The English Orphans Part 22

"_That_ 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."

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.

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 cla.s.ses, Junior, Middle, and Senior. Rose, who had been much flattered on account of her scholarship, confidently expected to enter the Middle cla.s.s. 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 cla.s.s, 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 cla.s.s.

"Oh, no," said Mary quickly, "I should fail, and I wouldn't do that for the world."

"Have you ever studied Latin?" asked Aunt Martha.

Before Mary could reply, Rose exclaimed, "_She_ study Latin! How absurd! Why, she was never away to school in her life."

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.

"And you could not have a better teacher," said Aunt Martha. "So try it by all means."

"Yes, do try," said Ida and Jenny, in the same breath; and after a time, Mary rather reluctantly consented.

"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.

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 Cla.s.s, 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 cla.s.s.

"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.

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!

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 a.s.signed 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!

"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!

Jenny was delighted with her allotment, which was dish-washing.

"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."

"Pauper? Who's a pauper?" asked Lucy Downs, eager to hear so desirable a piece of news.

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.

"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."

"And who was little Allie?" asked Ida, taking Mary's hot hands between her own.

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.

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.

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."

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 inst.i.tution.

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 grat.i.tude."

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."

"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."

Here the tea bell rang, and the conversation was discontinued.

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."

"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?"

"Not true?" angrily retorted Rose. "Pray didn't she have my old bonnet?"

"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."

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!

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."

When Jenny had finished reading the pa.s.sage referred to, she said, "Oh, Mary, I didn't suppose you overheard Rose's unkind remarks about that bonnet."

"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?"

"Oh, good, good. I'm so glad," exclaimed Jenny, dancing about the room. "Do you know whose office he is in?"

"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?"

"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."

"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.

"There!" said she, wiping her gold pen upon her silk ap.r.o.n (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."

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.

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."

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.

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!

CHAPTER XX.