That evening, my first knitting lesson ended, on returning to Oaklands a surprise awaited me. As I was walking briskly up the avenue towards the house I met Hubert with Faery coming to bring me home.
"Mr. Winthrop has come, and is inquiring very particularly where you are in hiding, and I believe my poor mother is afraid of telling him an untruth, for she hurried me off very unceremoniously after you," Hubert said, as he reined up Faery for a moment's conversation.
"You need have no fears for her; she would go to the stake rather than tell a lie."
"Or betray a friend," Hubert said, with a meaning smile. "Remember Mr. Winthrop is very fastidious about his associates. Your friend Mrs. Blake, in his eyes, has only a bare right to exist; to presume on his friendship, or that of his ward, would be an unpardonable sin."
"I must hasten to your mother's relief," I said, with a little scoffing laugh. I paid very little heed just then to Hubert's remarks—later I found he had not greatly overstated my guardian's exclusiveness. Wishing to gain my room and make some additions to my toilet before meeting Mr. Winthrop, I chose a side entrance, taking a circuitous path through the shrubbery, if possible to reach the house unseen.
The door opened into a conservatory, and I had just slipped in stealthily when I found myself face to face with a gentleman whom I knew on the instant was my guardian. There was such an air of proprietorship about him, as he stood calmly surveying nature's beautiful products in leaf and bud and blossom. He glanced down at me—possibly taking me at first for one of the maids—then looking more keenly he bowed rather distantly. I returned the salutation quite as coldly, and was making good my flight when his voice arrested my steps. "Pardon me," he said, in a finely modulated and very musical voice, "is this not Miss Selwyn?" I turned and bowing said, "My guardian, I think."
"I am glad we were able to recognize each other." I looked into his face. The smile was very winning that greeted me, otherwise I thought the face, though handsome, and unusually noble looking, was cold, and a trifle hard in expression.
"I am glad to welcome you to Oaklands, though late in being able to do so. I hope you have not found it too dull?"
"Oh no, indeed—there is so much to interest one here after city life, I am glad at each new day that comes."
He looked surprised at my remark, and instantly I bethought myself of the character for fastidiousness which Hubert had given him, and resolved to be less impulsive in expressing my feelings.
"You must make society for yourself then in other than the human element. I cannot think any one could rejoice, on waking in the morning, merely to renew intercourse with our Cavendish neighbors."
I looked up eagerly—"Then you don't care for them, either?"
"Ah, I see it is not from your own species you draw satisfaction."
"But you have not answered my question."
There was a gleam of humor swept over the face I was already finding so hard to read.
"I am not well enough versed in Cavendish society to give a just opinion—probably you have already drank more cups of tea with your friends than I have done in ten years. Let me hear your verdict."
"Our Deportment Professor assured us it was exceedingly bad form to discuss one's acquaintance—you will please excuse me."
I was already getting afraid of my guardian. But, from childhood, there was a spice of fearlessness in my composition that manifested itself even when I was most frightened. Again I glanced into his face—he was regarding me with a peculiar intentness, as if I were some new plant brought into the conservatory from an unknown region, and he was trying to classify me. I could see no trace of warm, human interest in his gaze.
"That was a rather mutinous remark to bestow so soon upon your guardian," he said, in the same even voice.
"I am very sorry," I murmured, now thoroughly ashamed of myself.
"We will make a truce not again to discuss our acquaintances; but that interesting subject eliminated from conversation, there would be a dearth left with a goodly number of our species."
"I do not care for the tea parties here, Mr. Winthrop. I am not interested in the things they talk about." I said, with a sudden burst of confidence.
"You have broken our compact already. A woman cannot hold to a bargain, I am informed."
"I had not promised," I said, proudly.
"Then I am to infer you are an exception, and would hold to your promises, no matter how binding."
"I am the daughter of a man; possibly I may have inherited some noble, manly properties." My temper was getting ruffled.
"Yes, Nature plays some curious freaks occasionally," he said in a reflective way, as if we were discussing some scientific subject.
"You will please excuse me. Dinner will be announced shortly, and I must remove my wraps," I said, very politely.
He bowed, and I gladly escaped to my own room, feeling more startled than pleased at my first interview with Mr. Winthrop.
