The Path of Duty, and Other Stories Part 6

Soon after my arrival, my aunt, one day, said to me,--

"I hope you will feel happy with us; for I wish you to consider our house as your home for the future. You know not," she continued, "how glad I am of your company, and how your presence cheers us; we will gladly adopt you as our daughter, if you can be happy with us."

I thanked her with tears in my eyes, and added that I was very happy in receiving so warm a welcome to their home, and would gladly do my utmost to fill a daughter's place to them. I further informed my aunt that I should be very happy to consider her house as my home, but that I should prefer teaching, as soon as I could find a desirable situation, as such had been my intention when I left Philadelphia. But when I mentioned the subject to my uncle, he seemed much hurt that I should think of such a thing. I told him that the wish to teach did not proceed from any feeling of discontent in my home, but that I thought it wrong to remain idle, while possessing an education which qualified me for usefulness.

He replied that if I felt anxious to teach, we would talk about it the following spring; but, said he, you must think no more about it for this winter, at any rate; and so the subject was suffered to drop.

We led a very quiet life at my uncle's that winter. We saw but little company, except that occasionally the wife of some neighboring farmer would drop in to take a social cup of tea with my aunt.

There was a maiden lady residing in the village of Littleton who was always a welcome visitor at my uncle's residence,--her name was Miss Priscilla Simmonds. She was somewhat advanced in years, and of a very mild and prepossessing appearance. Upon the death of her parents, which took place many years before, she was left the owner and sole tenant of the house in which she lived. She lived entirely alone, and was considered a very valuable person in the village. She seemed, upon all occasions, to adapt herself readily to surrounding circ.u.mstances. At merrymakings, no one was so lively or social as Miss Simmonds: in the chamber of sickness, no hand so gentle and no step so light as hers; and when death visited a household, her services were indispensible.

Although occupying a humble position in life, she was very much respected by all who knew her. Very few there were in the vicinity but could recall some act of kindness from Miss Simmonds, rendered either to themselves or their friends; and many there were who could remember the time when her hands had prepared the form of some loved relative for its last resting-place in the grave. Thus was Miss Simmonds bound to the hearts of the people of Littleton, as by a strong cord. In person she was tall; she had fine dark eyes, and her hair was lightly sprinkled with grey. From the expression which her countenance wore at times, I gathered the idea that she had, at some period of her life, experienced some deep sorrow. I one day enquired of my aunt if such were not the case. She gave me an evasive reply, and, perceiving that she wished to avoid the subject, I made no further enquiries.

I trust the reader will pardon this digression from my story.

In the course of the winter my uncle gave a party, to afford me an opportunity of becoming acquainted with the young people of the place.

If the party lacked some of the forms and ceremonies practised in the city drawing-rooms upon like occasions, it certainly was not wanting in real enjoyment.

CHAPTER XIV.

SCHOOL AT MILL TOWN.

I believe there is no season more favorable to sober reflection than when we find ourselves alone, after mingling for a time in a scene of mirth and gaiety. After the departure of our guests, and my uncle and aunt had retired to rest, I indulged in a long fit of musing, as I sat alone by the kitchen-fire. In the silence and loneliness of the hour, my thoughts turned to my former home, and to the circ.u.mstances which had caused me to leave it; and although I had resolved to think no more of Willie Leighton, somehow or other, on this occasion, I found my thoughts wandering to him and to the seeming fatality which had separated us. The only living relatives of whom I had any knowledge were my uncle and aunt, and the before-mentioned aunt of my mother.

But a circ.u.mstance which I had heard my father mention in my childhood had of late often recurred to my mind. I recollected often hearing my father speak of a twin-brother, and that they had been left orphans at the age of eight years; also, that he, my father, had been adopted by a gentleman residing about fifty miles from the city of Philadelphia, who had given him a very good business education, and had procured for him a situation in the city when he became of suitable age. But the case had been different with his brother Charles. He too had been adopted, but by a very different kind of man from the one who had received my father. He did not give him sufficient education to qualify him for mercantile business, and at the time that Mr. Williams procured a situation for my father in the city, his brother Charles was apprenticed to learn the art of printing. He had, it seemed, entertained a dislike to the employment from the first, which increased to such a degree that he ran away from his employer; and instead of returning to his former home, he left the city. He was then fifteen years of age. My father had never been able to gain any tidings from him, and at length came to the conclusion that he must be dead. I know not why it was, but of late this circ.u.mstance had haunted my mind continually. The idea seemed to fix itself in my mind that I should yet see this long-lost uncle. I tried to banish the thought as an absurdity, but was unable to do so. As the idea returned to my mind with such frequency, I ceased trying to banish it, and prayed that what I now thought to be an idle fancy might prove a happy reality.

