Helen Grant's Schooldays Part 10

It was long, and about family affairs. They had been a good deal worried over a mortgage that the holder had threatened to foreclose. But her sister's lover had insisted upon taking it up, and would come home to live. Her brother had obtained a good position as bookkeeper in a mill. The youngest girl would always be an invalid from a spinal trouble; Margaret, the eldest, sang in church and gave music lessons, and thus had some time for home occupations. Mrs. Gage was quite disabled from rheumatism at times. But now Clara felt the dependent ones were in good hands, and she would not only go abroad cheerfully, but gladly. Her hesitation had been because she felt they might need her at home, or near by, where they could call upon her in illness or misfortune. "You have been very kind to wait until I could see my way clear," she wrote, "and my grat.i.tude in time to come will be your reward."

Mrs. Van Dorn felt a little p.r.i.c.ked in her conscience. She could have settled all this herself, and made things easy for them, but Clara had not suggested any money trouble. Mrs. Van Dorn paid her a generous salary. Down in her heart there had been a jealous feeling that her money could not buy everything, could not buy this girl from certain home obligations.

But the letter pleased her very much in its frankness and its acknowledgment of favors. Yet her old heart seemed strangely desolate.

How could she obtain the love she really desired? For if you did favors there was grat.i.tude, but was that love?

Did anybody care to love an old woman? She sometimes longed to have tender arms put about her neck, and fond kisses given. But her cheeks were made up with the semblance of youth, her lips had a tint that it was not well to disturb. Oh, to go back! To be fifty only, and have almost fifty more years to live. The money would last out all that time, even.

But here was a chance with this new girl. Clara might marry. She, Mrs.

Van Dorn, had been rather captious about admirers. It wasn't given to every girl to make a good marriage at five and thirty. In three years Helen would be seventeen, and with a good education, very companionable.

It would be best not to lead her to hope for anything beyond the education, she might grow vain and be puffed up with expectations of great things to come. Let the great things be a surprise.

There was a little tap at the door.

"Do you want me?" inquired the cheerful voice. "It is a full half hour."

"No, yes. I'll be made ready for bed if you please, little maid," and her tone was full of amus.e.m.e.nt. "Then I'll dismiss you and lie here by the window a while, as I have something to think about, until I get sleepy. Bring the jewel case."

Helen was quite fascinated with all the adornments. There were dainty part.i.tions, velvet rooms, Helen called them, boxes in which rings were dropped, a mound to lay the bracelets, where a tiny ridge kept them from slipping, a hook for the pendants, and a case for the pins. The girl placed them in deftly, as only a person who really loved them could. To her their sparkle seemed the flame of a spirit.

Then the laces were laid in their boxes. Helen hung up the soft silk gown, the petticoats with their lace and ruffles, the night dress was donned and a pretty wrapper over it, the slippers exchanged for some soft knit ones. As for her hair--perhaps she slept in it, for that was never taken down until after the girl went away.

"Now are you comfortable?"

"Yes. Helen, how did you come by so many pretty ways? I do not believe they abound in your aunt's house."

"No, they do not." Helen laughed in soft apology. "I think because everything is nice and dainty here, and everybody is----" How could she explain it.

"No, you're not quite so much of a chameleon as that. It is something from the inside, that was born with you. And you must have the opportunity of developing it. There child, good-night."

Mrs. Van Dorn felt suddenly in a glow. She would do a good deed, help this girl to her true place, cast some bread upon the waters and have it return to her presently. Three years. She hoped Helen would grow tall and keep slim, her eyes were beautiful, her complexion clear and fine if a little sun-burned. She had nice hands, too, now that she was taking care of them. She was quick to see any improvement, she had adaptiveness and a pleasant temper. She would make an attractive young woman at seventeen, and she would owe it all to her. She _must_ love her benefactress. Why, this was something to live for!

Helen sat on the far end of the stoop step. There were two rows of steps. This commanded the kitchen porch, as well as the dining room.

Most of the boarders were up at the other end, where two hammocks were slung, but this was a favorite nook of hers when she wanted to think.

Mrs. Dayton came out presently, having finished her talk with Joanna.

"Are you homesick or lonesome?" she inquired. "Was everybody glad to see you to-day."

"The children were. I think Aunt Jane was a little hurt because I didn't come and stay over Sunday."

"Do you want to go next Sat.u.r.day? Though what we could do with Mrs. Van Dorn I don't know."

"I think I do not want to go," Helen made answer slowly. "Oh, Mrs.

Dayton," and she stretched out her hand in entreaty, "can't you sit down here a few moments. I want to talk to someone. I want to know whether I am right, or wrong and ungrateful. And I have a half plan if--if----"

"What is it, child?" The girl's tone appealed to her strongly, and she sat down beside her.