The dinner bell rang, and I hastened down to be in my place at the table before Mr. Winthrop entered. I opened the door of the pretty breakfast parlor where dinner had been served ever since I came to Oaklands, but the room was silent and empty.
I turned, not very gladly to the great dining-room, which I had somehow fancied was only used on rare occasions. Opening the door I saw the table shining with silver and glass, while Mrs. Flaxman stood surveying the arrangements with an anxious face. "Shall we always dine here?" I asked anxiously.
"Always when Mr. Winthrop is at home; our informal dinners in the cosy breakfast-room are a thing of the past."
"But this seems so formal and grand I shall never enjoy your delicious dishes any more, with Hubert adding to their piquancy with his sarcasms, and witticisms."
"Oh, yes, dear, you will; one gets used to everything in this world, even to planning every day for several courses at dinner," she said with a sigh.
"I wonder why it is necessary to go to so much trouble just for something to eat, when it's all over in a half hour or so, and not any more nutritious than food plainly prepared?"
"The Winthrops have always maintained a well-equipped table. Our Mr. Winthrop would look amazed if we set him down to one of our informal dinners."
"I think he would enjoy them if he once tried them," I said, as I slipped into the place Mrs. Flaxman appointed. A few seconds after Mr. Winthrop entered, followed immediately by Hubert who was quite metamorphosed from the gay, scoffing youth into a steady-paced young man. As the dinner progressed I no doubt looked my surprise at the change; but a meaning glance at Mr. Winthrop was Hubert's mute reply.
While Mr. Winthrop's attention was taken up with his dinner, I took the opportunity of studying more closely this man to whom my dead father had committed so completely the interests and belongings of his only child. The scrutiny was, in some respects, not greatly reassuring. I had noticed as we stood near each other in the conservatory that he was a large man, tall, broad-shouldered and muscular. The face, though handsome, had a cold, stern look that I felt could look at me pitilessly if I incurred his displeasure. But there was also an expression of high, intellectual power; an absorbed, self-contained look that seemed to set him apart from others as one who could live independently, if necessary, of the society of his fellow men. I should like to be his friend, was my thought, as finding that Hubert was watching me, I turned my attention to my neglected dinner. Mrs. Flaxman in her gentle fashion kept the conversation from utterly flagging, although we none of us gave her much help. Unasked she gave a pleasant account of the happenings at Oaklands, the ongoings of his human and dumb dependents; how the Alderneys at her suggestion had been transferred to richer pasturage, and the consequent increase in cream; the immense crop of fruit and vegetables, so much more than they could possibly require, and would it be best to sell the overplus?
"Why not give it to the poor?" I said, eagerly.
"Would that pay, do you think?" Mr. Winthrop inquired, giving me at the same time a curiously intent look.
"The poor would thank you."
"How do you know there are any?"
"I have met a good many myself. I dare say there are others I know nothing about."
He turned a keen look at Mrs. Flaxman; I saw her face flush; probably he noticed it as well as I. Then he said, quite gravely:—
"You shall have all the surplus for your needy acquaintances; only you must superintend the distribution. I firmly believe in giving philanthropists their share of the labor."
The color flamed into my face, I could hardly repress the retort:—"Why do you spoil the grace of your gift so ungraciously?" but I left the words unsaid until he left the room, when I relieved my feelings much to Hubert's amusement, who brightened greatly once the door was closed upon him and we were alone.
"I could like that man better than any one I know if he hadn't such a beastly way of conferring favors. Once I get earning money I shall pay him every cent that I have cost him," Hubert said vindictively.
"Including Faery and the choice cigars?" his mother asked, with a sad little smile.
Hubert flushed. "What are they to one of his means?"
"But if you pay him some day it will take you so much longer to pay for them," I said, surprised he had not remembered this.
"I can't part with Faery. Youth is such a beggarly short affair, if one can't have pleasure then, when will they get it?"
"I should think it was high-priced pleasure if I had to take it on those terms."
"You have no idea what prices men are willing to pay for what they desire. Faery even with my means would seem a mere bagatelle to most young fellows of my set."
"I would really like to know what your means are," his mother said, playfully.
"Principally my profession, when I get it; capital health, and a world full of work to be done by some one. I shall stand as good a chance as any one to get my share of the world's rewards for good work accomplished."