How cheering to us is the return of spring, after the deep snows and severe frosts of winter.

I very much enjoyed the sugar-making season at my uncle's farm. I derived all the more pleasure from its being to me such a novelty.

Although quite happy in my uncle's home, I still wished to carry out my former design of teaching, and as the season advanced, I again spoke to my uncle and aunt upon the subject. They were at first very unwilling to yield their consent; but, as they perceived that I was really anxious about the matter, they yielded their a.s.sent to my wishes.

About five miles west of my uncle's farm was the small village of Mill Town, so called from the number of different mills erected on the fine water-privilege it contained. As the village was small, it contained but two schools; one a public school, and the other a select school, which had for three years been taught by a young lady from the State of Maine, who had relatives residing at Mill Town. But Miss Landon, for such was the lady's name, intended returning to her home in Maine in the month of June. I had formed a very pleasant acquaintance with this young lady during the winter, and she strongly advised me to secure her pupils, if I wished to teach, promising to use her influence to aid me in obtaining pupils; and, owing to her kindness, I had no difficulty in obtaining a sufficient number of pupils for opening a school. I was very glad to obtain a situation so near my home, that I might be able to visit my uncle and aunt at least once every week, and spend my Sabbaths with them.

"After all," said my uncle, "I don't know but you are right in wishing to teach, and I dare say, will be happier thus employed than otherwise."

Accordingly, I opened my school about the middle of June, with twenty-five pupils. I had made arrangements to board in the house of the minister, who resided in the village. His name was Mr. Northwood, or Parson Northwood, as he was usually called by the villagers. He was very much respected on account of his many excellent qualities both as pastor and friend. His family consisted of himself, his wife, and two little girls, who attended my school.

I was highly pleased with my school at Mill Town. My pupils were mostly girls between the ages of ten and fifteen years. I had one cla.s.s of quite young boys, whose parents preferred a select to a public school.

Many years have pa.s.sed since I was wont to summon those loved pupils around me in that little school-room. Since that period, when far removed from those scenes, and surrounded by circ.u.mstances widely different, memory oft recalled those pupils in that New England village.

About this time I received a letter from Aunt Patience. The letter informed me that her health was somewhat impaired, and that she sensibly felt the approaching infirmities of age. I knew not her exact age, but I was certain that she must be considerably advanced in years. She stated that she was quite happy in her home, but added,--

"My Dear Clara, I had thought to have ended my days with your dear mother; and when the thought comes home to my mind, that she is now no more, it makes me very sad."

I was happy to know that, owing to the provision made for her, Aunt Patience enjoyed all the comforts of life. Since her removal to Ma.s.sachusetts we had not often corresponded; but, as often as I did write, I enclosed a small sum from my own earnings, lest the interest of the deposit should prove insufficient for all her wants.

My mother left with me the injunction that, should my own life be spared, never to forget Aunt Patience in her old age: and I would cheerfully have endured any privation myself, if, by so doing, I could have added to her happiness; for the injunction of my dying mother I regarded as most sacred.

I closed my school for the summer holidays, and I was, as well as my pupils, glad to be released from the school-room during the sultry weather which prevails in the month of August.

CHAPTER XV.

A HAPPY RE-UNION.

Upon my return home, my uncle said he thought I should enjoy a change of air and scene for a time as he fancied I was looking pale and thin. I replied that I felt quite well, and felt no wish to leave my home during vacation.

However, about this time, a party was formed among my acquaintances for visiting the White Mountains, and they were anxious that I should make one of their number; and, as my uncle and aunt strongly advised me to go, I at length consented.

The sublime scenery of the White Mountains has been so often and so ably described by tourists, that any description from me would be superfluous. Upon our arrival at the Profile House, we found it so much crowded with guests that we had no little difficulty in obtaining accommodation. When one party left, the vacancy was almost immediately filled up by fresh arrivals of pleasure-seekers. Every one seemed highly to enjoy themselves, and time pa.s.sed swiftly away.

I was one evening seated on the piazza, engaged in a very pleasant conversation with several ladies and gentlemen, who, like me, had sought the piazza to enjoy the refreshing coolness of the evening air, after an intensely hot day. I noticed a carriage approaching in which several persons were seated. I did not at first pay much attention, as the arrival of strangers was a matter of very frequent occurrence; but, as the carriage drew nigh, my attention was riveted by a lady seated therein. She made some smiling remark as one of the gentlemen stepped from the carriage and a.s.sisted her to alight. That smile was sufficient--it was the very smile of Miss Edmonds, the same happy smile which had so pleased my fancy years ago. The seven years which had pa.s.sed since I had seen her had somewhat changed her countenance; but her smile was the same. As she took the arm of the gentleman who accompanied her, and ascended the steps of the piazza, I stepped forward and spoke to her as any stranger might accost another in a place of public resort. I wished to see if she would recognize me. She replied to me only as she might have done to any other stranger, but without the least sign of recognition. Perceiving that she did not recognize me, I went near to her and said,--

"Can it be possible, Miss Edmonds, that you have forgotten your old pupil, Clara Roscom?"

