only replied, "Let me stay at home, here in this room, my own +room;" adding more in anger than sorrow, "I'll try to die as soon as I can; and +be out of the way, if that's what you want!" +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, Rose, Rose! poor father don't deserve that," said Jenny, raising her hand +as if to stay her sister's thoughtless words while Mr Lincoln, laying his face +upon the pillow so that his silvered locks mingled with the dark tresses of his +child, wept bitterly,—bitterly. +</p> + +<p> +And still he could not tell her <i>why</i> she must leave her home. He would +rather bear her unjust reproaches, than have her know that they were beggars; +for a sudden shock the physician said, might at any time end her life. +Thoroughly selfish as she was, Rose still loved her father dearly, and when she +saw him thus moved, and knew that she was the cause, she repented of her hasty +words, and laying her long white arm across his neck, asked forgiveness for +what she had said. +</p> + +<p> +"I will go to Glenwood," said she; "but must I stay there long?" +</p> + +<p> +"Not long, not long, my child," was the father's reply, and Jenny brushed away +a tear as she too thought, "not long." +</p> + +<p> +And so, with the belief that her stay was to be short, Rose passively suffered +them to dress her for the journey, which was to be performed partly by railway +and partly in a carriage. For the first time since the night of his engagement +with Ella Campbell, Henry was this morning free from intoxicating drinks. He +had heard them say that Rose must die, but it had seemed to him like an +unpleasant dream, from which he now awoke to find it a reality. They had +brought her down from her chamber, and laid her upon the sofa in the parlor, +where Henry came unexpectedly upon her. He had not seen her for several days, +and when he found her lying there so pale and still, her long eyelashes resting +heavily upon her colorless cheek, and her small white hands hanging listlessly +by her side, he softly approached her thinking her asleep, kissed her brow, +cheek and lips, whispering as he did so, "Poor girl! poor Rosa! so young and +beautiful." +</p> + +<p> +Rose started, and wiping from her forehead the tear her brother had left there, +she looked anxiously around. Henry was gone, but his words had awakened in her +mind a new and startling idea. Was she going to die? Did they think so, and was +this the reason of Henry's unwonted tenderness? and sinking back upon her +pillows, she wept as only those weep to whom, in the full flush of youth and +beauty, death comes a dreaded and unwelcome guest. +</p> + +<p> +"I cannot die,—I will not die," said she at last, rousing herself with +sudden energy; "I feel that within me which says I shall not die. The air of +Glenwood will do me good, and grandma's skill in nursing is wonderful." +</p> + +<p> +Consoled by these reflections, she became more calm, and had her father now +given his consent for her to remain in Boston, she would of her own accord have +gone to Glenwood. +</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p> +The morning train bound for Albany stood in the depot, waiting the signal to +start; and just before the final "all aboard" was sounded, a handsome equipage +drove slowly up, and from it alighted Mr. Lincoln, bearing in his arms his +daughter, whose head rested wearily upon his shoulder. Accompanying him were +his wife, Jenny, and a gray-haired man, the family physician. Together they +entered the rear car, and instantly there was a hasty turning of heads, a +shaking of curls, and low whispers, as each noticed and commented upon the +unearthly beauty of Rose, who in her father's arms, lay as if wholly exhausted +with the effort she had made. +</p> + +<p> +The sight of her, so young, so fair, and apparently so low, hushed all selfish +feelings, and a gay bridal party who had taken possession of the ladies' +saloon, immediately came forward, offering it to Mr. Lincoln, who readily +accepted it, and laying Rose upon the long settee, he made her as comfortable +as possible with the numerous pillows and cushions he had brought with him. As +the creaking engine moved slowly out of Boston, Rose asked that the window +might be raised, and leaning upon her elbow, she looked out upon her native +city, which she was leaving for ever. Some such idea came to her mind; but +quickly repressing it, she turned towards her father, saying with a smile, "I +shall be better when I see Boston again." +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Lincoln turned away to hide a tear, for he had no hope that she would ever +return. Towards nightfall of the next day they reached Glenwood, and Rose, more +fatigued than she was willing to acknowledge, now that she was so determined to +get well, was lifted from the carriage and carried into the house. Mrs. Howland +hastened forward to receive her, and for once Rose forgot to notice whether the +cut of her cap was of this year's fashion or last. +</p> + +<p> +"I am weary," she said. "Lay me where I can rest." And with the grandmother +leading the way, the father carried his child to the chamber prepared for her +with so much care. +</p> + +<p> +"It's worse than I thought 'twas," said Mrs. Howland, returning to the parlor +below, where her daughter, after looking in vain for the big rocking-chair, had +thrown herself with a sigh upon the chintz-covered lounge. "It's a deal worse +than I thought 'twas. Hasn't she catched cold, or been exposed some way?" +</p> + +<p> +"Not in the least," returned Mrs. Lincoln, twirling the golden stopper of her +smelling bottle. "The foundation of her sickness was laid at Mount Holyoke, and +the whole faculty ought to be indicted for manslaughter." +</p> + +<p> +Jenny's clear, truthful eyes turned towards her mother, who frowned darkly, and +continued: "She was as well as any one until she went there, and I consider it +my duty to warn all parents against sending their daughters to a place where +neither health, manners, nor any thing else is attended to, except religion and +housework." +</p> + +<p> +Jenny had not quite got over her childish habit of occasionally setting her +mother right on some points, and she could not forbear saying that Dr. Kleber +thought Rose injured herself by attending Mrs. Russell's party. +</p> + +<p> +"Dr. Kleber doesn't know any more about it than I do," returned her mother. +"He's always minding other folks' business, and so are you. I guess you'd +better go up stairs, and see if Rose doesn't want something." +</p> + +<p> +Jenny obeyed, and as she entered her sister's chamber, Rose lifted her head +languidly from her pillow, and pointing to a window, which had been opened that +she might breathe more freely, said, "Just listen; don't you hear that horrid +croaking?" +</p> + +<p> +Jenny laughed aloud, for she knew Rose had heard "that horrid croaking" more +than a hundred times in Chicopee, but in Glenwood everything must necessarily +assume a goblin form and sound. Seating herself upon the foot of the bed, she +said, "Why, that's the frogs. I love to hear them dearly. It makes me feel both +sad and happy, just as the crickets do that sing under the hearth in our old +home at Chicopee." +</p> + +<p> +Jenny's whole heart was in the country, and she could not so well sympathize +with her nervous, sensitive sister, who shrank from country sights and country +sounds. Accidentally spying some tall locust branches swinging in the evening +breeze before the east window, she again spoke to Jenny, telling her to look +and see if the tree leaned against the house, "for if it does," said she, "and +creaks I shan't sleep a wink to-night." +</p> + +<p> +After assuring her that the tree was all right, Jenny added, "I love to hear +the wind howl through these old trees, and were it not for you, I should wish +it might blow so that I could lie awake and hear it." +</p> + +<p> +When it grew darker, and the stars began to come out. Jenny was told "to close +the shutters." +</p> + +<p> +"Now, Rose," said she, "you are making half of this, for you know as well as I, +that grandma's house hasn't got any shutters." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, mercy, no more it hasn't. What <i>shall</i> I do?" said Rose, half crying +with vexation. "That coarse muslin stuff is worse than nothing, and +everybody'll be looking in to see me." +</p> + +<p> +"They'll have to climb to the top of the trees, then," said Jenny, "for the +ground descends in every direction, and the road, too, is so far away. Besides +that, who is there that wants to see you?" +</p> + +<p> +Rose didn't know. She was sure there was somebody, and when Mrs. Howland came +up with one of the nicest little suppers on a small tea-tray, how was she +shocked to find the window covered with her best blankets, which were safely +packed away in the closet adjoining. +</p> + +<p> +"Rose was afraid somebody would look in and see her," said Jenny, as she read +her grandmother's astonishment in her face. +</p> + +<p> +"Look in and see her!" repeated Mrs. Howland. "I've undressed without curtains +there forty years, and I'll be bound nobody ever peeked at me. But come," she +added, "set up, and see if you can't eat a mouthful or so. Here's some broiled +chicken, a slice of toast, some currant jelly that I made myself, and the +swimminest cup of black tea you ever see. It'll eenamost bear up an egg." +</p> + +<p> +"Sweetened with brown sugar, ain't it?" said Rose sipping a little of the tea. +</p> + +<p> +In great distress the good old lady replied that she was out of white sugar, +but some folks loved brown just as well. +</p> + +<p> +"Ugh! Take it away," said Rose. "It makes me sick and I don't believe I can eat +another mite," but in spite of her belief the food rapidly disappeared, while +she alternately made fun of the little silver spoons, her grandmother's bridal +gift, and found fault because the jelly was not put up in porcelain jars, +instead of the old blue earthen tea-cup, tied over with a piece of paper! +</p> + +<p> +Until a late hour that night, did Rose keep the whole household (her mother +excepted) on the alert, doing the thousand useless things which her nervous +fancy prompted. First the front door, usually secured with a bit of whittled +shingle, must be <i>nailed</i>, "or somebody would break in." Next, the +windows, which in the rising wind began to rattle, must be made fast with +divers knives, scissors, combs and keys; and lastly, the old clock must be +stopped, for Rose was not accustomed to its striking, and it would keep her +awake. +</p> + +<p> +"Dear me!" said the tired old grandmother, when, at about midnight, she +repaired to her own cosy little bedroom, "how fidgety she is. I should of +s'posed that livin' in the city so, she'd got used to noises." +</p> + +<p> +In a day or two Mr. Lincoln and Jenny went back to Boston, bearing with them a +long list of articles which Rose must and would have. As they were leaving the +house Mrs Howland brought out her black leathern wallet, and forcing two ten +dollar bills into Jenny's hand, whispered, "Take it to pay for them things. +Your pa has need enough for his money, and this is some I've earned along, +knitting, and selling butter. At first I thought I would get a new chamber +carpet, but the old one answers my turn very well, so take it and buy Rose +every thing she wants." +</p> + +<p> +And all this time the thankless girl up stairs was fretting and muttering about +her grandmother's <i>stinginess</i>, in not having a better carpet "than the +old faded thing which looked as if manufactured before the flood!" +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> </div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIX" id="CHAPTER_XXIX"></a> +CHAPTER XXIX.<br/> +A NEW DISCOVERY.</h2> + +<p> +On the same day when Rose Lincoln left Boston for Glenwood, Mrs. Campbell sat +in her own room, gloomy and depressed. For several days she had not been well, +and besides that, Ella's engagement with Henry Lincoln filled her heart with +dark forebodings, for rumor said that he was unprincipled, and dissipated, and +before giving her consent Mrs. Campbell had labored long with Ella, who +insisted "that he was no worse than other young men,—most of them drank +occasionally, and Henry did nothing more!" +</p> + +<p> +On this afternoon she had again conversed with Ella, who angrily declared, that +she would marry him even if she knew he'd be a drunkard, adding, "But he won't +be. He loves me better than all the world, and I shall help him to reform." +</p> + +<p> +"I don't believe your sister would marry him," continued Mrs. Campbell, who was +becoming much attached to Mary. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't believe she would, either, and for a very good reason, too," returned +Ella, pettishly jerking her long curls. "But I can't see why you should bring +her up, for he has never been more than polite to her, and that he assured me +was wholly on my account." +</p> + +<p> +"She isn't pleased with your engagement!" said Mrs. Campbell; and Ella replied, +"Well, what of that? It's nothing to her, and I didn't mean she should know it; +but Jenny, like a little tattler, must needs tell her, and so she has read me a +two hours' sermon on the subject. She acted so queer, too, I didn't know what +to think of her, and when she and Henry are together, they look so funny, that +I almost believe she wants him herself, but she can't have him,—no, she +can't have him,"—and secure in the belief that <i>she</i> was the first +and only object of Henry's affection, Ella danced out of the room to attend to +the seamstress who was doing her plain sewing. +</p> + +<p> +After she was gone, Mrs. Campbell fell asleep, and for the first time in many a +long year dreamed of her old home in England. She did not remember it herself, +but she had so often heard it described by the aunt who adopted her, that now +it came up vividly before her mind, with its dark stone walls, its spacious +grounds, terraced gardens, running vines and creeping roses. Something about +it, too, reminded her of what Ella had once said of her mother's early home, +and when she awoke, she wondered that she had never questioned the child more +concerning her parents. She was just lying back again upon her pillow, when +there was a gentle rap at the door, and Mary Howard's soft voice asked +permission to come in. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, do," said Mrs. Campbell. "Perhaps you can charm away my headache, which +is dreadful." +</p> + +<p> +"I'll try," answered Mary. "Shall I read to you?" +</p> + +<p> +"If you please; but first give me my salts. You'll find them there in that +drawer." +</p> + +<p> +Mary obeyed, but started as she opened the drawer, for there, on the top, lay a +small, old-fashioned miniature, of a fair young child, so nearly resembling +Franky, that the tears instantly came to her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +"What is it?" asked Mrs Campbell, and Mary replied, "This picture,—so +much like brother Franky. May I look at it?" +</p> + +<p> +"Certainly," said Mrs. Campbell. "That is a picture of my sister." +</p> + +<p> +For a long time Mary gazed at the sweet childish face, which, with its +clustering curls, and soft brown eyes, looked to her so much like Franky. At +last, turning to Mrs. Campbell, she said, "You must have loved her very much. +What was her name?" +</p> + +<p> +"Ella Temple," was Mrs. Campbell's reply, and Mary instantly exclaimed, "Why, +<i>that was my mother's name</i>!" +</p> + +<p> +"Your mother, Mary!—your mother!" said Mrs. Campbell, starting up from +her pillow. "But no; it cannot be. Your mother is lying in Chicopee, and Ella, +my sister, died in England." +</p> + +<p> +Every particle of color had left Mary's face, and her eyes, now black as +midnight, stared wildly at Mrs. Campbell. The sad story, which her mother had +once told her, came back to her mind, bringing with it the thought, which had +so agitated her companion. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes," she continued, without noticing what Mrs. Campbell had said, "my mother +was Ella Temple, and she had two sisters, one her own, and the other, a half +sister,—Sarah Fletcher and Jane Temple,—both of whom came to +America many years ago." +</p> + +<p> +"Tell me more,—tell me all you know!" whispered Mrs. Campbell, grasping +Mary's hand; "and how it came bout that I thought she was dead,—my +sister." +</p> + +<p> +Upon this point Mary could throw no light, but of all that she had heard from +her mother she told, and then Mrs Campbell, pointing to her writing desk, said, +"Bring it to me. I must read that letter again." +</p> + +<p> +Mary obeyed, and taking out a much soiled, blotted letter, Mrs. Campbell asked +her to read it aloud. It was as follows—"Daughter Jane,—I now take +this opportunity of informing you, that I've lost your sister Ella, and have +now no child saving yourself, who, if you behave well, will be my only heir. +Sometimes I wish you were here, for it's lonesome living alone, but, I suppose +you're better off where you are. Do you know any thing of that girl Sarah? Her +cross-grained uncle has never written me a word since he left England. If I +live three years longer I shall come to America, and until that time, adieu. +Your father,—Henry Temple Esq. M.P." +</p> + +<p> +"How short and cold!" was Mary's first exclamation, for her impressions of her +grandfather were not very agreeable. +</p> + +<p> +"It is like all his letters," answered Mrs. Campbell "But it was cruel to make +me think Ella was dead, for how else could I suppose he had lost her? and when +I asked the particulars of her death, he sent me no answer; but at this I did +not so much wonder, for he never wrote oftener than once in two or three years, +and the next that I heard, he was dead, and I was heiress of all his wealth." +</p> + +<p> +Then, as the conviction came over her that Mary was indeed the child of her own +sister, she wound her arms about her neck, and kissing her lips, murmured, "My +child,—my Mary. Oh, had I known this sooner, you should not have been so +cruelly deserted, and little Allie should never have died in the alms-house. +But you'll never leave me now, for all that I have is yours—yours and +Ella's." +</p> + +<p> +The thought of Ella touched a new chord, and Mrs Campbell's tears were rendered +less bitter, by the knowledge that she had cared for, and been a mother, to one +of her sister's orphan children. +</p> + +<p> +"I know now," said she, "why, from the first, I felt so drawn towards Ella, and +why her clear, large eyes, are so much like my own lost darling's, and even +you, Mary—" +</p> + +<p> +Here Mrs. Campbell paused, for proud as she now was of Mary, there had been a +time when the haughty lady turned away from the sober, homely little child, who +begged so piteously "to go with Ella" where there was room and to spare. All +this came up in sad review, before Mrs. Campbell, and as she recalled the +incidents of her sister's death, and thought of the noble little Frank, who +often went hungry and cold that his mother and sisters might be warmed and fed, +she felt that her heart would burst with its weight of sorrow. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, my God!" said she, "to die so near me,—my only sister, and <i>I</i> +never know it,—never go near her. <i>I</i> with all my wealth, as much +hers as mine,—and she dying of starvation." +</p> + +<p> +Wiping the hot tears from her own eyes, Mary strove to comfort her aunt by +telling her how affectionately her mother had always remembered her. "And even +on the night of her death," said she, "she spoke of you, and bade me, if I ever +found you, love you for her sake." +</p> + +<p> +"Will you, do you love me?" asked Mrs. Campbell. +</p> + +<p> +Mary's warm kiss upon her cheek, and the loving clasp of her arms around her +aunt's neck, was a sufficient answer. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you know aught of my Aunt Sarah?" Mary asked at last; and Mrs. Campbell +replied, "Nothing definite. From father we first heard that she was in New +York, and then Aunt Morris wrote to her uncle, making inquiries concerning her. +I think the Fletchers were rather peculiar in their dispositions, and were +probably jealous of our family for the letter was long unanswered, and when at +last Sarah's uncle wrote, he said, that 'independent of <i>old Temple's</i> aid +she had received a good education;' adding further, that she had married and +gone west, and that he was intending soon to follow her. He neither gave the +name of her husband, or the place to which they were going, and as all our +subsequent letters were unanswered, I know not whether she is dead or alive; +but often when I think how alone I am, without a relative in the world, I have +prayed and wept that she might come back; for though I never knew +her,—never saw her that I remember, she was my mother's child, and I +should love her for that." +</p> + +<p> +Just then Ella came singing into the room, but started when she saw how excited +Mrs. Campbell appeared, and how swollen her eyelids were. +</p> + +<p> +"Why, what's the matter?" said she. "I never saw you cry before, excepting that +time when I told you I was going to marry Henry," and Ella laughed a little +spiteful laugh, for she had not yet recovered from her anger at what Mrs. +Campbell had said when she was in there before. +</p> + +<p> +"Hush—sh," said Mary softly; and Mrs. Campbell, drawing Ella to her side, +told her of the strange discovery she had made; then beckoning Mary to +approach, she laid a hand upon each of the young girls' heads, and blessing +them, called them "her own dear children." +</p> + +<p> +It would be hard telling what Ella's emotions were. One moment she was glad, +and the next she was sorry, for she was so supremely selfish, that the fact of +Mary's being now in every respect her equal, gave her more pain than pleasure. +Of course, Mrs. Campbell would love her best,—every body did who knew +her,—every body but Henry. And when Mrs. Campbell asked why she did not +speak, she replied, "Why, what shall I say? shall I go into ecstasies about it? +To be sure I'm glad,—very glad that you are my aunt. Will Mary live here +now?" +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, always," answered Mrs. Campbell; and "No never," thought Mary. +</p> + +<p> +Her sister's manner chilled her to the heart. She thoroughly understood her, +and felt sure they could not be happy together, for Ella was to live at home +even after her marriage. There was also another, and stronger reason, why Mary +should not remain with her aunt. Mrs. Mason had the first, best claim upon her. +She it was who had befriended her when a lonely, neglected orphan, taking her +from the alms-house, and giving her a pleasant, happy home. She it was, too, +who in sickness and health had cared for her with all a mother's love, and Mary +would not leave her now. So when Mrs. Campbell began to make plans for the +future, each one of which had a direct reference to herself, she modestly said +she should never desert Mrs. Mason, stating her reasons with so much delicacy, +and yet so firmly, that Mrs. Campbell was compelled to acknowledge she was +right, while at the same time she secretly wondered whether Ella for <i>her</i> +sake would refuse a more elegant home were it offered her. +</p> + +<p> +All that afternoon the contrast between the two girls grew upon her so +painfully, that she would almost gladly have exchanged her selfish, spoilt +Ella, for the once despised and neglected orphan; and when at evening Mary came +to say "Good night," she embraced her with a fervency which seemed to say she +could not give her up. +</p> + +<p> +Scarcely had the door closed upon Mary, ere there was a violent bell ring, and +Henry Lincoln was ushered into the parlor, where Ella, radiant with smiles, sat +awaiting him. They were invited that evening to a little sociable, and Ella had +bestowed more than usual time and attention upon her toilet, for Henry was very +observant of ladies' dresses, and now that "he had a right," was constantly +dictating, as to what she should wear, and what she should not. On this evening +every thing seemed fated to go wrong. Ella had heard Henry say that he was +partial to mazarine blue, and not suspecting that his preference arose from the +fact of his having frequently seen her sister in a neatly fitting blue merino +she determined to surprise him with his favorite color. Accordingly, when Henry +entered the parlor, he found her arrayed in a rich blue silk, made low in the +neck with loose, full sleeves, and flounced to the waist. The young man had +just met Mary at the gate, and as usual after seeing her was in the worst of +humors. +</p> + +<p> +His first salutation to Ella was "Well, Mother Bunch, you look pretty, don't +you?" +</p> + +<p> +"I don't know. Do I?" said Ella, taking him literally. +</p> + +<p> +"Do you?" he repeated, with an impatient toss of his head. "All but the pretty. +I advise you to take off that thing" (pointing to the dress), "I never saw you +look worse." +</p> + +<p> +Since Ella's engagement she had cried half the time, and now, as usual, the +tears came to her eyes, provoking Henry still more. +</p> + +<p> +"Now make your eyes red," said he. "I declare, I wonder if there's any thing of +you but tears." +</p> + +<p> +"Please don't talk so," said Ella, laying her hand on his arm. "I had this +dress made on purpose to please you, for you once said you liked dark blue." +</p> + +<p> +"And so I do on your sister, but your complexion is different from hers, and +then those <i>ruffles</i> and bag sleeves make you look like a little barrel!" +</p> + +<p> +"You told me you admired flounces, and these sleeves are all the fashion," said +Ella, the tears again flowing in spite of herself. +</p> + +<p> +"Well, I do think Mary looks well in flounces," returned Henry, "but she is +almost a head taller than you, and better proportioned every way." +</p> + +<p> +Ella longed to remind him of a time when he called her sister "a hay pole," +while he likened herself to "a little sylph, fairy;" &c., but she dared +not; and Henry, bent on finding fault, touched her white bare shoulder, saying +"I wish you wouldn't wear such dresses. Mary don't except at parties, and I +heard a gentleman say that she displayed better taste than any young lady of +his acquaintance." +</p> + +<p> +Ella was thoroughly angry, and amid a fresh shower of tears exclaimed, +"<i>Mary</i>,—<i>Mary</i>,—I'm sick of the name. It's nothing but +Mary,—Mary all day long with Mrs. Campbell, and now <i>you</i> must +thrust her in my face. If you think her so perfect, why don't you marry her, +instead of me?" +</p> + +<p> +"Simply because she won't have me," returned Henry, and then not wishing to +provoke Ella too far, he playfully threw his arm around her waist, adding "But +come, my little beauty, don't let's quarrel any more about her. I ought to like +<i>my sister</i>, and you shouldn't be jealous. So throw on your cloak, and +let's be off." +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, no, not yet. It's too early" answered Ella, nothing loth to have an hour +alone with him. +</p> + +<p> +So they sat down together upon the sofa, and after asking about Rose, and how +long Jenny was to remain in Glenwood, Ella, chancing to think of the strange +discovery that day made with regard to herself and Mary, mentioned it to Henry, +who seemed much more excited about it than she had been. +</p> + +<p> +"Mrs. Campbell, your mother's sister!" said he. "And Mary's aunt too? Why +didn't you tell me before?" +</p> + +<p> +"Because I didn't think of it," returned Ella. "And it's nothing so very +marvellous either, or at least it does not affect <i>me</i> in the least." +Henry did not reply, but there was that passing through his mind which might +affect Ella not a little. As the reader knows, he was marrying her for her +money; and now if that money was to be shared with another, the bride lost half +her value! But such thoughts must not be expressed, and when Henry next spoke, +he said very calmly, "Well, I'm glad on Mary's account, for your aunt will +undoubtedly share her fortune with her;" and Henry's eyes turned upon Ella with +a deeper meaning than she could divine. +</p> + +<p> +It was so long since Ella had felt the need of money that she had almost ceased +to know its value, and besides this, she had no suspicion of Henry's motive in +questioning her; so she carelessly replied that nothing had been said on the +subject, though she presumed her aunt would make Mary heiress with herself, as +she had recently taken a violent fancy to her. Here the conversation flagged, +and Henry fell into a musing mood, from which Ella was forced to rouse him when +it was time to go. As if their thoughts were flowing in the same channel, Mrs. +Campbell that evening was thinking of Mary, and trying to devise some means by +which to atone for neglecting her so long. Suddenly a new idea occurred to her, +upon which she determined immediately to act, and the next morning Mr. +Worthington was sent for, to draw up a new will, in which Mary Howard was to +share equally with her sister. +</p> + +<p> +"Half of all I own is theirs by right," said she, "and what I want is, that on +their 21st birth-day they shall come into possession of the portion which ought +to have been their mother's, while at my death the remainder shall be equally +divided between them." +</p> + +<p> +The will was accordingly drawn up, signed and sealed, Mr. Worthington keeping a +rough draft of it, which was thrown among some loose papers in his office. A +few afterwards Henry coming accidentally upon it, read it without any +hesitation. +</p> + +<p> +"<i>That</i> settles it at once," said he, "and I can't say I'm sorry, for I +was getting horribly sick of her. Now I'd willingly marry Mary without a penny, +but Ella, with only one quarter as much as I expected, and that not until she's +twenty-one, is a different matter entirely. But what am I to do? I wish +Moreland was here, for though he don't like me (and I wonder who does), he +wouldn't mind lending me a few thousand. Well, there's no help for it; and the +sooner the old man breaks now, the better. It'll help me out of a deuced mean +scrape, for of course I shall be <i>magnanimous</i>, and release Ella at once +from her engagement with a <i>ruined man</i>." +</p> + +<p> +The news that Mary was Mrs. Campbell's niece spread rapidly, and among those +who came to congratulate her, none was more sincere than William Bender. Mary +was very dear to him, and whatever conduced to her happiness added also to his. +Together with her he had heard the rumor of Mr. Lincoln's downfall, and while +he felt sorry for the family, he could not help hoping that it would bring +Jenny nearer to him. Of this he told Mary, who hardly dared trust herself to +reply, lest she should divulge a darling secret, which she had cherished ever +since Mrs. Campbell had told her that, in little more than a year, she was to +be the rightful owner of a sum of money much larger than she had ever dreamed +it possible for her to possess. Wholly unselfish, her thoughts instantly turned +towards her adopted brother. A part of that sum should be his, and with that +for a stepping stone to future wealth, Mrs. Lincoln, when poor and destitute, +could no longer refuse him her daughter Mrs. Campbell, to whom alone she +confided her wishes, gave her consent, though she could not understand the +self-denying love which prompted this act of generosity to a stranger. +</p> + +<p> +And now Mary was very happy in thinking how much good she could do. Mrs. Mason, +her benefactress, should never want again. Sally Furbush, the kind-hearted old +crazy woman who had stood by her so long and so faithfully, should share her +home wherever that home might be; while better than all the rest, William +Bender, the truest, best friend she ever had, should be repaid for his kindness +to her when a little, unknown pauper. And still the world, knowing nothing of +the hidden causes which made Mary's laugh so merry and her manner so gay, said +that "the prospect of being an heiress had turned her head, just as it always +did those who were suddenly elevated to wealth." +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> </div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXX" id="CHAPTER_XXX"></a> +CHAPTER XXX.<br/> +THE CRISIS.