"Bravo, Mr. Hubert. I only wish I was a boy so I might go to work too," I cried.
"Hush, the master will hear you. I told you he was fastidious about ladies' deportment. Even the housemaids and cook catch the infection. I certainly pity his poor ward."
"Please do not waste pity on me; if Mr. Winthrop is not nice, I shall go to Boston or New York and teach German in some boarding-school."
A low, long whistle was his only reply.
"Hubert, have you forgotten yourself? Mr. Winthrop will think we have got demoralized."
"Forgive me, mother mine, but Miss Selwyn astounded me. Fancy her working for her bread."
"And liberty," I said, merrily.
"You have got an instalment of that already, permission to dispense the fruit and vegetables. The work has been given as a punishment for making acquaintance with common people."
"That will be a pleasure; see what I am already doing for some of them." I took my forgotten knitting work from my pocket.
"I deeply regret I must so soon leave Oaklands. I really think you will make things livelier here than they have been since Mr. Winthrop was a lad. Just for one moment, mother, try to imagine his disgust when he finds his high-bred ward knitting socks for Dan Blake's little monkeys."
"Dan Blake has no children, Hubert," his mother said, gravely; "and I am not going to trouble myself about what may never happen. It is not necessary for Mr. Winthrop to know how his ward spends her spare time and pocket money."
"But he would as soon think of exchanging civilities with his own dumb animals as with those folk on the Mill Road; and, yet, right under his nose these little arrangements getting manufactured! It is carrying the war into the enemy's camp with a vengeance."
"Is that a specimen of your college conversation, Hubert? If so, you might better remain at Oaklands."
"Surely, mother; you don't expect us to talk like a sewing society or select gathering of maiden ladies," Hubert said with some disgust. "Fancy a lot of young fellows picking and choosing their words as if they were a company of prigs."
"If every word we utter continues to vibrate in the air until the final wreck of matter, as some scientists suppose, surely we can't be too careful of our words, my son."
"If we believe all the nonsense those chaps who are continually meddling with nature's secrets tell us, we should sit with shut lips and folded hands lest we would destroy the equilibrium of the universe, or our own destiny. There is any quantity of bosh let loose on poor, long-suffering humanity, and labeled Science."
"That comes with bad grace from an embryo scholar. If I were you I would throw education 'to the dogs' and take things on trust like Thomas, or the Mill Road people," I said, jestingly.
"I want to know for myself; and so not get cheated by every crank who airs his theories."
"But, Hubert, to come back to the original dispute, if the atmosphere does not hold our every foolish or necessary word, they are permanently recorded in another place by a pen that never writes falsely, or misses a single sentence. How many pages have you got written there, I wonder, that if it were possible you would gladly obliterate with your heart's blood one day."
"Mother, you are worse than the scientists; at least more terrifying. Do you know, Miss Selwyn, when I was a little chap she had me persuaded to be a missionary to Greenland, or the South Pole. I had made up my mind to choose the very worst possible place, so as to have all the greater reward."
"What has changed your mind?"
"Natural development, I expect. Mother is a very sweet and gentle woman, but I am sorry to say she is a crank, if there was ever one."
"Why, Hubert, you amaze me," I said, smiling. "I thought she was as near perfection as any one I ever knew. Excuse me expressing myself so openly," I said, bowing to Mrs. Flaxman; "but won't you tell me what her tendency to insanity is; for I believe cranks are a species of madmen, if I rightly understand what the word implies."
"Over religiosity. Why, really, she used to make me long for martyrdom when I was a child."
"I did not think a person could so soon outgrow early piety," I said, dryly.
Hubert colored and said very little more about his mother's early lessons after that to me; but I could see that his strange indifference respecting those subjects she held as most important of anything within reach of humanity pained her deeply.
