Helen Grant's Schooldays Part 33

"And then I came back to you with a heart full of love, and she had crept in. Why didn't you tell me----"

Daisy's voice trembled and she loosened one hand to wipe her eyes. Helen was much moved.

"There really was nothing to tell. We had made no vows, exchanged no promises, broken no rings," with a scornful little laugh. "I set her straight on two or three points, I scolded her a little, yes, I just did, and I wanted her to mix with, and be more like other girls. I don't believe you, with joyous homes and brothers and sisters, can understand the lonely life she has led."

"As _you_ can," with a touch of girlish sarcasm.

"Yes, as I can. I have a kindly uncle and aunt, who have cared for me since father died, and a lot of cousins growing up into commonplace men and women. There are dozens of tender ties, but no real sympathy with my desires. Aunt thought I knew quite enough, and so I would for some lives. The longing and desire for other things, better things, helps me to understand her. But it was only a week or ten days ago--some strictures of the girls made her very unhappy----"

"She shouldn't have listened. The old adage is a good one," with a scornful laugh.

"She could not help it. I think some of the girls have not treated her kindly, they have even been rude. And it was mean to try to set her age so much farther on, and to call her an old maid."

"She doesn't look young."

"She will have a guardian for almost two years longer. I suppose in law you have to give your exact age. Some of the people I love best are very far from young."

"I suppose you love a great many!" with an emphasis as bitter as her tender voice could make. She could put anger in it, but bitterness never could be part and parcel of it.

"I love a few. I am not very rich in friends. But I know I am capable of loving a good many people for different qualities."

Helen stood up very straight. She was growing tall rapidly. There was firmness and character in every line of her face, and in her tone as well.

"I don't care for the thousandth part of anyone's love. And you said you would love me the best of anybody----"

"And so I did and do when you are not"--foolish, she was going to say, but she paused. "Oh, Daisy, can't you see it is the individuality, the qualities in a person that you love. And no two are alike. You are very dear and sweet. But I dare say _you_ loved girls last year when I was not here, and when I am gone you will love someone else. I don't ask you to love me best of all, for there are, no doubt, more charming girls and Miss Craven did not demand that of me. It was because she seemed so glad of a little crumb, and I knew no one loved her----"

Helen's voice had a break in it. She went on taking down her hair, putting away her necktie and handkerchief, then hung her skirt in the wardrobe. Would she ask Daisy to read with her? "Let not the sun go down upon your wrath." But she wasn't even angry, only indignant at what looked to her like injustice.

"Daisy," she began presently, "if someone told you a story, incidents out of her life that you knew were given in a burst of confidence, under the impression that you would not repeat it, should you feel duty bound to rehea.r.s.e it to your friend. I did not promise, but I felt it was her business. Mrs. Aldred knew it; Miss Grace, too, I dare say, but they did not explain it to the school."

"It was nothing disgraceful. And the girls surmised--why, I think it would have been better explained," and Daisy roused up a little.

"What right had any girl to surmise? It was admitted that Mrs. Aldred would not have taken in anyone with dishonorable antecedents. And if my father had been a criminal of any sort, could I have helped it? But Mrs.

Aldred knew there was nothing except a neglected girlhood which she has been trying in the kindliest manner to remedy. When a girl surmised anything, she was willing to give color to what she did not know was true. It seems to me that is very near a falsehood."

Daisy had heard more sneers than Helen. Her face burned with a pained consciousness. She really felt ashamed that she should have half believed the positive untruths. Gossip and ill-nature without any foundation--how despicable it looked. How could they have been amused over it?

"I don't see why she shouldn't have been willing to let us all know she was so rich," Daisy said in a sort of extenuation for the girls.

"I think it was because she wanted to do her hardest work unnoticed, for one thing, and she doesn't seem at all proud of the money though it is honorably obtained. She is very timid because she realizes her own deficiencies. I can't help feeling things would have been better with her if that Mrs. Howard had been her guardian's wife. Think, she's nineteen years old and no one has ever given her a bit of love, until----"

The great clock in the hall rolled out ten in its ponderous tones.

"Oh, good gracious!" Daisy jumped lightly from her bed. Helen put out the light and went on with her undressing. There could be no reading.

She did not say a word, but knelt down presently.

It was hard to know just what was right and best. She had a feeling that she ought to go over to Daisy, since she had given the offense--it was not an offense on her part--but she could say, "I am sorry we quarreled when we meant to be such dear friends." She repeated "Our Father, who art in heaven," and then she remembered the man who prayed for wisdom, and who chose wisdom.

Two soft arms were around her neck and a tear-wet cheek was pressed against hers.

"I've been a horrid, miserable, selfish little wretch! I do wonder if you can ever love me any more? But I want you too, even if you must love her some. I'm sorry----"

Helen kissed her a dozen times. "You little darling, I love you a hundred times better than before, if such a thing were possible. And I'm glad not to have any break. Run to bed, little midget, or we shall have to confess to talking out of time."