</h2> + +<p> +Mr. Lincoln had failed. At the corners of the streets, groups of men stood +together, talking over the matter, and ascribing it, some to his carelessness, +some to his extreme good nature in indorsing for any one who asked, and others, +the knowing ones, winking slyly as they said "they guessed he knew what he was +about,—they'd known before of such things as failing rich;" but the +mouths of these last were stopped when they heard that the household furniture, +every thing, was given up for the benefit of his creditors, and was to be sold +at auction during the coming week. +</p> + +<p> +In their parlors at home wives and daughters also discussed the matter, always +ending by accusing Mrs. Lincoln of unwarrantable extravagance, and wondering +how the proud Rose would bear it, and suggesting that "she could work in the +factory just as her mother did!". It was strange how suddenly Mrs. Lincoln's +most intimate friends discovered that she had once been a poor factory girl, +remembering too that they had often noticed an air of vulgarity about her! Even +Mrs. Campbell was astonished that she should have been so deceived, though she +pitied the daughters, "who were really refined and lady-like, +considering—" and then she thought of Henry, hoping that Ella would be +now willing to give him up. +</p> + +<p> +But with a devotion worthy of a better object, Ella replied, that he was dearer +to her than ever. "I have not loved him for his wealth," said she, "and I shall +not forsake him now." And then she wondered why he staid so long away, as day +after day went by, and still he came not. It was in vain that Mary, who visited +the house frequently, told her of many things which might detain him. Ella saw +but one. He fancied she, too, would desert him, like the cold unfeeling world. +And then she begged so imploringly of her sister to go to him, and ask him to +come, that Mary, loth as she was to do so, finally complied. She found him in +his office, and fortunately alone. He was looking very pale and haggard, the +result of last night's debauch, but Mary did not know of this. She only saw +grief for his misfortune, and her voice and manner were far more cordial than +usual as she bade him good afternoon. +</p> + +<p> +"It is kind in you, Miss Howard, to come here," said he, nervously pressing the +hand she offered. "I knew <i>you</i> would not forsake me, and I'd rather have +your sympathy than that of the whole world." +</p> + +<p> +Wishing to end such conversation, Mary replied, "I came here, Mr. Lincoln, at +Ella's request. Ever since your father's failure she has waited anxiously for +you—" +</p> + +<p> +She was prevented from saying more by Henry, who, with a feigned bitterness of +manner, exclaimed, "Ella need not feel troubled, for I am too honorable to +insist upon her keeping an engagement, which I would to Heaven had never been +made. Tell her she is free to do as she pleases." +</p> + +<p> +"You are mistaken, sir," answered Mary; "Ella does not wish to be free. But +come with me; I promised to bring you." +</p> + +<p> +With an air of desperation, Henry took his hat, and started with Mary for Mrs. +Campbell's. Oh, how eagerly Ella sprang forward to meet him, and burying her +face in his bosom, she sobbed like a child. +</p> + +<p> +"Hush, Ella, this is foolish," said he; and then seating her in a chair, he +asked, "why he was sent for." +</p> + +<p> +"I was afraid,—afraid you might think I did not love you now," answered +Ella. +</p> + +<p> +"I could not blame you if you did not," said Henry. "Matters have changed since +we last met, and I am not mean enough to expect you to keep your engagement." +</p> + +<p> +"But if <i>I</i> expect it,—If <i>I</i> wish it?" asked Ella, raising her +tear-wet eyes to his face. +</p> + +<p> +"You are excited now," said he, "but in a few days you'll thank me for my +decision. An alliance with poverty could be productive of nothing but +unhappiness to you; and while I thank you for your unselfish love, I cannot +accept it, for I am determined that, so long as I am poor, I shall never marry; +and the sooner you forget me, the better, for, Ella, I am not deserving of your +love." +</p> + +<p> +Then, with a cold adieu, he left her; and when, half an hour afterwards, Mary +entered the parlor, she found her sister lying upon the sofa, perfectly +motionless, except when a tremor of anguish shook her slight frame. A few words +explained all, and taking her head in her lap, Mary tried to soothe her. But +Ella refused to be comforted; and as she seemed to prefer being alone, Mary ere +long left her, and bent her steps towards Mr. Lincoln's dwelling, which +presented a scene of strange confusion. The next day was the auction, and many +people of both sexes had assembled to examine, and find fault with, the +numerous articles of furniture, which were being removed to the auction room. +</p> + +<p> +"Where's them silver candlesticks, and that cake-basket that cost up'ards of a +hundred dollars?" asked one fussy, vulgar-looking old woman, peering into +closets and cupboards, and even lifting trunk lids in her search. "I want some +such things, and if they go for half price or less, mebby Israel will bid; but +I don't see 'em. I'll warrant they've hid 'em." +</p> + +<p> +Mary was just in time to hear this remark, and she modestly replied, that Mr. +Lincoln's creditors had generously presented him with all the silver, which was +now at Mr. Selden's. +</p> + +<p> +The woman stared impudently at her a moment, and then said, "Now, that's what I +call downright cheatin'? What business has poor folks with so much silver. +Better pay their debts fust. That's my creed." +</p> + +<p> +Mary turned away in disgust, but not until she heard the woman's daughter +whisper, "Don't, mother,—that's Miss Howard,—Mrs. Campbell's +niece," to which the mother replied, "Wall, who cares for that? Glad I gin her +a good one. Upper crust ain't no better than I be." +</p> + +<p> +Passing through the hall, where several other women were examining and +depreciating Mrs. Lincoln's costly carpets, pronouncing them "half cotton," +&c., Mary made her way up the stairs, where in a chamber as yet untouched, +she found Jenny and with her William Bender. Mrs. Lincoln's cold, scrutinizing +eyes were away, and Mr. Lincoln had cordially welcomed William to his house, +telling him of his own accord where his daughter could be found. Many a time in +his life for Mary's sake had William wished that he was rich, but never had he +felt so intense a longing for money, as he did when Jenny sat weeping at his +side, and starting at each new sound which came up from the rabble below. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, Mary, Mary!" she said, as the latter entered the room, "to-morrow every +thing will be sold, and I shall have no home. It's dreadful to be poor." +</p> + +<p> +Mary knew that from bitter experience, and sitting down by her young friend, +her tears flowed as freely as Jenny's had often flowed for her, in the gray old +woods near Chicopee poor-house. Just then there was an unusual movement in the +yard below, and looking from the window, Jenny saw that they were carrying the +piano away. +</p> + +<p> +"This is worse than all," said she. "If they only knew how dear that is to me, +or how dear it will be when—" +</p> + +<p> +She could not finish, but Mary knew what she would say. The piano belonged to +Rose, whose name was engraved upon its front, and when she was dead, it would +from that fact be doubly dear to the sister. A stylish-looking carriage now +drew up before the house, from which Mrs. Campbell alighted and holding up her +long skirts, ascended the stairs, and knocked at Jenny's door. +</p> + +<p> +"Permeely," called out the old lady who had been disappointed in her search for +the silver candlesticks, "wasn't that Miss Campbell? Wall, she's gone right +into one of them rooms where t'other gal went. I shouldn't wonder if Mr. +Lincoln's best things was hid there, for they keep the door locked." +</p> + +<p> +Accidentally Mr. Lincoln overheard this remark, and in his heart he felt that +his choicest treasure was indeed there. His wife, from whom he naturally +expected sympathy, had met him with desponding looks and bitter words, +reproaching him with carelessness, and saying, as in similar circumstances +ladies too often do, that "she had forseen it from the first, and that had he +followed her advice, 'twould not have happened." +</p> + +<p> +Henry, too, seemed callous and indifferent, and the father alone found comfort +in Jenny's words of love and encouragement. From the first she had stood +bravely by him refusing to leave the house until all was over; and many a weary +night, when the great city was hushed and still, a light had gleamed from the +apartment where, with her father, she sat looking over his papers, and trying +to ascertain as far as possible, to what extent he was involved. It was she who +first suggested the giving up of every thing; and when Henry, less upright than +his noble sister, proposed the withholding of a part, she firmly answered, "No, +father don't do it. You have lost your property, but do not lose your +self-respect." +</p> + +<p> +Always cheerful, and sometimes even gay in his presence, she had succeeded in +imbuing him with a portion of her own hopeful spirit, and he passed through the +storm far better than he could otherwise have done. Mrs. Campbell's visit to +the house was prompted partly from curiosity, and partly from a desire to take +away Jenny, who was quite a favorite with her. +</p> + +<p> +"Come, my dear," said she, pushing back the short, thick curls which clustered +around Jenny's forehead, "you must go home with me. This is no place for you. +Mary will go too," she continued; and then on an "aside" to Mary, she added, "I +want you to cheer up Ella; she sits alone in her room, without speaking or +noticing me in any way." +</p> + +<p> +At first Jenny hesitated, but when William whispered that she had better go; +and Mrs. Campbell, as the surest way of bringing her to a decision, said, "Mr. +Bender will oblige me by coming to tea," she consented, and closely veiled, +passed through the crowd below, who instinctively drew back, and ceased +speaking, for wherever she was known, Jenny was beloved. Arrived at Mrs. +Campbell's, they found Ella, as her mother had said, sitting alone in her room, +not weeping, but gazing fixedly down the street, as if expecting some one who +did not come! +</p> + +<p> +In reply to Jenny's anxious inquiries as to what was the matter, Mary frankly +told all, and then Jenny, folding her arms around the young girl, longed to +tell her how unworthy was the object of such love. But Henry was her brother, +and she could not. Softly caressing Ella's cheek, she whispered to her of +brighter days which perhaps would come. The fact that it was <i>his</i> +sister—Henry's sister—opened anew the fountain of Ella's tears, and +she wept for a long time; but it did her good, and for the remainder of the +afternoon she seemed more cheerful, and inclined to converse. +</p> + +<p> +The next day was the auction, and it required the persuasion of both Mrs. +Campbell and Mary to keep Jenny from going, she knew not whither herself, but +any where, to be near and take one more look at the dear old furniture as it +passed into the hands of strangers. At last Mrs. Campbell promised that black +Ezra, who had accompanied her from Chicopee, should go and report faithfully +all the proceedings, and then Jenny consented to remain at home, though all the +day she seemed restless and impatient, wondering how long before Uncle Ezra +would return, and then weeping as in fancy she saw article after article +disposed of to those who would know little how to prize it. +</p> + +<p> +About five o'clock Uncle Ezra came home, bringing a note from Ida, saying that +the carriage would soon be round for Mary and Jenny, both of whom must surely +come, as there was a pleasant surprise awaiting them. While Mary was reading +this, Jenny was eagerly questioning Uncle Ezra with regard to the sale, which, +he said, "went off uncommon well," owing chiefly, he reckoned, "to a tall, and +mighty good-lookin' chap, who kept bidding up and up, till he got 'em about +where they should be. Then he'd stop for someone else to bid." +</p> + +<p> +"Who was he?" asked Mary, coming forward, and joining Jenny. +</p> + +<p> +"Dun know, Miss; never seen him afore," said Uncle Ezra, "but he's got heaps of +money, for when he paid for the pianner, he took out a roll of bills near about +big as my two fists!" +</p> + +<p> +"Then the piano is gone," said Jenny sadly, while Mary asked how much it +brought. +</p> + +<p> +"Three hundred dollars was the last bid I heard from that young feller, and +somebody who was biddin' agin him said, 'twas more'n 'twas wuth." +</p> + +<p> +"It wasn't either," spoke up Jenny, rather spiritedly, "It cost five hundred, +and it's never been hurt a bit." +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Bender bought that <i>little fiddle</i> of your'n," continued Uncle Ezra, +with a peculiar wink, which brought the color to Jenny's cheeks; while Mary +exclaimed, "Oh, I'm so glad you can have your guitar again." +</p> + +<p> +Here the conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the carriage, which +came for the young ladies, who were soon on their way to Mr. Selden's, Mary +wondering what the surprise was, and Jenny hoping William would call in the +evening. At the door they met Ida, who was unusually merry,—almost too +much so for the occasion, it seemed to Mary, as she glanced at Jenny's pale, +dispirited face. Aunt Martha, too, who chanced to cross the hall, shook Mary's +hand as warmly as if she had not seen her for a year, and then with her broad, +white cap-strings flying back, she repaired to the kitchen to give orders +concerning the supper. +</p> + +<p> +Mary did not notice it then, but she afterwards remembered, that Ida seemed +quite anxious about her appearance, for following her to her room, she said, +"You look tired, Mary. Sit down and rest you awhile. Here, take my +vinaigrette,—that will revive you." Then as Mary was arranging her hair, +she said, "Just puff out this side a little more;—there, that's right. +Now turn round, I want to see how you look." +</p> + +<p> +"Well, how do I?" asked Mary, facing about as Ida directed. +</p> + +<p> +"I guess you'll do," returned Ida. "I believe Henry Lincoln was right, when he +said that this blue merino, and linen collar, was the most becoming dress you +could wear: but you look well in every thing, you have so fine a form." +</p> + +<p> +"Don't believe all her flattery," said Jenny, laughingly "She's only comparing +your tall, slender figure with little dumpy me; but I'm growing +thin,—see," and she lapped her dress two or three inches in front. +</p> + +<p> +"Come, now let's go down," said Ida, "and I'll introduce you, to Jenny's +surprise, first." +</p> + +<p> +With Ida leading the way, they entered the music room, where in one corner +stood Rose's piano, open, and apparently inviting Jenny to its side. With a +joyful cry, she sprang forward, exclaiming, "Oh, how kind in your father; I +almost know we can redeem it some time. I'll teach school,—any thing to +get it again." +</p> + +<p> +"Don't thank father too much," answered Ida, "for he has nothing to do with it, +except giving it house room, and one quarter's teaching will pay that bill!" +</p> + +<p> +"Who <i>did</i> buy it, then?" asked Jenny; and Ida replied, "Can't tell you +just yet. I must have some music first. Come, Mary, you like to play. Give me +my favorite, 'Rosa Lee,' with variations." +</p> + +<p> +Mary was passionately fond of music, and, for the time she had taken lessons, +played uncommonly well. Seating herself at the piano, she became oblivious to +all else around her, and when a tall figure for a moment darkened the doorway, +while Jenny uttered a suppressed exclamation of surprise, she paid no heed, nor +did she become conscious of a third person's presence until the group advanced +towards her, Ida and Jenny leaning upon the piano, and the other standing at +her right, a little in the rear. Thinking, if she thought at all, that it was +William Bender, Mary played on until the piece was finished, and then, +observing that her companions had left the room, she turned and met the dark, +handsome eyes,—not of William Bender, but of one who, with a peculiar +smile, offered her his hand, saying, "I believe I need no introduction to Miss +Howard, except a slight change in the name, which instead of being +<i>Stuart</i> is Moreland!" +</p> + +<p> +Mary never knew what she said or did. She only remembered a dizzy sensation in +her head, a strong arm passed round her, and a voice which fully aroused her as +it called her "Mary," and asked if she were faint. Just then Ida entered the +room, announcing tea, and asking her if she found "Mr. Stuart" much changed? At +the tea-table Mary sat opposite George, and every time she raised her eyes, she +met his fixed upon her, with an expression so like that of the picture in the +golden locket which she still wore, that she wondered she had not before +recognized George Moreland in the Mr. Stuart who had so puzzled and mystified +her. After supper she had an opportunity of seeing why George was so much +beloved at home. Possessing rare powers of conversation, he seemed to know +exactly what to say, and when to say it, and with a kind word and pleasant +smile for all, he