Directly Mr. Winthrop had attended to matters at once claiming his attention on his return, he began to investigate my daily avocations. I showed him the work already accomplished, so far as it could be seen—the knitting certainly excepted. My sketches in water colors and oils I brought out rather timidly for his inspection. Mrs. Flaxman had told me how severe he was in his criticisms on careless work, and possibly all through my painting the thought what he might say of what I was doing had a strong influence on the quality of my work. In some respects, no doubt, it helped me to paint more carefully and copy more closely from nature; but, on the other hand, imagination and freedom were restrained; and it is possible I might have better satisfied him with what I had accomplished if I had never once thought about his opinion as I worked. As I carried them into the library that bright early autumn morning, I felt a shrinking at submitting my pictures, in their imperfection, to unsympathetic eyes, much as a mother might feel at bringing a deformed child to a baby show; but I had also a measure of satisfaction, since I could prove to my guardian that I had not been idle, when I spread before him copies, more or less defective, of views from his own grounds. The servants had watched them grow under my pencil and brush with an interest almost equalling my own; and it was amusing the eagerness which even Thomas evinced to be painted into a picture, spoiling it very much, to my mind, by insisting on having on his Sunday clothes.
Mr. Winthrop glanced at them with some surprise as he saw the goodly heap; then he said: "I will only look to-day at what you have done since coming here. Mrs. Flaxman tells me you have accomplished a good expenditure of paint."
"I have only brought those, sir, I did not suppose you cared to examine my school work."
"Some other time I may do so; but do you say all these have been done since you came here?" He picked one up, not noticing apparently my reply, and recognizing the view, instantly his face brightened.
"Ah, you have shown taste in this selection; it is one of my favorite views. I am glad you prefer nature to mere copying from another's work which is like accepting other men's ideas, when one is capable of originating them of one's own." He looked at it closely and for some time in silence, then with no further word of praise he criticised it mercilessly, while he pointed out fault after fault. I could only acquiesce in the correctness of his criticisms, and only wondered I should have been so blind as to permit such glaring faults to creep into my work. Of the many scores of drawing and painting lessons I had previously taken, not any twelve of them, to say the least, had widened my knowledge of art as this hour spent with my guardian over that first picture had done. I looked at him with a provoked sort of admiration, surprised that one who knew so well how nature should be imitated, did not, himself, attempt the task, and angry both with him and myself that I was being subjected to such humiliation, while I listened to him as he convinced me the picture I thought so good was a mere daub. I was wise enough, and proud enough too, not to make any sign that I was undergoing torture, and with stoical calmness permitted him, without a single remonstrance, to examine every picture there, even the one containing Thomas in his Sunday suit, as he stood surveying with idealized face, a superb patch of cabbages.
"Fancy has run riot with you there entirely; if the gardener were surveying his sweetheart in the church choir he might have some such seraphic expression, but it is utterly thrown away on those vegetables; his face and his broadcloth coat are in perfect harmony," Mr. Winthrop said, with even voice, as he held aloft the picture that all the other members of his household had so greatly admired.
"You think, then, the time spent in these has been quite wasted?" I tried to say calmly.
"A genuine artist, no doubt, would say without a moment's hesitation that the paint was thrown away. As for the time, he would probably say a young girl's time was of little consequence in any case. I am not an artist, and do not value paint at a high figure; so I most decidedly affirm that you made an excellent use of the paint. Labor conscientiously spent in decorating a barn door is well employed. The door may not be much the better, but the person who tries to improve its appearance with painstaking care is benefited."
"Then I may conscientiously continue decorating canvas, or at least trying to do so."
"I should certainly desire and advise you to do so; but instead of covering so many, if you would take time and talent in elaborating one picture, I would be better pleased."
He laid the pictures to one side. "We will continue this study more exhaustingly in the future; to-day I want to speak of other things. You have made use of my library, Mrs. Flaxman also informs me. Will you please tell me what books you have been reading?"
I went to the shelves and took down the books I had spent most time over, a good many were novels; and on these I felt certain I could pass a fairly good examination, since I had read some of them with absorbed interest; novels of all kinds were, for the most part, forbidden mental food at school, and therefore, when opportunity offered, I dipped into them with the keener avidity. But my mind was healthy enough to crave more solid food than fiction alone, and I was glad to be able to hand my guardian a volume or two of Carlyle's Frederick, Froude's Cæsar, Motley's Rise of the Dutch Republic, and a couple of volumes of Bancroft's History of the United States.
"Have you read all these since you came to Oaklands?" he asked, with evident surprise.
"I skipped some of the dull passages; the 'dry-as-dust' parts of which I found a few even in Carlyle."
"Could you stand an examination, think you, in each or any of them?"