Then they said good-night again, and so the first difference was made up, but Daisy's jealous heart was not quite comforted.

There was a difference in the demeanor of most of the girls toward Miss Craven, though few would have admitted the money had anything to do with it. Miss Bigelow simply repeated Mrs. Davis's remark, that the girl would be very rich. No one could say that she was loud or presuming, or that her retiring manner was an evidence of pride. She went her way as quietly as before. She acknowledged all the little politenesses in a shy sort of way, but she was hard to get on with. She would only talk in monosyllables, except to Helen Grant.

"She has the key to unlock her tongue," Miss Mays said. "Helen is the sort of girl who will always be looking for fresh fields and pastures new. I like her immensely, but I couldn't help feeling as if I was only one of the many to her."

Such little speeches with the utmost apparent good nature fell heavily on Daisy Bell's heart.

There were many things to attend to beside school-girl differences, which were always happening among pupils. Easter was late, and then every day counted to those who expected promotion as well as the graduates.

Still there were some splendid rambles over on the other side of the river, some rowing parties, delightful lessons in out-of-door botany, and, oh, the plans for summer! There would be eight graduates among the boarders, seven from the day scholars. Miss Reid was going abroad for a year at painting, Miss Downs to study music at Leipsic, Miss Bigelow to enter an art school in New York, three to go to college, one to be married. Most of the Senior B would step into the A division, and every cla.s.s would be pushed up.

Helen could have gone in the higher division at Easter. She had studied not only with a will, but an eager interest in so many things that she wondered how girls could dawdle along. Still, if they had no aim, if it was merely to get through these intervening years, looking forward to pleasure, society, and marriage, perhaps it _might_ be sufficient. Her future was rather doubtful, even to herself. There were suggestions about the more weighty studies from Mrs. Van Dorn, as if Helen would hardly need them. But she did it because she liked them. She wanted to go to the foundation, to know on just what her structure stood, there was nothing negative about her. One day Miss Grace said:

"Miss Grant, you would make a most excellent teacher. You are so direct and so simple, you waste no time, and you evince so much interest in the branches you like. I see your influence on two pupils, Miss Bell, who is a sweet, bright girl, but not in love with study, and mother and I feel really indebted to you for your interest in Miss Craven. When she can once venture out of her sh.e.l.l with the consciousness that she is not so different from the others, the Rubicon will be pa.s.sed. I do believe she will do it. I am counting a good deal on next year."

"I am glad if I help ever so little," returned Helen with shining eyes, as a soft color transfused her fair face. "And since one and another has been very good to me, I ought to pa.s.s the kindness on to someone else."

"'Freely ye have received, freely give.' I am glad that purpose has taken root. There are so many things we can give that only cost us a little trouble, and do more good than the bestowal of money. It is one of the greatest lessons of life."

Miss Aldred smiled upon her pupil, and a warm glow sped through Helen's frame.

"Then I have my mind quite set upon teaching some day. Perhaps I take that from my father, who was a teacher. I saw so little of him, but this year I've wondered a good deal what he really was like, and if we should not have been splendid friends on these lines. I believe he was disappointed about my not being a boy, and it's funny"--with a bright merry laugh. "I've never wanted to be a boy at all. I think girls are nicer."

"The loveliest being to me is a fine, broad, sweet-minded, cultured woman, and I am very glad she is beginning to be thought of as the ideal woman. You have many years before you reach real womanhood, which comes later and is richer than it was twenty years ago. But you are taking some excellent steps along the way."

"Oh, thank you for the praise," said Helen pressing her hand.

If the steps were not in Latin and French she could go bounding along, she thought. In that respect she did not inherit her father's facility nor his love for the abstruse and difficult.

"I suppose I am superficial," she said to herself ruefully. "But why shouldn't one delight in the things one loves best?"

That was one charm about Miss Craven to her. She reveled in poetry. The other girls were full of nonsense chatter in the spare half hours, but they two often slipped away under some tree and read and discussed.

There was a fund of romance in each one, though temperament and surroundings had been so different, the one so afraid to express her inmost thought, the other so fearless, not even minding being laughed at.

Every day seemed more crowded with all things.

"I'm glad I don't have to think about a graduation gown, or any gown,"

laughed Helen. "My clothes come ready-made, and all I have to do is to put them on."

"But wouldn't you like to choose sometimes?" asked one of the girls. "I shall choose my graduation gown and my wedding gown."

"Oh, no you won't. Graduation gowns have to be pretty much alike, and wedding gowns must be in the prevailing fashion. In fact, I think there is very little you _do_ choose in this life. There's someone just in front always who lays down the law, and though you may think you will get your own way you find oftener it is the way of someone else."