generally managed to make himself a favorite, notwithstanding +his propensity to tease, which would occasionally show itself in some way or +other. During the evening William Bender called, and soon after Henry Lincoln +also came in, frowning gloomily when he saw how near to each other were William +and his sister, while he jealously watched them, still keeping an eye upon +George and Mary, the latter of whom remembered her young sister, and treated +him with unusual coldness. At last, complaining of feeling <i>blue</i>, he +asked Ida to play, at the same time sauntering towards the music room, where +stood his sister's piano. "Upon my word," said he, "this looks natural. Who +bought it?" and he drummed a few notes of a song. +</p> + +<p> +"Mr. Moreland bought it. Wasn't he kind?" said Jenny, who all the evening had +been trying for a chance to thank George, but now when she attempted to do so +he prevented her by saying, "Oh don't—don't—I can imagine all you +wish to say, and I hate to be thanked. Rose and I are particular friends, and +it afforded me a great deal of pleasure to purchase it for her—but," he +added, glancing at his watch, "I must be excused now, as I promised to call +upon my ward." +</p> + +<p> +"Who's that?" asked Jenny, and George replied that it was a Miss Herndon, who +had accompanied him from New Orleans to visit her aunt, Mrs. Russell. +</p> + +<p> +"He says she's an heiress, and very beautiful," rejoined Ida, seating herself +at the piano. +</p> + +<p> +Instantly catching at the words "heiress" and "beautiful," Henry started up, +asking "if it would be against all the rules of propriety for him to call upon +her thus early." +</p> + +<p> +"I think it would," was George's brief answer, while Mary's eyes flashed +scornfully upon the young man, who, rather crestfallen, announced himself ready +to listen to Ida whom he secretly styled "an old maid," because since his first +remembrance she had treated him with perfect indifference. +</p> + +<p> +That night before retiring the three girls sat down by the cheerful fire in +Mary's room to talk over the events of the day, when Mary suddenly asked Ida to +tell her truly, if it were not George who had paid her bills at Mount Holyoke. +</p> + +<p> +"What bills?" said Jenny, to whom the idea was new while Ida replied, "And +suppose it was?" +</p> + +<p> +"I am sorry," answered Mary, laying her head upon the table. +</p> + +<p> +"What a silly girl," said Ida. "He was perfectly able, and more than willing, +so why do you care?" +</p> + +<p> +"I do not like being so much indebted to any one," was Mary's reply, and yet in +her secret heart there was a strange feeling of pleasure in the idea that +George had thus cared for her, for would he have done so, if—. She dared +not finish that question even to herself,—dared not ask if she hoped that +George Moreland loved her one half as well as she began to think she had always +loved him. Why should he, with his handsome person and princely fortune, love +one so unworthy, and so much beneath him? And then, for the first time, she +thought of her changed position since last they met. Then she was a poor, +obscure schoolmistress,—now, flattered, caressed, and an heiress. Years +before, when a little pauper at Chicopee, she had felt unwilling that George +should know how destitute she was, and now in the time of her prosperity she +was equally desirous that he should, for a time at least, remain ignorant of +her present condition. +</p> + +<p> +"Ida," said she, lifting her head from the table "does George know that I am +Mrs. Campbell's niece?" +</p> + +<p> +"No," answered Ida, "I wanted to tell him, but Aunt Martha said I'd better +not." +</p> + +<p> +"Don't then," returned Mary, and resuming her former position she fell into a +deep reverie, from which she was at last aroused, by Jenny's asking "if she +intended to sit up all night?" +</p> + +<p> +The news that George Moreland had returned, and bought Rose Lincoln's piano, +besides several other articles, spread rapidly, and the day following his +arrival Mary and Ida were stopped in the street by a group of their companions, +who were eager to know how George bore the news that his betrothed was so ill, +and if it was not that which had brought him home so soon, and then the +conversation turned upon Miss Herndon, the New Orleans lady who had that +morning appeared in the street; "And don't you think," said one of the girls, +"that Henry Lincoln was dancing attendance upon her? If I were you," turning to +Mary, "I'd caution my sister to be a little wary of him. But let me see, their +marriage is to take place soon?" +</p> + +<p> +Mary replied that the marriage was postponed indefinitely, whereupon the girls +exchanged meaning glances and passed on. In less than twenty-four hours, half +of Ella's acquaintances were talking of her discarding Henry on account of his +father's failure, and saying "that they expected it, 'twas like her." +</p> + +<p> +Erelong the report, in the shape of a condolence, reached Henry, who caring but +little what reason was assigned for the broken engagement, so that he got well +out of it assumed a much injured air, but said "he reckoned he should manage to +survive;" then pulling his sharp-pointed collar up another story, and brushing +his pet mustache, wherein lay most of his mind, he walked up street, and +ringing at Mrs. Russell's door, asked for Miss Herndon, who vain as beautiful, +suffered his attentions, not because she liked him in the least, but because +she was fond of flattery, and there was something exceedingly gratifying in the +fact that at the North, where she fancied the gentlemen to be icicles, she had +so soon made a conquest. It mattered not that Mrs. Russell told her his vows +were plighted to another. She cared nothing for that. Her life had been one +long series of conquests, until now at twenty-five there was not in the whole +world a more finished or heartless coquette than Evren Herndon. +</p> + +<p> +Days passed on, and at last rumors reached Ella, that Henry was constant in his +attendance upon the proud southern beauty, whose fortune was valued by hundreds +of thousands. At first she refused to believe it, but when Mary and Jenny both +assured her it was true, and when she her self had ocular demonstration of the +fact, she gave way to one long fit of weeping; and then, drying her eyes, +declared that Henry Lincoln should see "that she would not die for him." +</p> + +<p> +Still a minute observer could easily have seen that her gayety was feigned, for +she had loved Henry Lincoln as sincerely as she was capable of loving, and not +even George Moreland, who treated her with his old boyish familiarity could +make her for a moment forget one who now passed her coldly by, or listened +passively while the sarcastic Evren Herndon likened her to a waxen image, fit +only for a glass case! +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> </div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXI" id="CHAPTER_XXXI"></a> +CHAPTER XXXI.<br/> +A QUESTION</h2> + +<p> +Towards the last of April, Mrs. Mason and Mary returned to their old home in +the country. On Ella's account, Mrs. Campbell had decided to remain in the city +during a part of the summer, and she labored hard to keep Mary also, offering +as a last inducement to give Mrs. Mason a home too. But Mrs. Mason preferred +her own house in Chicopee, and thither Mary accompanied her, promising, +however, to spend the next winter with her aunt, who wept at parting with her +more than she would probably have done had it been Ella. +</p> + +<p> +Mary had partially engaged to teach the school in Rice Corner, but George, +assuming a kind of authority over her, declared she should not. +</p> + +<p> +"I don't want your eyes to grow dim and your cheeks pale, in that little +pent-up room," said he. "You know I've been there and seen for myself." +</p> + +<p> +Mary colored, for George's manner of late had puzzled her, and Jenny had more +than once whispered in her ear "I know George loves you, for he looks at you +just as William does at me, only a little more so!" +</p> + +<p> +Ida, too, had once mischievously addressed her as "Cousin," adding that there +was no one among her acquaintances whom she would as willingly call by that +name. "When I was a little girl," said she, "they used to tease me about +George, but I'd as soon think of marrying my brother. You never saw Mr. Elwood, +George's classmate, for he's in Europe now. Between you and me, I like him +and—" +</p> + +<p> +A loud call from Aunt Martha prevented Ida from finishing, and the conversation +was not again resumed. The next morning Mary was to leave, and as she stood in +the parlor talking with Ida, George came in with a travelling satchel in his +hand, and a shawl thrown carelessly over his arm. +</p> + +<p> +"Where are you going?" asked Ida. +</p> + +<p> +"To Springfield. I have business there," said George. +</p> + +<p> +"And when will you return?" continued Ida, feeling that it would be doubly +lonely at home. +</p> + +<p> +"That depends on circumstances," said he. "I shall stop at Chicopee on my way +back, provided Mary is willing." +</p> + +<p> +Mary answered that she was always glad to see her friends, and as the carriage +just then drove up, they started together for the depot. Mary never remembered +of having had a more pleasant ride than that from Boston to Chicopee. George +was a most agreeable companion, and with him at her side she seemed to discover +new beauties in every object which they passed, and felt rather sorry when the +winding river, and the blue waters of Pordunk Pond warned her that Chicopee +Station was near at hand. +</p> + +<p> +"I shall see you next week," said George, as he handed her from the cars, which +the next moment rolled over the long meadow, and disappeared through the deep +cut in the sandy hillside. +</p> + +<p> +For a week or more Judith had been at Mrs. Mason's house, putting things to +rights, and when the travellers arrived they found every thing in order. A +cheerful fire was blazing in the little parlor, and before it stood the +tea-table nicely arranged, while two beautiful Malta kittens, which during the +winter had been Judith's special care, lay upon the hearth-rug asleep, with +their soft velvet paws locked lovingly around each other's neck. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, how pleasant to be at home once more, and alone," said Mrs. Mason, but +Mary did not reply. Her thoughts were elsewhere, and much as she liked being +alone, the presence of a certain individual would not probably have marred her +happiness to any great extent. But <i>he</i> was coming soon, and with that in +anticipation, she appeared cheerful and gay as usual. +</p> + +<p> +Among the first to call upon them was Mrs. Perkins who came early in the +morning, bringing her knitting work and staying all day. She had taken to +dressmaking, she said, and thought may-be she could get some new ideas from +Mary's dresses, which she very coolly asked to see. With the utmost good humor, +Mary opened her entire wardrobe to the inspection of the widow, who, having +recently forsaken the Unitarian faith, and gone over to the new Methodist +church in River street, turned conscientiously away from the gay party dresses, +wondering how sensible people, to say nothing of Christian people, could find +pleasure in such vanities! +</p> + +<p> +"But then," said she, "I hear you've joined the Episcopals, and that accounts +for it, for they allow of most any thing, and in my opinion ain't a whit better +than the Catholics." +</p> + +<p> +"Why, we are Catholic. Ain't you?" asked Mary. +</p> + +<p> +The knitting work dropped, and with a short ejaculatory prayer of "Good Lord," +Mrs. Perkins exclaimed, "Well, I'm glad you've owned up. Half on 'em deny +it,—but there 'tis in black and white in the Prayer Book, 'I believe in +the Holy Catholic Church.'" +</p> + +<p> +It was in vain that Mary referred her to the Dictionary for a definition of the +word 'Catholic.' She knew all she wanted to know, and she shouldn't wonder, +bein' 'twas Friday, if Miss Mason didn't have no meat for dinner. +</p> + +<p> +The appearance of a nicely roasted bit of veal quieted her fears on that +subject, and as the effects of the strong green tea became apparent, she said, +"like enough she'd been too hard on the Episcopals, for to tell the truth, she +never felt so solemn in her life as she did the time she went to one of their +meetins'; but," she added, "I do object to them two gowns, and I can't help +it!" +</p> + +<p> +At last the day was over, and with it the visit of the widow, who had gathered +enough gossiping materials to last her until the Monday following, when the +arrival in the neighborhood of George Moreland, threw her upon a fresh theme, +causing her to wonder "if 'twan't Mary's beau, and if he hadn't been kinder +courtin' her ever since the time he visited her school." +</p> + +<p> +She felt sure of it when, towards evening, she saw them enter the school-house, +and nothing but the presence of a visitor prevented her from stealing across +the road, and listening under the window. She would undoubtedly have been +highly edified, could she have heard their conversation. The interest which +George had felt in Mary when a little child, was greatly increased when he +visited her school in Rice Corner, and saw how much she was improved in her +manners and appearance; and it was then that he conceived the idea of educating +her, determining to marry her if she proved to be all he hoped she would. +</p> + +<p> +That she did meet his expectations, was evident from the fact that his object +in stopping at Chicopee, was to settle a question which she alone could decide. +He had asked her to accompany him to the school-house, because it was there his +resolution had been formed, and it was there he would make it known. Mary, too, +had something which she wished to say to him. She would thank him for his +kindness to her and her parents' memory; but the moment she commenced talking +upon the subject, George stopped her, and for the first time since they were +children, placed his arm around her waist, and kissing her smooth white brow, +said, "Shall I tell you, Mary, how you can repay it?" +</p> + +<p> +She did not reply, and he continued, "Give me a husband's right to care for +you, and I shall be repaid a thousand fold." +</p> + +<p> +Whatever Mary's answer might have been, and indeed we are not sure that she +answered at all, George was satisfied; and when he told her how dear she was to +him, how long he had loved her, and asked if he might not hope that he, too, +had been remembered, the little golden locket which she placed in his hand was +a sufficient reply. Without Ida's aid he had heard of the relationship existing +between Mrs. Campbell and Mary, but it made no difference with him. His mind +had long been made up, and in taking Mary for his wife, he felt that he was +receiving the best of Heaven's blessings. +</p> + +<p> +Until the shadows of evening fell around them they sat there, talking of the +future, which George said should be all one bright dream of happiness to the +young girl at his side, who from the very fulness of her joy wept as she +thought how strange it was that she should be the wife of George Moreland, whom +many a dashing belle had tried in vain to win. The next morning George went +back to Boston, promising to return in a week or two, when he should expect +Mary to accompany him to Glenwood, as he wished to see Rose once more before +she died. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> </div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXII" id="CHAPTER_XXXII"></a> +CHAPTER XXXII.<br/> +GOING HOME.