"I am willing to try," I said, seating myself on the opposite side of the table with folded hands, and possibly a martyrlike air of resignation.
"Since you are so willing we will take Froude's Cæsar to-day; let me hear you give a digest of the entire book."
My eyes sparkled; for this was the last volume I had read, and the author had infused into my mind a strong leaven of his own hero-worship for the majestic Cæsar. I was surprised at the ease with which I repeated chapter after chapter of those stirring incidents, while with his stern, inscrutable face, my guardian turned the leaves to follow me in my rapid flight from tragedy to tragedy in those stormy times.
He laid the book down without comment, and, glancing at the remainder of the pile paused a moment, and then said: "I will defer the criticisms on these to some other day. Your memory as well as vocal organs will be fatigued."
I meanwhile resolved to consult those books again before the further examination should take place.
"You have practised every day on the piano in addition to your other work; may I ask how long a time you allowed yourself?"
"At least an hour, sometimes when it was wet or unpleasant out of doors I took longer time. Never more than three hours, I believe."
"We will take an hour or two after dinner over your music, after this once a week, we will spend a short time in reviewing what you read."
A new anxiety seized me at this promised ordeal. I fancied examinations and I had said good-bye forever when I left the school-room.
"I trust you will not think me severe if I insist on thoroughness in everything. I am wearied seeing so much good money and time wasted on young girls! With the majority of them, once they have left their teacher's side, all their interest in further mental culture is at an end."
"Some great writers say that our schooling is simply to train the mind to work, fitting it, so to speak, with necessary tools like a well-equipped mechanic."
"But if the tools are never utilized, what good are they merely to lie and rust?"
"Who can affirm positively that they are never utilized? Even the shallowest boarding-school Miss may carry herself more gracefully in society than one of your usefulest women—Mrs. Blake, for instance."
"How do you know anything about Mrs. Blake?" he asked abruptly.
"I met her on the train when I came here and she talked some time with me."
"It is not usual for persons in your position to permit such liberties."
"I thought in America all were reckoned equal."
"You are not an American."
"Shall I return then to Europe? I could always travel first-class, and so be safe from vulgar intrusion."
"Until your majority your father decided that your home was to be here after you left school."
"At what age do I attain my majority?" I asked eagerly.
"Are you tired of Oaklands?" His eyes were watching me intently.
"Never, until to day." I faltered, exceedingly frightened, but forced to tell the truth.
He turned over the leaves of the Cæsar for a few seconds, in silence, then he said in quite gentle tones:—
"You are tired; we will leave books for another day."
I bowed, but dared not trust myself to speak lest I might reveal that my tears were struggling to find vent, and began gathering up my sketches. He took up a view of Oaklands over which I had lingered lovingly for a good many hours, adding what I fondly thought were perfecting touches and said:—
"I should like to keep this, if you will give it to me."
My heart instantly grew lighter, so that I was able to say quite calmly that he was very welcome to it. This, however, was the only compliment he paid me for the work over which I had been expending so much time and effort during the past few months; but I had done the work much in the same fashion that the birds sing—from instinct.
Hubert left for college before the time came around for the distribution of our ripened fruit, and vegetables, for which fact I was very glad. I knew the task was going to be no easy one, with Mr. Winthrop silently, and no doubt sarcastically, watching me; and Hubert's good humored raillery would in no wise lighten my cares.
Mrs. Flaxman counseled me as wisely as she knew, but Mrs. Blake was my greatest help in the matter. Mr. Winthrop had not discovered, or if he had, did not interfere with my continued friendship for that worthy woman; so in my present perplexities I came to her for advice and consolation.
She promised to notify all her poor acquaintances when they were to come for their share of our gifts; she assured me there was already considerable interest, as well as surprise, awakened by the expectation of such a gathering at Oaklands.
For several days I watched Thomas and Samuel storing away such vast quantities of fruit and vegetables, that I concluded we could safely stand siege for a good many months, but I ruefully determined there would be little remaining for me to distribute. But one bright morning, just in range with my own windows, I saw the gardener nailing up some wooden booths, and when completed, they began to pour in great basketfuls of all sorts of vegetables, and afterward in separate booths, apples, pears, and plums. I slipped out before Mr. Winthrop was astir and inquired of Thomas if these were for my Mill Road pensioners.