In a moment I was clasped in her arms and felt her kisses upon my cheek.

Turning to the gentleman whose arm she had left, she said,--

"Allow me, Miss Roscom, to introduce to you Mr. Harringford, my husband."

I acknowledged the introduction as well as my feelings of joyful excitement would admit of, for I knew of no other friend whose presence would afford me so much happiness as she with whom I had so unexpectedly met. Seeing that she looked very much fatigued, I conducted her at once to my own apartment. She was very anxious to learn all that had befallen me since we parted in Philadelphia, but I insisted upon her resting before entering upon the long conversation which we antic.i.p.ated enjoying together.

When Miss Edmonds, or Mrs. Harringford as I must now call her, had somewhat recovered from her fatigue, we derived mutual satisfaction from a long and confidential conversation. In giving me a brief sketch of her life during the time we had been separated, Mrs. Harringford said,--

"On going to New York, I obtained a situation as governess, which, for various reasons, I did not like, and I decided upon seeking another situation. I chanced about this time to meet with a lady whose home was in South Carolina. Her husband had business which required his presence in the City of New York, and he had prevailed upon her to accompany him.

The lady had, some years before, formed a slight acquaintance with Mrs.

Leonard, the lady in whose house I was employed as governess, and when she visited the city she sought out Mrs. Leonard, and their former acquaintance was resumed. During one of her visits I happened to hear her remark that a friend of hers, residing in Greenville, S. C., had commissioned her if possible to find her a governess for her three little daughters, who would be willing to remain for some years, and the salary she offered was very liberal. Instantly my resolution to go South was taken. As I had antic.i.p.ated, I had some difficulty in obtaining the consent of my parents to my undertaking, but, when they found that my heart was really set on going, they at length consented. I felt no fears regarding the journey, as I was to accompany Mr. and Mrs. Carlton on their homeward journey, and they promised to see me safely at my new home. It is needless for me to dwell upon particulars. I spent more than four years in the family of Mr. Leslie, where I went as governess. I was kindly treated by them, and shall ever remember them with grat.i.tude.

During the last six months of my residence with the Leslies, I became acquainted with Mr. Harringford, who is now my husband. He was transacting some business in Greenville, which detained him for a considerable time. I often met him at parties. We were mutually pleased with each other, and, when he left Greenville, I was his promised wife.

My home is now at Jackson, in Tennessee, where Mr. Harringford resided previous to our marriage.

"I felt a strong desire to visit my parents, at New York, this summer; and, as Mr. Harringford had heard much of the beautiful scenery of the White Mountains, he persuaded me to accompany him to New Hampshire for the purpose of visiting them, and to that circ.u.mstance I owe the happiness of again meeting with you. I have ever remembered you as the bashful school girl I left in Philadelphia, and when I found you so much changed you cannot wonder that I failed to recognize you."

In my turn I narrated to Mrs. Harringford the events of my life since we parted. Her tears flowed often as she listened to the particulars of my mother's death, for she had much loved any mother. I kept nothing back, not even the circ.u.mstance which had caused me to leave Mrs. Leighton.

The intimate friendship existing between us made it easy for me to speak freely to Mrs. Harringford. She informed me that she intended visiting Philadelphia before returning South, as she had many old friends residing there. As she contemplated visiting the Leightons, I exacted from her a promise that she would conceal from them her knowledge of my residence. I had never once heard from them since leaving Philadelphia.

Mrs. Burnside was the only one with whom I had corresponded; and I had requested her to avoid mentioning the Leightons in her letters to me.

But of late I had felt a strong desire to hear from them, and I requested Mrs. Harringford to give me some account of the family in the letter she proposed writing from Philadelphia.

The party of young friends who had accompanied me from Littleton were quite ready to return at the expiration of a week; but Mrs. Harringford intended remaining a week longer, and she was very anxious that I should remain with her. I therefore allowed my friends to return without me. I wished to enjoy the society of Mrs. Harringford as long as possible, for I thought it quite probable that we might never meet again.

We spent a happy week together after the return of my friends to Littleton. The only shadow upon our happiness was the thought--how soon we must be parted, perhaps for life. From all I observed of Mr.