</h2> + +<p> +The windows of Rose Lincoln's chamber were open, and the balmy air of May came +in, kissing the white brow of the sick girl, and whispering to her of swelling +buds and fair young blossoms, which its breath had wakened into life, and which +she would never see. +</p> + +<p> +"Has Henry come?" she asked of her father, and in the tones of her voice there +was an unusual gentleness, for just as she was dying Rose was learning to live. +</p> + +<p> +For a time she had seemed so indifferent and obstinate, that Mrs. Howland had +almost despaired. But night after night, when her daughter thought she slept, +she prayed for the young girl, that she might not die until she had first +learned the way of eternal life. And, as if in answer to her prayers, Rose +gradually began to listen, and as she listened, she wept, wondering though why +her grandmother thought her so much more wicked than any one else. Again, in a +sudden burst of passion, she would send her from the room, saying, "she had +heard preaching enough, for she wasn't going to die,—she wouldn't die any +way." +</p> + +<p> +But at last such feelings passed away, and as the sun of her short life was +setting, the sun of righteousness shone more and more brightly over her +pathway, lighting her through the dark valley of death. She no longer asked to +be taken home, for she knew that could not be, but she wondered why her brother +stayed so long from Glenwood, when he knew that she was dying. +</p> + +<p> +On her return from the city, Jenny had told her as gently as possible of his +conduct towards Ella, and of her fears that he was becoming more dissipated +than ever. For a time Rose lay perfectly still, and Jenny, thinking she was +asleep, was about to leave the room, when her sister called her back, and +bidding her sit down by her side, said, "Tell me, Jenny, do you think Henry has +any love for me?" +</p> + +<p> +"He would be an unnatural brother if he had not," answered Jenny, her own heart +yearning more tenderly towards her sister, whose gentle manner she could not +understand. +</p> + +<p> +"Then," resumed Rose, "if he loves me, he will be sorry when I am dead, and +perhaps it may save him from ruin." +</p> + +<p> +The tears dropped slowly from her long eyelashes, while Jenny, laying her round +rosy cheek against the thin pale face near her, sobbed out, "You must not +die,—dear Rose. You must not die, and leave us." +</p> + +<p> +From that time the failure was visible and rapid, and though letters went +frequently to Henry, telling him of his sister's danger, he still lingered by +the side of the brilliant beauty, while each morning Rose asked, "Will he come +to-day?" and each night she wept that he was not there. +</p> + +<p> +Calmly and without a murmur she had heard the story of their ruin from her +father, who could not let her die without undeceiving her. Before that time she +had asked to be taken back to Mount Auburn, designating the spot where she +would be buried, but now she insisted upon being laid by the running brook at +the foot of her grandmother's garden, and near a green mossy bank where the +spring blossoms were earliest found, and where the flowers of autumn lingered +longest. The music of the falling water, she said would soothe her as she +slept, and its cool moisture keep the grass green and fresh upon her early +grave. +</p> + +<p> +One day, when Mrs. Lincoln was sitting by her daughter and, as she frequently +did, uttering invectives against Mount Holyoke, &c., Rose said, "Don't talk +so, mother. Mount Holyoke Seminary had nothing to do with hastening my death. I +have done it myself by my own carelessness;" and then she confessed how many +times she had deceived her mother, and thoughtlessly exposed her health, even +when her lungs and side were throbbing with pain. "I know you will forgive me," +said she, "for most severely have I been punished." +</p> + +<p> +Then, as she heard Jenny's voice in the room below, she added, "There is one +other thing which I would say to you. Ere I die, you must promise that Jenny +shall marry William Bender. He is poor, I know, and so are we, but he has a +noble heart, and now for my sake, mother, take back the bitter words you once +spoke to Jenny, and say that she may wed him. She will soon be your only +daughter, and why should you destroy her happiness? Promise me, mother, promise +that she shall marry him." +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Lincoln, though poor, was proud and haughty still, and the struggle in her +bosom was long and severe, but love for her dying child conquered at last, and +to the oft-repeated question, "Promise me, mother, will you not?" she answered, +"Yes, Rose, yes, for your sake I give my consent though nothing else could ever +have wrung it from me." +</p> + +<p> +"And, mother," continued Rose, "may he not be sent for now? I cannot be here +long, and once more I would see him, and tell him that I gladly claim him as a +brother." +</p> + +<p> +A brother! How heavily those words smote upon the heart of the sick girl. Henry +was yet away, and though in Jenny's letter Rose herself had once feebly traced +the words, "Come, brother,—do come," he still lingered, as if bound by a +spell he could not break. And so days went by and night succeeded night, until +the bright May morning dawned, the last Rose could ever see. Slowly up the +eastern horizon came the warm spring sun, and as its red beams danced for a +time upon the wall of Rose's chamber, she gazed wistfully upon it, murmuring, +"It is the last,—the last that will ever rise for me." +</p> + +<p> +William Bender was there. He had come the night before, bringing word that +Henry would follow the next day. There was a gay party to which he had promised +to attend Miss Herndon, and he deemed that a sufficient reason why he should +neglect his dying sister, who every few minutes asked eagerly if he had come. +Strong was the agony at work in the father's heart, and still he nerved himself +to support his daughter while he watched the shadows of death as one by one +they crept over her face. The mother, wholly overcome, declared she could not +remain in the room, and on the lounge below she kept two of the neighbors +constantly moving in quest of the restoratives which she fancied she needed. +Poor Jenny, weary and pale with watching and tears, leaned heavily against +William; and Rose, as often as her eyes unclosed and rested upon her, would +whisper, "Jenny,—dear Jenny, I wish I had loved you more." +</p> + +<p> +Grandma Howland had laid many a dear one in the grave, and as she saw another +leaving her, she thought, "how grew her store in Heaven," and still her heart +was quivering with anguish, for Rose had grown strongly into her affection. But +for the sake of the other stricken ones she hushed her own grief, knowing it +would not be long ere she met her child again. And truly it seemed more meet +that she with her gray hair and dim eyes should die even then, than that Rose, +with the dew of youth still glistening upon her brow, should thus early be laid +low. +</p> + +<p> +"If Henry does not come," said Rose, "tell him it was my last request that he +turn away from the wine-cup, and say, that the bitterest pang I felt in dying, +was a fear that my only brother should fill a drunkard's grave. He cannot look +upon me dead, and feel angry that I wished him to reform. And as he stands over +my coffin, tell him to promise never again to touch the deadly poison." +</p> + +<p> +Here she became too much exhausted to say more, and soon after fell into a +quiet sleep. When she awoke, her father was sitting across the room, with his +head resting upon the window sill, while her own was pillowed upon the strong +arm of George Moreland, who bent tenderly over her, and soothed her as he would +a child. Quickly her fading cheek glowed, and her eye sparkled with something +of its olden light; but "George,—George," was all she had strength to +say, and when Mary, who had accompanied him, approached her, she only knew that +she was recognized by the pressure of the little blue-veined hand, which soon +dropped heavily upon the counterpane, while the eyelids closed languidly, and +with the words, "He will not come," she again slept, but this time 'twas the +long, deep sleep, from which she would never awaken. +</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p> +Slowly the shades of night fell around the cottage where death had so lately +left its impress. Softly the kind-hearted neighbors passed up and down the +narrow staircase, ministering first to the dead, and then turning aside to weep +as they looked upon the bowed man, who with his head upon the window sill, +still sat just as he did when they told him she was dead. At his feet on a +little stool was Jenny, pressing his hands, and covering them with the tears +she for his sake tried in vain to repress. +</p> + +<p> +At last, when it was dark without, and lights were burning upon the table, +there was the sound of some one at the gate, and in a moment Henry stepped +across the threshold, but started and turned pale when he saw his mother in +violent hysterics upon the lounge, and Mary Howard bathing her head and trying +to soothe her. Before he had time to ask a question, Jenny's arms were wound +around his neck, and she whispered, "Rose is dead.—Why were you so late?" +</p> + +<p> +He could not answer. He had nothing to say, and mechanically following his +sister he entered the room where Rose had died. Very beautiful had she been in +life; and now, far more beautiful in death, she looked like a piece of +sculptured marble; as she lay there so cold, and still, and all unconscious of +the scalding tears which fell upon her face, as Henry bent over her, kissing +her lips, and calling upon her to awake and speak to him once more. +</p> + +<p> +When she thought he could bear it, Jenny told him of all Rose had said, and by +the side of her coffin, with his hand resting upon her white forehead, the +conscience-stricken young man swore, that never again should ardent spirits of +any kind pass his lips, and the father who stood by and heard that vow, felt +that if it were kept, his daughter had not died in vain. +</p> + +<p> +The day following the burial. George and Mary returned to Chicopee, and as the +next day was the one appointed for the sale of Mr. Lincoln's farm and country +house, he also accompanied them. +</p> + +<p> +"Suppose you buy it," said he to George as they rode over the premises. "I'd +rather you'd own it than to see it in the hands of strangers." +</p> + +<p> +"I intended doing so," answered George, and when at night he was the owner of +the farm, house and furniture, he generously offered it to Mr. Lincoln rent +free, with the privilege of redeeming it whenever he could. +</p> + +<p> +This was so unexpected, that Mr. Lincoln at first could hardly find words to +express his thanks, but when he did he accepted the offer, saying, however, +that he could pay the rent, and adding that he hoped two or three years of hard +labor in California, whither he intended going, would enable him to purchase it +back. On his return to Glenwood, he asked William, who was still there, "how he +would like to turn farmer for a while." +</p> + +<p> +Jenny looked up in surprise, while William asked what he meant. +</p> + +<p> +Briefly then Mr. Lincoln told of George's generosity, and stating his own +intentions of going to California, said that in his absence somebody must look +after the farm, and he knew of no one whom he would as soon trust as William. +</p> + +<p> +"Oh, that'll be nice," said Jenny, whose love for the country was as strong as +ever. "And then, Willie, when pa comes back we'll go to Boston again and +practise law, you and I!" +</p> + +<p> +William pressed the little fat hand which had slid into his, and replied, that +much as he would like to oblige Mr. Lincoln, he could not willingly abandon his +profession, in which he was succeeding even beyond his most sanguine hopes. +"But," said he, "I think I can find a good substitute in Mr. Parker, who is +anxious to leave the poor-house. He is an honest, thorough-going man, and his +wife, who is an excellent housekeeper, will relieve Mrs. Lincoln entirely from +care." +</p> + +<p> +"Mercy!" exclaimed the last-mentioned lady, "I can never endure that vulgar +creature round me. First, I'd know she'd want to be eating at the same table, +and I couldn't survive that!" +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Lincoln looked sad. Jenny smiled, and William replied, that he presumed +Mrs. Parker herself would greatly prefer taking her meals quietly with her +husband in the kitchen. +</p> + +<p> +"We can at least try it," said Mr. Lincoln, in a manner so decided that his +wife ventured no farther remonstrance, though she cried and fretted all the +time, seemingly lamenting their fallen fortune, more than the vacancy which +death had so recently made in their midst. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Parker, who was weary of the poor-house, gladly consented to take charge of +Mr. Lincoln's farm, and in the course of a week or two Jenny and her mother +went out to their old home, where every thing seemed just as they had left it +the autumn before. The furniture was untouched, and in the front parlor stood +Rose's piano and Jenny's guitar, which had been forwarded from Boston. Mr. +Lincoln urged his mother-in-law to accompany them, but she shook her head, +saying, "the old bees never left their hives," and she preferred remaining in +Glenwood. +</p> + +<p> +Contrary to Mrs. Lincoln's fears, Sally Ann made no advances whatever towards +an intimate acquaintance, and frequently days and even weeks would elapse +without her ever seeing her mistress, who spent nearly all her time in her +chamber, musing upon her past greatness, and scolding Jenny, because she was +not more exclusive. While the family were making arrangements to move from +Glenwood to Chicopee. Henry for the first time in his life began to see of how +little use he was to himself or any one else. Nothing was expected of him, +consequently nothing was asked of him, and as his father made plans for the +future, he began to wonder how he himself was henceforth to exist. His father +would be in California, and he had too much pride to lounge around the old +homestead, which had come to them through George Moreland's generosity. +</p> + +<p> +Suddenly it occurred to him that he too would go with his father,—he +would help him repair their fortune,—he would not be in the way of so +much temptation as at home,—he would be a man, and when he returned home, +hope painted a joyful meeting with his mother and Jenny, who should be proud to +acknowledge him as a son and brother. Mr. Lincoln warmly seconded his +resolution, which possibly would have never been carried out, had not Henry +heard of Miss Herndon's engagement with a rich old bachelor whom he had often +heard her ridicule. Cursing the fickleness of the fair lady, and half wishing +that he had not broken with Ella, whose fortune, though not what he had +expected, was considerable, he bade adieu to his native sky, and two weeks +after the family removed to Chicopee, he sailed with his father for the land of +gold. +</p> + +<p> +But alas! The tempter was there before him, and in an unguarded moment he fell. +The newly-made grave, the narrow coffin, the pale, dead sister, and the solemn +vow were all forgotten, and a debauch of three weeks was followed by a violent +fever, which in a few days cut short his mortal career. He died alone, with +none but his father to witness his wild ravings, in which he talked of his +distant home, of Jenny and Rose, Mary Howard, and Ella, the last of whom he +seemed now to love with a madness amounting almost to frenzy. Tearing out +handfuls of his rich brown hair, he thrust it into his father's hand, bidding +him to carry it to Ella, and tell her that the heart she had so earnestly +coveted was hers in death. And the father, far more wretched now than when his +first-born daughter died, promised every thing, and when his only son was dead, +he laid him down to sleep beneath the blue sky of California, where not one of +the many bitter tears shed for him in his far off home could fall upon his +lonely grave. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> </div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIII" id="CHAPTER_XXXIII"></a> +CHAPTER XXXIII<br/> +CONCLUSION.