"Yes, ma'am, that they are; and did I ever think I'd live to see this day?"
"Why, Thomas, are you not willing to share your bountiful harvest with those who have none?"
"Indeed I am. It's that makes me so glad this morning. I had that good-for-nothing Sam up at four o'clock, helping me saw the boards to build them bins to put the garden sass in. He reckoned you'd a much sight better have been staying in them foreign parts than be giving decent folks such bother. I give him a clip on the ear that made him howl in earnest, I can tell you. I says to him, says I, 'Why, one would think you was one of the aristocracy yourself to hear you talk so indifferent like about the poor folk. There's Miss Selwyn, with full and plenty, and see how she works for them; you'd ought to be ashamed of yourself,' I says to him."
"But I hope you won't punish the poor fellow on my account again—won't you please give him a holiday soon, for getting up to work so early this morning?"
"I'll see about it; but he gets holidays right along; he's nothing but a plague."
I saw poor Sam scuttling around a large apple tree quite within hearing of the gardener's voice, and concluded he was another instance of listeners never hearing any good of themselves. I did very little work or reading that day, but watched from the shelter of my window curtains the slowly accumulating pile. Samuel, I noticed, seemed to work with unusual cheerfulness, and even the gardener himself did not empty his basket any oftener than his well-abused help. Mr. Winthrop passed once or twice, and seemed to give directions. I fancied he glanced up to my window as he stood watching them empty their baskets. At luncheon he said:—
"Your pensioners may come this afternoon, and carry away their produce."
"I will let them know immediately."
"Will you go and tell them yourself?" he asked, rather sternly.
"I can do so with all safety; they are perfectly harmless." I gave him a mutinous look, but my heart fluttered; for, in spite of myself, I was very much afraid of my guardian.
"You must not go about from house to house peddling your generosity," he said, sarcastically.
"It is your generosity, Mr. Winthrop," I said gravely; "besides, I do not go to their houses at all. I have only to acquaint Mrs. Blake that your gift is ready for distribution."
"One of the servants will go to Mrs. Blake. You will need all your strength to maintain the proprieties when your ragged crowd comes."
"Have you ever seen the Mill Road people?" I asked abruptly.
"Probably on the streets sometimes; but are they a very distinguished looking crowd, that you ask?"
"No, but they are human beings just like ourselves, created in God's image as clearly as the President of these United States, and some of them fulfilling the end for which they were made quite as acceptably, perhaps."
"The President would, no doubt, feel flattered to have his name so coupled."
"I beg your pardon, Mr. Winthrop, I had forgotten your Presidents conquered the high position they fill, and are not born to it like mere puppets."
"You will compare your humble friends with European Royalties then, I presume."
"Oh, any one dropping into a soft nest prepared for them by others will do just as well," I said, not very politely.
Mrs. Flaxman looked on helplessly as she sat nervously creasing her napkin; then with a sudden look of relief she said: "Shall I despatch Esmerelda to the Mill Road? They will have little enough time to get all that heap of good things carried away before night."
Mr. Winthrop signified his willingness, and as she was leaving the room Mrs. Flaxman, by a look, summoned me to follow her. Once outside she said in her gentle way:—"I would not get arguing with Mr. Winthrop if I were you. He is a good deal older, and, pardon me, a good deal wiser; and while he never seems to lose his own temper he very easily makes others lose theirs."
"I will try not to," I said, very humbly, for now that my temper had calmed I realized that I had been very foolish in saying what I did. I went sorrowfully to my room, and, taking my knitting work, I sat down in my easy chair where I could watch them working busily at the vegetables. But there came so many desolate, homesick fancies to keep me company, that pretty soon my eyes were so blinded with tears I could scarcely see the enlivening prospect under my windows. Ashamed of my weakness I set myself resolutely to thinking of Daniel Blake and his heavy, sad life; of the poor barefoot children, and tired mothers on the Mill Road; and of all the sadder hearts than mine should be, until the sultry, still air, and monotonous click of the knitting needles overcame my heartaches, and I went fast asleep. A knock at the door startled me. Hastily opening it, I met Esmerelda, who had come to announce the arrival of her neighbors.