"It seems to me as if I only roused up along in the winter, and began to study in earnest. Mr. Warfield took such an interest in me. And I began to love knowledge, to learn how much there was of it in the world. He thought I ought to go to the High School and study for a teacher, and then I just knew what I should like best of all things in the world. And since I've been here I've thought it over and over----"

"And do not know how to compa.s.s it?" There was a sound in her voice that expressed the smile on her face.

"I have even planned for that. If you did not go away all the fall I should ask you to let me stay and do some work, and try to even it up next summer when the boarders come. But I've thought maybe there would be someone else who would be satisfied with what I could do nights and mornings and Sat.u.r.days for my board----"

The tone was breathless and had to stop. She was amazed that she could say all this.

"My dear child! Have you been studying all this out? Well, you certainly have a right to education when you are willing to work for it that way.

And I believe it can be compa.s.sed."

Helen squeezed the hand nearest her with a joyful eagerness.

"But there's another side to it. I didn't think of that until this afternoon. I fancied I could go away and study and work until I came to the place where I could earn money, like Miss Remington, and no one would have any right to interfere. Aunt Jane thinks I know quite enough, and has planned for me to go in the shop, Jenny has spoken for the chance. I should just hate it! I think I should run away. I don't know why I am different, but I am. I feel it now more than ever. Aunt Jane doesn't want me to be like my father, and she lays the blame on education. Oh, Mrs. Dayton, you do not think he ever did anything absolutely wrong, that one had need to be ashamed of?"

Helen's face was in a blaze of scarlet. How many times she had longed to ask the question.

"Why no. He had the name of being queer, and holding queer beliefs. But he was honest as the day, and temperate, and not given to brawling as the Bible has it. And he paid Aunt Jane for a while. I feel sure he must be dead."

"And since then they have taken care of me. Aunt Jane thinks I ought to be very grateful, and I do want to be. I suppose they could have sent me to the poor-house."

"Oh, no, Uncle Jason wouldn't."

"I don't believe Aunt Jane would. But does that give them the right to say what I shall do or be, or put me in the shop against my will, when maybe I could earn my own way somewhere else?"

"Why no, I do not think it does. You were not even given to them. You certainly have the right to decide some things. And if friends should be willing to help you----"

"I don't want to be ungrateful. I don't want to be sn.o.bbish. But I like the nice aspects of life so much better than the common things. And I wonder now why people do not take naturally to the refinements of life.

Yet the other people are very happy in their way, too. I think Aunt Jane wouldn't enjoy the manner in which you do things here. She would call it putting on airs."

"Yes, I understand. The world goes on improving, advancing, making life more kindly and gracious, weeding out the roughnesses. It is just as honest and true, it calls for more self-control, it is as helpful. Of course, there are selfish people with a good deal of polish, and there are ignorant people very obstinate and disagreeable. Education does not do everything, but it helps. And if there is an easier or better, or more enjoyable manner of earning one's living, I do not see why one should not aim at it, and strive to reach it."

"Oh, thank you a thousand times." Helen's voice broke from very joy. "I kept wondering if I had the right to do what _I_ liked."

"It will take some courage. But you might try it one year. And I am sure there will be friends to help such an ambitious girl. At present we will not say anything about it, but don't feel troubled. I believe it will come out right."

"Oh, how good you are!" Helen pressed the hand she held to her warm, soft cheek with a mute caress.

It seemed to her as if she might be walking on air, her heart was so light. And still there was a secret sympathy with her aunt for the disappointment. Yet, what real difference could it make to Aunt Jane, whether she taught school, or worked in a shop. She should not feel better or grander, only more thoroughly satisfied with her lot in life.

And before she took any journeys, she would pay Uncle Jason for these years of care since her father died. That would be her duty for taking her own way.

"We are going to take up something solid," said Mrs. Van Dorn, the next morning. "I am tired of frivolous novels. We will have a little history, and learn about places and people, and what has been done in the world, and improve our minds."

Helen looked up with a new and rather surprised interest. "There is so much in your mind already," she returned with the admiration in her voice that was so grateful to the elder woman. "Oh, I do wonder if I shall ever know so many things."

"There are years for you to study in. I did not know all these things at fourteen."

She would never have confessed how little she knew at that period.

They stopped now and then to discuss some point, but Mrs. Van Dorn was going over several other considerations. An ordinary country girl with the sweetest temper in the world would not have given her more than a pa.s.sing pleasure. This girl was quite out of the ordinary with her intelligence and her quick understanding. She would love all the finer arts of life. Her enthusiasm was really infectious. That was what one needed when one was going down the other side of the great divide. And she didn't really belong to anybody. Clara would never forget her mother and sisters, and if they were ill she would want to fly to them. This girl was not comfortable in her home, she would not sigh for it. And she might adore her, for there was a kind of worship in her nature. To be adored by a young girl who might have been her grandchild, the child of the daughter she had longed for and never had.