</h2> + +<p> +Great was the excitement in Rice Corner when it was known that on the evening +of the tenth of September a grand wedding would take place, at the house of +Mrs. Mason. Mary was to be married to the "richest man in Boston," so the story +ran, and what was better yet, many of the neighbors were to be invited. Almost +every day, whether pleasant or not, Jenny Lincoln came over to discuss the +matter, and to ask if it were not time to send for William, who was to be one +of the groomsmen, while she, together with Ida, were to officiate as +bridesmaids. In this last capacity Ella had been requested to act, but the +tears came quickly to her large mournful eyes, and turning away she wondered +how Mary could thus mock her grief! +</p> + +<p> +From one fashionable watering place to another Mrs. Campbell had taken her, and +finding that nothing there had power to rouse her drooping energies, she had, +towards the close of the summer, brought her back to Chicopee, hoping that old +scenes and familiar faces would effect what novelty and excitement had failed +to do. All unworthy as Henry Lincoln had been, his sad death had cast a dark +shadow across Ella's pathway. Hour after hour would she sit, gazing upon the +locks of shining hair, which over land and sea had come to her in a letter from +the father, who told her of the closing scene, when Henry called for her, to +cool the heat of his fevered brow. Every word and look of tenderness was +treasured up, and the belief fondly cherished that he had always loved her +thus, else why in the last fearful struggle was she alone remembered of all the +dear ones in his distant home? +</p> + +<p> +Not even the excitement of her sister's approaching marriage could awaken in +her the least interest, and if it were mentioned in her presence she would +weep, wondering what she had done that Mary should be so much happier than +herself, and Mrs. Campbell remembering the past, could but answer in her heart +that it was just. Sometimes Ella accused her sister of neglect, saying she had +no thought for any one, except George Moreland, and his elegant house in +Boston. It was in vain that Mary strove to convince her of her mistake. She +only shook her head, hoping her sister would never know what it was to be +wretched and desolate as she was. Mary could have told her of many weary days +and sleepless nights, when there shone no star of hope in her dark sky, and +when even her only sister turned from her in scorn; but she would not, and +wiping away the tears which Ella's unkindness had called forth, she went back +to her home, where busy preparations were making for her bridal. +</p> + +<p> +Never before had Mrs. Perkins, or the neighborhood generally, had so much upon +their hands at one time. Two dressmakers were sewing for Mary. A colored cook, +with a flaming red turban, came up from Worcester to superintend the culinary +department, and a week before the wedding Aunt Martha also arrived, bringing +with her a quantity of cut glass of all sizes and dimensions, the uses of which +could not even be guessed, though the widow declared upon her honor, a virtue +by which she always swore, that two of them were called "cellar dishes," adding +that the "Lord only knew what that was!" +</p> + +<p> +With all her quizzing, prying, and peeking, Mrs. Perkins was unable to learn +any thing definite with regard to the wedding dress, and as a last resort, she +appealed to Jenny, "who of course ought to know, seein' she was goin' to stand +up with 'em." +</p> + +<p> +"O, yes, I know," said Jenny, mischievously, and pulling from her pocket a bit +of brown and white plaid silk,—Mary's travelling dress,—she passed +it to the widow, who straightway wondered at Mary's taste in selecting "that +gingham-looking thing!" +</p> + +<p> +Occasionally the widow felt some doubt as she heard rumors of pink brocades, +India muslins, heavy silks, and embroidered merino morning-gowns; "but law," +thought she "them are for the city. Anything 'll do for the country, though I +should s'pose she'd want to look decent before all the Boston top-knots that +are comin'." +</p> + +<p> +Three days before the wedding, the widow's heart was made glad with a card of +invitation, though she wondered why Mrs. Mason should say she would be "at +home." "Of course she'd be to hum,—where else should she be!" +</p> + +<p> +It was amusing to see the airs which Mrs. Perkins took upon herself, when +conversing with some of her neighbors, who were not fortunate enough to be +invited. "They couldn't ask every body, and 'twas natural for them to select +from the best families." +</p> + +<p> +Her pride, however, received a fall when she learned that Sally Furbush had not +only been invited, and presented with a black silk dress for the occasion, but +that George Moreland, who arrived the day preceding the wedding, had gone for +her himself, treating her with all the deference that he would the most +distinguished lady. And truly for once Sally acquitted herself with a great +deal of credit, and remembering Miss Grundy's parting advice, to "keep her +tongue between her teeth," she so far restrained her loquacity, that a stranger +would never have thought of her being crazy. +</p> + +<p> +The bridal day was bright, beautiful, and balmy, as the first days of September +often are, and when the sun went down, the full silvery moon came softly up, as +if to shower her blessings upon the nuptials about to be celebrated. Many and +brilliant lights were flashing from the windows of Mrs. Mason's cottage, which +seemed to enlarge its dimensions as one after another the guests came in. First +and foremost was the widow with her rustling silk of silver gray, and the red +ribbons which she had sported at Sally Ann's wedding. After a series of +manoeuvres she had succeeded in gaining a view of the supper table, and now in +a corner of the room she was detailing the particulars to an attentive group of +listeners. +</p> + +<p> +"The queerest things I ever see," said she, "and the queerest names, too. Why, +at one end of the table is a <i>muslin de laine puddin'</i>—" +</p> + +<p> +"A what?" asked three or four ladies in the same breath, and the widow +replied,—"May-be I didn't get the name right,—let me see:—No, +come to think, it's a <i>Charlotte</i> somebody puddin' instead of a muslin de +laine. And then at t'other end of the table is what I should call a dish of +<i>hash</i>, but Judith says it's 'chicken Sally,' and it took the white meat +of six or seven chickens to make it. Now what in the world they'll ever do with +all them legs and backs and things, is more'n I can tell, but, land sake there +come some of the <i>puckers</i>. Is my cap on straight?" she continued, as Mrs. +Campbell entered the room, together with Ella, and a number of Boston ladies. +</p> + +<p> +Being assured that her cap was all right, she resumed the conversation by +directing the attention of those nearest her to Ella, and saying in a whisper, +"If she hain't faded in a year, then I don't know; but, poor thing, she's been +disappointed, so it's no wonder!" and thinking of her own experience with Mr. +Parker, the widow's heart warmed toward the young girl, who, pale and languid, +dropped into the nearest seat, while her eyes moved listlessly about the room. +The rich, showy dresses of the city people also, came in for observation, and +while the widow marvelled at their taste in wearing "collars as big as capes," +she guessed that Mary'd feel flat in her checkered silk, when she came to see +every body so dressed up. +</p> + +<p> +And now guest after guest flitted down the narrow staircase and entered the +parlor, which with the bedroom adjoining was soon filled. Erelong Mr. Selden, +who seemed to be master of ceremonies appeared, and whispered something to +those nearest the door. Immediately the crowd fell back, leaving a vacant space +in front of the mirror. The busy hum of voices died away, and only a few +suppressed whispers of, "There!—Look!—See!—Oh, my!" were +heard, as the bridal party took their places. +</p> + +<p> +The widow, being in the rear, and rather short, slipped off her shoes, and +mounted into a chair, for a better view, and when Mary appeared, she was very +nearly guilty of an exclamation of surprise, for in place of the "checkered +silk" was an elegant <i>moire antique</i>, and an expensive bertha of point +lace, while the costly bridal veil, which swept the floor, and fell in soft +folds on either side of her head, was confined to the heavy braids of her hair +by diamond fastenings. A diamond necklace encircled her slender throat, and +bracelets of the same shone upon her round white arms. The whole was the gift +of George Moreland, who had claimed the privilege of selecting and presenting +the bridal dress, and who felt a pardonable pride when he saw how well it +became Mary's graceful and rather queenly form. +</p> + +<p> +At her left stood her bridesmaids, Ida and Jenny, while at George's right, were +Mr. Elwood and William Bender the latter of whom looked on calmly while the +solemn words were spoken which gave the idol of his boyhood to another and if +he felt a momentary pang when he saw how fondly the newly made husband bent +over his young bride, it passed away as his eye fell upon Jenny, who was now +dearer to him, if possible, than Mary had ever been. +</p> + +<p> +Among the first to congratulate "Mrs. Moreland," was Sally Furbush, followed by +Mrs. Perkins, who whispered to George that "she kinder had a notion how 'twoud +end when she first saw him in the school-house; but I'm glad you've got him," +turning to Mary, "for it must be easier livin' in the city than keepin' school. +You'll have a hired girl, I s'pose?" +</p> + +<p> +When supper was announced, the widow made herself very useful in waiting upon +the table, and asking some of the Boston ladies "if they'd be helped to any +thing in them dishes," pointing to the <i>finger glasses</i>, which now for the +first time appeared in Rice Corner! The half suppressed mirth of the ladies +convinced the widow that she'd made a blunder, and perfectly disgusted with +"new-fangled fashions" she retreated into the kitchen, were she found things +more to her taste, and "thanked her stars, she could, if she liked, eat with +her fingers, and wipe them on her pocket handkerchief!" +</p> + +<p> +Soon after her engagement, Mary had asked that Sally should go with her to her +city home. To this George willingly consented, and it was decided that she +should remain with Mrs. Mason until the bridal party returned from the western +tour they were intending to take. Sally knew nothing of this arrangement until +the morning following the wedding, when she was told that she was not to return +to the poor-house again. +</p> + +<p> +"And verily, I have this day met with a great deliverance," said she, and +tears, the first shed in many a year mingled with the old creature's thanks for +this unexpected happiness. As Mary was leaving, she whispered in her ear "If +your travels lead you near Willie's grave, drop a tear on it for my sake. +You'll find it under the buckeye tree, where the tall grass and wild flowers +grow." +</p> + +<p> +George had relatives in Chicago, and after spending a short time in that city, +Mary, remembering Sally's request, expressed a desire to visit the spot +renowned as the burial place of "Willie and Willie's father." Ever ready to +gratify her slightest wish, George consented, and towards the close of a mild +autumnal day, they stopped at a small public house on the border of a vast +prairie. The arrival of so distinguished looking people caused quite a +commotion, and after duly inspecting Mary's handsome travelling dress, and +calculating its probable cost, the hostess departed to prepare the evening +meal, which was soon forthcoming. +</p> + +<p> +When supper was over, and the family had gathered into the pleasant sitting +room, George asked if there was ever a man in those parts by the name of +"Furbush." +</p> + +<p> +"What! Bill Furbush?" asked the landlord. +</p> + +<p> +George did not know, but thought likely that might have seen his name, as his +son was called William. +</p> + +<p> +"Lud, yes," returned the landlord. "I knowed Bill Furbush well,—he came +here about the same time I did, he from Massachusetts, and I from Varmount; +but, poor feller, he was too weakly to bear much, and the first fever he took +finished him up. His old woman was as clever a creature as ever was, but she +had some high notions." +</p> + +<p> +"Did she die too?" asked George. +</p> + +<p> +Filling his mouth with an enormous quid of tobacco, the landlord continued, +"No, but it's a pity she didn't, for when Bill and the boy died, she went +ravin' mad, and I never felt so like cryin' as I did when I see her a tearin' +her hair an goin' on so. We kept her a spell, and then her old man's brother's +girl came for her and took her off; and the last I heard, the girl was dead, +and she was in the poor-house somewhere east. She was born there, I b'lieve." +</p> + +<p> +"No she warn't, either," said the landlady, who for some minutes had been +aching to speak. "No she warn't, either. I know all about it. She was born in +England, and got to be quite a girl before she came over. Her name was Sarah +Fletcher, and Peter Fletcher, who died with the cholera, was her own uncle, and +all the connection she had in this country;—but goodness suz, what ails +you?" she added, as Mary turned deathly white, while George passed his arm +around her to keep her from falling. "Here, Sophrony, fetch the camphire; she's +goin' to faint." +</p> + +<p> +But Mary did not faint, and after smelling the camphor, she said, "Go on, +madam, and tell me more of Sarah Fletcher." +</p> + +<p> +"She can do it," whispered the landlord with a sly wink. "She knows every +body's history from Dan to Beersheby." +</p> + +<p> +This intimation was wholly lost on the good-humored hostess, who continued, +"Mr. Fletcher died when Sarah was small, and her mother married a Mr. +——, I don't justly remember his name" +</p> + +<p> +"Temple?" suggested Mary. +</p> + +<p> +"Yes, Temple, that's it. He was rich and cross, and broke her heart by the time +she had her second baby. Sarah was adopted by her Grandmother Fletcher who +died, and she came with her uncle to America." +</p> + +<p> +"Did she ever speak of her sisters?" asked Mary, and the woman replied, "Before +she got crazy, she did. One of 'em, she said, was in this country somewhere, +and t'other the one she remembered the best, and talked the most about, lived +in England. She said she wanted to write to 'em, but her uncle, he hated the +Temples, so he wouldn't let her, and as time went on she kinder forgot 'em, and +didn't know where to direct, and after she took crazy she never would speak of +her sisters, or own that she had any." +</p> + +<p> +"Is Mr. Furbush buried near here?" asked George; and the landlord answered, +"Little better than a stone's throw. I can see the very tree from here, and +may-be your younger eyes can make out the graves. He ought to have a grave +stun, for he was a good feller." +</p> + +<p> +The new moon was shining, and Mary, who came to her husband's side, could +plainly discern the buckeye tree and the two graves where "Willie and Willie's +father" had long been sleeping. The next morning before the sun was up, Mary +stood by the mounds where often in years gone by Sally Furbush had seen the +moon go down, and the stars grow pale in the coming day, as she kept her +tireless watch over her loved and lost. +</p> + +<p> +"Willie was my cousin—your cousin," said Mary, resting her foot upon the +bit of board which stood at the head of the little graves. George understood +her wishes, and when they left the place, a handsome marble slab marked the +spot where the father and his infant son were buried. +</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p> +Bewildered, and unable to comprehend a word, Sally listened while Mary told her +of the relationship between them; but the mists which for years had shrouded +her reason were too dense to be suddenly cleared away; and when Mary wept, +winding her arms around her neck and calling her "Aunt;" and when the elegant +Mrs. Campbell, scarcely less bewildered than Sally herself, came forward +addressing her as "sister," she turned aside to Mrs. Mason, asking in a whisper +"what had made them crazy." +</p> + +<p> +But when Mary spoke of little Willie's grave, and the tree which overshadowed +it, of the green prairie and cottage by the brook, once her western home, Sally +listened, and at last one day, a week or two after her arrival in Boston, she +suddenly clasped her hands closely over her temples, exclaiming, "It's come! +It's come! I remember now,—the large garden,—the cross old +man,—the dead mother,—the rosy-cheeked Ella I loved so well—" +</p> + +<p> +"That was my mother,—my mother," interrupted Mary. +</p> + +<p> +For a moment Sally regarded her intently, and then catching her in her arms, +cried over her, calling her, "her precious child," and wondering she had never +noticed how much she was like Ella. +</p> + +<p> +"And don't you remember the baby Jane?" asked Mrs Campbell, who was present. +</p> + +<p> +"Perfectly,—perfectly," answered Sally. "He died, and you came in a +carriage; but didn't cry,—nobody cried but Mary." +</p> + +<p> +It was in vain that Mary tried to explain to her that Mrs. Campbell was her +sister,—once the baby Jane. Sally was not to be convinced. To her Jane +and the little Alice were the same. There was none of her blood in Mrs. +Campbell's veins, "or why," said she, "did she leave us so long in obscurity, +me and my niece, <i>Mrs. George Moreland, Esq.!