The English Orphans Part 20

"And who is Mary Howard?" asked Lizzie Upton.

Rose glanced at Ella, who said, "Why, she's the girl you met going out of the yard."

"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."

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."

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.

"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."

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.

"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?"

"No," said Ella pettishly, "but seems to me Mary is dreadful anxious to have folks know that Mr. Stuart visited her school."

"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."

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.

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!"

CHAPTER XVIII.

A NEW PLAN.

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.

"But where's the money coming from?" said he.

Mary laughingly asked him how many bags of shoes he supposed she had st.i.tched during the last two years.

"More'n two hundred, I'll bet," said he.

"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."

"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."

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.

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.

"'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."

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."

Every thing which Mrs. Mason could do for her she did, and even Judith, who was never famous for generosity; brought in one Sat.u.r.day 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!"

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!

"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, '_Mrs._ Polly Grundy,' would naturally be led to inquire for '_Mr._ Polly Grundy,' and this inquiry carried out, might cause the lady some little embarra.s.sment, 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.'"

Mary warmly approved of this plan, and after a few extra flourishes in the shape of a courtesy, Sally started for home.

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."

At this point, happening to think that the cla.s.s 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.

"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 pa.s.s 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?"

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."

"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."

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.

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!"

In the third and last hurrah, the whole company joined, and when that was finished, Henry struck up on a high key,

"Oh, where have you been, Billy boy, Billy boy, Oh, where have you been charming Billy?"

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.

"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."

"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."

"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."

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."

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?"