</i>" +</p> + +<p> +This was the title which she always gave Mary when speaking of her, while to +Ella, who occasionally spent a week in her sister's pleasant home, she gave the +name of "little cipher," as expressing exactly her opinion of her. Nothing so +much excited Sally, or threw her into so violent a passion, as to have Ella +call her aunt. +</p> + +<p> +"If I wasn't her kin when I wore a sixpenny calico," said she, "I certainly am +not now that I dress in purple and fine linen." +</p> + +<p> +When Sally first went to Boston, George procured for her the best possible +medical advice, but her case was of so long standing that but little hope was +entertained of her entire recovery. Still every thing was done for her that +could be done, and after a time she became far less boisterous than formerly, +and sometimes appeared perfectly rational for days. She still retained her +taste for literature, and nothing but George's firmness and decision prevented +her from sending off the manuscript of her grammar, which was now finished. It +was in vain that he told her she was not now obliged to write for a living, as +he had more than enough for her support. +</p> + +<p> +She replied it was not <i>money</i> she coveted, but <i>reputation</i>,—a +name,—to be pointed at as Mrs. Sarah Furbush, authoress of "Furbush's +Grammar," &c.,—<i>this</i> was her aim! +</p> + +<p> +"You may write all you choose for the entertainment of ourselves and our +friends," said George, "but I cannot allow you to send any thing to a +publisher," +</p> + +<p> +Sally saw he was in earnest, and at last yielded the point, telling Mary in +confidence that "she never saw any one in her life she feared as she did +Esquire Moreland when he set his foot down!" +</p> + +<p> +And George did seem to have a wonderful influence over her, for a single look +from him would quiet her when in her wildest moods. In spite of the desire she +once expressed of finding her sister, Mrs. Campbell's pride at first shrank +from acknowledging a relationship between herself and Sally Furbush, but the +fact that George Moreland brought her to his home, treating her in every +respect as his equal, and always introducing her to his fashionable friends as +his aunt, gradually reconciled her to the matter, and she herself became at +last very attentive to her, frequently urging her to spend a part of the time +with her. But Sal always refused, saying that "for the sake of her niece she +must be very particular in the choice of her associates!" +</p> + +<p> +True to her promise, on Mary's twenty-first birth-day, Mrs Campbell made over +to her one fourth of her property, and Mary, remembering her intentions towards +William Bender, immediately offered him one half of it. But he declined +accepting it, saying that his profession was sufficient to support both himself +and Jenny, for in a few weeks Jenny, whose father had returned from California, +was coming, and already a neat little cottage, a mile from, the city, was being +prepared for her reception. Mary did not urge the matter, but many an article +of furniture more costly than William was able to purchase found its way into +the cottage, which with its overhanging vines, climbing roses, and profusion of +flowers, seemed just the home for Jenny Lincoln. +</p> + +<p> +And when the flowers were in full bloom, when the birds sung amid the trees, +and the summer sky was bright and blue, Jenny came to the cottage, a joyous, +loving bride, believing her own husband the best in the world, and wondering if +there was ever any one as happy as herself. And Jenny was very happy. Blithe as +a bee she flitted about the house and garden, and if in the morning a tear +glistened in her laughing eyes as William bade her adieu, it was quickly dried, +and all day long she busied herself in her household matters, studying some +agreeable surprise for her husband, and trying for his sake to be very neat and +orderly. Then when the clock pointed the hour for his return, she would station +herself at the gate, and William, as he kissed the moisture from her rosy +cheek, thought her a perfect enigma to weep when he went away, and weep when he +came home. +</p> + +<p> +There was no place which Ella loved so well to visit, of where she seemed so +happy, as at the "Cottage," and as she was of but little use at home, she +frequently spent whole weeks with Jenny, becoming gradually more +cheerful,—more like herself, but always insisting that she should never +be married. +</p> + +<p> +The spring following Mary's removal to Boston, Mrs. Mason came down to the city +to live with her adopted daughter, greatly to the delight of Aunt Martha, whose +home was lonelier than it was wont to be, for George was gone, and Ida too had +recently been married to Mr. Elwood, and removed to Lexington, Kentucky. +</p> + +<p> +And now a glance at Chicopee, and our story is done. Mr. Lincoln's California +adventure had been a successful one, and not long after his return he received +from George Moreland a conveyance of the farm, which, under Mr. Parker's +efficient management, was in a high state of cultivation. Among the inmates of +the poor-house but few changes have taken place. Miss Grundy, who continues at +the helm, has grown somewhat older and crosser; while Uncle Peter labors +industriously at his new fiddle, the gift of Mary, who is still remembered with +much affection. +</p> + +<p> +Lydia Knight, now a young lady of sixteen, is a pupil at Mount Holyoke, and +Mrs. Perkins, after wondering and wondering where the money came from, has +finally concluded that "some of <i>George's folks</i> must have sent it!" +</p> + +<p class="center"> +THE END. +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<p class="center"> +NEW BOOKS AND NEW EDITIONS, RECENTLY ISSUED BY THE PUBLISHER +</p> + +<p class="center"> +The Publishers, upon receipt of the price in advance, will send any book on +this Catalogue<br/> +by mail, <i>postage free</i>, to any part of the United States. +</p> + +<p class="center"> +All books in this list [unless otherwise specified] are handsomely bound in +cloth board binding, with gilt backs, suitable for libraries. +</p> + +<table border="0" cellpadding="4" cellspacing="0" +summary=""> +<tr> +<td colspan="2" class="bb"><b>Mrs. Mary J. Holmes' +Works.</b></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Tempest and Sunshine</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>English Orphans</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Homestead on the Hillside</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>'Lena Rivers,</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Meadow Brook</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Dora Deane</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Cousin Maude</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Marian Grey</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Edith Lyle (New)</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Darkness and Daylight</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Hugh Worthington</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Cameron Pride</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Rose Mather</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Ethelyn's Mistake</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Millbank</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Edna Browning</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>West Lawn (New)</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2" class="bb"><b>Marion Harland's +Works.</b></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Alone</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Hidden Path</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Moss Side</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Nemesis</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Miriam</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>At Last</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Helen Gardner</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>True as Steel (New)</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Sunnybank</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Husbands and Homes</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Ruby's Husband</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Phemie's Temptation</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>The Empty Heart</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Jessamine</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>From My Youth Up</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>My Little Love (New)</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2" class="bb"><b>Charles +Dickens—15 Vols.-"Carleton's Edition."</b></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Pickwick, and Catalogue</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Dombey and Son</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Bleak House</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Martin Chuzzlewit</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Barnaby Rudge—Edwin Drood</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Child's England—Miscellaneous</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>David Copperfield</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Nicholas Nickleby</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Little Dorrit</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Our Mutual Friend</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Curiosity Shop—Miscellaneous</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Sketches by Boz—Hard Times</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Oliver Twist—and—The Uncommercial +Traveler</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Great Expectations—and—Pictures of +Italy and America</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Christmas Books—and—A Tale of Two +Cities</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Sets of Dickens' Complete Works, in 15 +vols.—[elegant half calf bindings]</td> +<td align='right'>$60.00</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2" class="bb"><b>Augusta J. Evans' +Novels.</b></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Beulah</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Macaria</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Inez</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>St. Elmo</td> +<td align='right'>$2.00</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Vashti</td> +<td align='right'>$2.00</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Infelice (New)</td> +<td align='right'>$2.00</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2" class="bb"><b>Miriam Coles +Harris.</b></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Rutledge</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Frank Warrington</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Louie's Last Term, etc</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Richard Vandermarck</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>The Sutherlands</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>St. Philip's</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Round Hearts, for Children</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>A Perfect Adonis. (New)</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2" class="bb"><b>May Agnes Fleming's +Novels.</b></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Guy Earlacourt's Wife</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>A Terrible Secret</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Norine'a Revenge</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>A Wonderful Woman</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>A Mad Marriage</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>One Night's Mystery</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Kate Canton. (New)</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2" class="bb"><b>Parlor Table +Companion.</b></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>A Home Treasury of Biography, Romance, Poetry, +History, etc.</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2" class="bb"><b>Julie P. Smith's +Novels.</b></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Widow Goldsmith's Daughter</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Chris and Otho</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Ten Old Maids</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>His Young Wife. (New)</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>The Widower</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>The Married Belle</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Courting and Farming</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2" class="bb"><b>Captain Mayne +Reid—Illustrated</b></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>The Scalp Hunters</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>The Rifle Rangers</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>The War Trail</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>The Wood Rangers</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>The Wild Huntress</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>The White Chief</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>The Tiger Hunter</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>The Hunter's Feast</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Wild Life</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Osceola, the Seminole</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2" class="bb"><b>A.S. Roe's Select +Stories.</b></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>True to the Last</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>The Star and the Cloud</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>How Could He Help It?</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>A Long Look Ahead</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>I've Been Thinking</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>To Love and to be Loved</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2" class="bb"><b>Charles +Dickens</b>.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Child's History of England.—Carleton's New +"<i>School Edition</i>." Illustrated</td> +<td align='right'>$1.25</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2" class="bb"><b>Hand-Books of +Society</b>.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Habits of Good Society.—The nice points of +taste and good manners</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Art of Conversation.—For those who wish to +be agreeable talkers or listeners</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>>Arts of Writing, Reading, and +Speaking.—For self-improvement</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>>New Diamond Edition.—Small size, +elegantly bound, 3 volumes in a box</td> +<td align='right'>$3.00</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2" class="bb"><b>Mrs. Hill's Cook +Book.</b></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Mrs. A.P. Hill's New Cookery Book, and family +domestic receipts</td> +<td align='right'>$2.00</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2" class="bb"><b>Famous +Books—"Carleton's Edition."</b></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Robinson Crusoe.—New 12mo edition, <i>with +illustrations</i> by ERNEST GRISET</td> +<td align='right'>$1.00</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Swiss Family Robinson.—New 12mo edition, +with illustrations by MARCEL</td> +<td align='right'>$1.00</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>The Arabian Nights.—New 12mo edition, with +illustrations by DEMORAINE</td> +<td align='right'>$1.00</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Don Quixote.—New 12mo edition, with +illustrations by GUSTAVE DORÉ</td> +<td align='right'>$1.00</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2" class="bb"><b>Victor Hugo</b>.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Les Miserables.—An English translation from +the original French. Octavo</td> +<td align='right'>$2.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Les Miserables.—In the Spanish Language. Two +volumes, cloth bound</td> +<td align='right'>$3.00</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2" class="bb"><b>Popular Italian +Novels</b>.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Doctor Antonio.—A love story of Italy. By +Ruffini</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Beatrice Cenci.—By Guerrazzi. With a steel +engraving from Guido's Picture</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2" class="bb"><b>M. Michelet's +Remarkable Works</b>.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Love (L'amour),—English translation from the +original French</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Woman (La Femme)—English translation from +the original French</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2" class="bb"><b>Joaquin +Miller</b>.</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>The One Fair Woman—A new novel, the scene +laid chiefly in Italy</td> +<td align='right'>$2.00</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2" class="bb"><b>Joseph Rodman +Drake.</b></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>The Culprit Fay.—The well-known fairy poem, +with 100 illustrations</td> +<td align='right'>$2.00</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2" class="bb"><b>Artemus Ward's Comic +Works.</b></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>A New Stereotype Edition.—Embracing the +whole of his<br/> +writings, with a Biography of the author, and profusely<br/> +illustrated by various artists</td> +<td align='right'>$2.00</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2" class="bb"><b>Josh +Billings.</b></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>His Complete Writings—with Biography, steel +portrait, and 100 illustrations</td> +<td align='right'>$2.00</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2" class="bb"><b>"New York Weekly" +Series.</b></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Thrown on the World</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Peerless Cathleen</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Faithful Margaret</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Curse of Everleigh (In press)</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Love Works Wonders do</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Nick Whiffles</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Lady Leonora</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>The Grinder Papers</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>A Bitter Atonement. (In press)</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>A New Novel. (In press)</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2" class="bb"><b>Carleton's Popular +Quotations.</b></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>A New Hand-Book—The most popular Quotations, +with original authorship</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2" class="bb"><b>Frank Lee Benedict's +Novels.</b></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>'Twixt Hammer and Anvil</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Madame</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2" class="bb"><b>Violet Fane's +Poems.</b></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Constance's Fate; or Denzil Place</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>From Dawn to Noon</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2" class="bb"><b>P.T. Barnum.</b></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Lion Jack. For young folks</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Jack in the Jungle (In press)</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2" class="bb"><b>M.M. Pomeroy +("Brick.")</b></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Sense—(a serious book)</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Gold-Dust(a serious book)</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Our Saturday Nights</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Nonsense—(a comic book)</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Brick-Dust(a comic book)</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Home Harmonies (New)</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2" class="bb"><b>Celia E. Gardner's +Novels.</b></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Stolen Waters—(In verse)</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Broken Dreams. (In verse)</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Tested (In prose)</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Rich Medway's Two Loves. (In prose)</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>A Woman's Wiles. (New)</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2" class="bb"><b>Ernest Renan's French +Works.</b></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>The Life of Jesus</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Lives of the Apostles</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>The Life of St. Paul</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>The Bible in India.—By Jacolliot</td> +<td align='right'>$2.00</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2" class="bb"><b>Geo. W. +Carleton.</b></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Our Artist in Cuba.—Pictures</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Our Artist in Peru.—Pictures</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Our Artist in Africa. (In press)</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Our Artist in Mexico. (In press)</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2" class="bb"><b>Verdant +Green.</b></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>A Racy English College Story—with numerous +original comic illustrations</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2" class="bb"><b>Allan +Pinkerton.</b></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Model Town and Detectives</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>A new book, in press</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Spiritualists and Detectives</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Mollie Maguires and Detectives</td> +<td align='right'>$2.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2" class="bb"><b>Robert Dale +Owen.</b></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>The Debatable Land Between this World and the +Next</td> +<td align='right'>$2.00</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Threading My Way.—Twenty-five years of +Autobiography</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2" class="bb"><b>The Game of +Whist.</b></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Pole on Whist.—The late English standard +work. New enlarged edition</td> +<td align='right'>$1.00</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td colspan="2" class="bb"><b>Miscellaneous +Works.</b></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Milly Darrell—A Novel by Miss M. E. Braddon, +author "Aurora Floyd," etc</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Me; July and August—A New York lady's trials +on a Country Farm</td> +<td align='right'>$1.00</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Lights and Shadows of Spiritualism—By D.D. +Home</td> +<td align='right'>$2.00</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>West India Pickles—Journal of a Tropical +Yacht Cruise, by W.P. Talboys</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>G.A. Crofutt's Trans-Continental Tourist—New +York to S. Francisco</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Laus Veneris and other Poems—By Algernon +Charles Swinburne</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Parodies and Poems and My Vacation—By C.H. +Webb (John Paul)</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Comic History of the United +States—Livingston Hopkins. Illustrated</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Mother Goose Melodies Set to Music—with +comic illustrations</td> +<td align='right'>$1.00</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Morning Glories—By Louisa Alcott, author of +"Little Women," etc</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Offenbach in America.—Translated from the +Paris edition</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>The Annals of a Baby.—A companion to +"Helen's Babies"</td> +<td align='right'>$1.00</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Betsy and I are Out.—And other Poems, by +N.S. Emerson</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>A Woman in the Case.—A novel by Miss Bessie +Turner. With portrait</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>How to Make Money; and How to Keep It.—By +Thomas A. Davies</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Our Children.—Teaching Parent's how to keep +them in Health. Dr. Gardner</td> +<td align='right'>$2.00</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Watchman; What of the Night.—By Dr. John +Cumming, of London</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>St. Jude's Assistant.—A new satirical novel +of City Clerical Life</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Johnny Ludlow.—A collection of entertaining +English Stories</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Glimpses of the Supernatural.—Facts, +Records, and Traditions</td> +<td align='right'>$2.00</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Fanny Fern Memorials.—With a Biography by +James Parton</td> +<td align='right'>$2.00</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Tales From the Operas.—A collection of +Stories based upon the opera plots</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>New Nonsense Rhymes—By W.H. Beckett, with +illustrations by C.G. Bush</td> +<td align='right'>$1.00</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Wood's Guide to the City of New +York.—Beautifully illustrated</td> +<td align='right'>$1.00</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>The Art of Amusing.—A book of home +amusements, with illustrations</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>A Book About Lawyers.—A curious and +interesting volume. By Jeaffreson</td> +<td align='right'>$2.00</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>A Book About Doctors.—A curious and +interesting volume. By Jeaffreson</td> +<td align='right'>$2.00</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>The Birth and Triumph of Love.—Full of +exquisite tinted illustrations</td> +<td align='right'>$1.00</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Progressive Petticoats.—A satrical tale by +Robert B. Roosevelt</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Ecce Femina; or, the Woman Zoe.—Cuyler +Prime, author "Mary Brandegee"</td> +<td align='right'>$1.00</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Souvenirs of Travel.—By Madame Octavia +Walton Le Vert, of Mobile, Ala.</td> +<td align='right'>$2.00</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Woman, Love and Marriage.—A spicy little +work by Fred Saunders</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Shiftless Folks.—A new novel by Fannie +Smith, "Widow Goldsmith's Daughter"</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>A Woman in Armor.—A powerful new novel by +Mary Hartwell</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>The Fall of Man.—A Darwinian +satire.—Author of "New Gospel of Peace"</td> +<td align='right'>.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>The Chronicles of Gotham.—A modern satire. +Author of "New Gospel of Peace"</td> +<td align='right'>.25</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Phemie Frost's Experiences.—By Mrs. Ann S. +Stephens</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Ballad of Lord Bateman.—With illustrations +by Cruikshank, (paper)</td> +<td align='right'>.25</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>The Yachtman's Primer.—For amateur sailors. +T.R. Warren, (paper)</td> +<td align='right'>.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Rural Architecture.—By M. Field. With plans +and illustrations</td> +<td align='right'>$2.00</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Transformation Scenes in the United +States.—By Hiram Fulier</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Marguerite's Journal.—Story for girls. +Introduction by author "Rutledge"</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Kingsbury Sketches.—Pine Grove Doings, by +John H. Kingsbury. Illustrated</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='center' colspan="2" class="bb"><b>Miscellaneous +Novels.</b></td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Led Astray.—By Octave Feuillet</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>She Loved Him Madly.—Borys</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Through Thick and Thin.—Mery</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>So Fair Yet False.—Chavette</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>A Fatal Passion.—C. Bernard</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Manfred.—F.D. Guerazzi</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Seen and Unseen</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Purple and Fine Linen.—Fawcett</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Pauline's Trial.—L.L.D. Courtney</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>A Charming Widow.—Macquoid</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>True to Him Ever.—By F.W.R.</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>The Forgiving Kiss.—By M. Loth</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Loyal Unto Death</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Kenneth, My King.—S.A. Brock</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Heart Hungry.—M.J. Westmoreland</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Clifford Troupe.—M.J. Westmoreland</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Silcott Mill.—Maria D. Deslonde</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>John Maribel.—Maria D. Deslonde</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Ebon and Gold.—C.L. McIlvain</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Passing the Portal.—Mrs. Victor</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Out of the Cage.—G.W. Owen</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Saint Leger.—Richard B. Kimball</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Was He Successful?—Richard B. Kimball</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Undercurrents of Wall St.—Richard B. +Kimball</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Romance of Student Life.—Richard B. +Kimball</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>To-Day.—Richard B. Kimball</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Life in San Domingo.—Richard B. Kimball</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Henry Powers, Banker.—Richard B. +Kimball</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Bessie Wilmerton.—Westcott</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Cachet.—Mrs. M.J.R. Hamilton</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Romance of Railroad.—Smith</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Charette.—An American novel</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Fairfax.—John Esten Cooke</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Hilt to Hilt.—John Esten Cooke</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Out of the Foam.—John Esten Cooke</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Hammer and Rapier.—John Esten Cooke</td> +<td align='right'>$1.50</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Warwick.—By M.T. Walworth</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Lulu.—By M.T. Walworth</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Hotspur.—By M.T. Walworth</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Stormcliff.—By M.T. Walworth</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Delaplaine.—By M.T. Walworth</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Beverly.—By M.T. Walworth</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Beldazzle's Bachelor Studies</td> +<td align='right'>$1.00</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Antidote to Gates Ajar</td> +<td align='right'>.25</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>The Snoblace Ball</td> +<td align='right'>.25</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Northern Ballads.—Anderson</td> +<td align='right'>$1.00</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>O.C. Kerr Papers.—4 vols. in 1</td> +<td align='right'>$2.00</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Victor Hugo.—His life</td> +<td align='right'>$2.00</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Sandwiches.—Artemus Ward</td> +<td align='right'>.25</td> +</tr> +<tr> +<td align='left'>Widow Spriggins.—Widow Bedott</td> +<td align='right'>$1.75</td> +</tr> +</table> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 13878 ***</div> +</body> +</html> |