"There's a good lot of them coming, and they look as frightened, and foolish as so many dogs that's been caught sheep killing. I declare I pity them."
"Where is Mr. Winthrop?" I gasped.
"Oh, you may be certain he's not far off; it's just death to him having so many of them poor wretches coming around his place. I can't think why he lets them."
"I will be there presently, Esmerelda," I said, turning away. It was certainly not my place to allow her to stand there gossiping about her employer.
I did not wait to brush my rumpled hair or bestow more than a passing glance in the mirror, where I caught sight of a pair of wide, frightened eyes and an unusually pale face. Mr. Winthrop was waiting for me in the hall. In my excitement I still held in my hand the little sock I had been knitting. He glanced at it curiously, but made no mention of it.
"Your pensioners have come—a beggarly looking crowd."
"Are there many?"
"Not more than a dozen. You will have to negotiate with Thomas to get your gifts carted home. Their baskets will hold only a tithe of what you have to donate."
"May I tell him to get the horses?"
I looked up at him, I dare say, appealingly; for I felt quite overwhelmed with care. He smiled grimly.
"You may order all the servants to go to work—anything to get that crowd away."
"Don't you feel sorry for them, Mr. Winthrop?" I pleaded. "Just think how hard it is to be poor, and to come to you with a basket for vegetables."
"Yes, that last must be the bitterest drop in their misery," he said, sarcastically. We were walking slowly around to the garden, but our progress was much too swift for my courage. I would gladly have walked the entire length of Cavendish to have escaped what had now become a very difficult task. I resolved on one thing, however; not to be drawn into any further conversation with Mr. Winthrop, nor allow him to entrap me in his merciless way again.
A bend in the garden walk brought me face to face with the Mill Road people; the crowd consisted principally of women and boys; only a man or two condescending to come with their baskets; or it may be they thought the loss of a half day in the Mill would be poorly compensated by the garden stuff they would get. Mrs. Blake was there,—a crape veil hanging sideways from her bonnet, which I took as a mark of respect for Daniel's wife. She carried no basket; and, from the compassionate look on her face, I concluded she came with the hope to lighten my task, if possible. I went directly to her, and shook her hand as cordially as if she had been one of our bluest blooded Cavendish aristocracy. I saw her cast a half frightened glance at Mr. Winthrop, but my fearless manner seemed to reassure her, as she soon regained her customary coolness of demeanor. I nodded cordially to the rest of the group who all seemed just then to be gazing at me in a very helpless manner. I endeavored to comport myself as the easy hostess dispensing the hospitalities of my home to a party of welcome visitors; but with Mr. Winthrop watching my every movement I found the task to do so herculean. The gardener stood watching the crowd in a helpless way, apparently as uncertain what to do first as any of them. I looked towards Mr. Winthrop; but he seemed deeply interested, judging from his attitude and expression, in tying up a branch of an overburdened pear tree; but he kept his face turned steadily towards me all the time, I could not help observing.
"What shall I do?" I whispered to Mrs. Blake.
"Tell them to come forred and fill their baskets."
I cleared my throat, and stepping up to the gardener said: "If you will please come now, we will fill your baskets."
At first no one moved; then a delicate, pretty looking woman, with red-rimmed eyes and a baby in her arms came timidly forward.
"What would you like best?" I asked.
"Oh, I can't tell; they all look so good."
"We are going to send all of this that is left around to your homes in a wagon."
"I might take some of these," she said, pointing longingly to the apples and pears. The baby was stretching its pinched little arms out to them, and cooing in a pitiful, suppressed way, as if it realized it and must be on its good behavior. I took the little creature in my arms; its clothes were clean, but so thin and poor, my heart ached, while I looked at them. I gave it my watch, which it carried with all speed to its mouth; but a soft, delicious pear which I picked from the very limb Mr. Winthrop had been supporting, caused it to drop the watch indifferently.
"Don't you feel sorry for this little crumb of humanity?" I impulsively asked, forgetting too speedily my determination not to converse with him more than was really necessary.
"Did Madame Buhlman give you lessons in philanthropy along with drawing and music?"
"Oh no, indeed; but I hope God has. I don't want my heart to be a rock like"—and then I shut my mouth and with moist eyes and flushed face turned abruptly from him.
I swallowed down my tears, but my heart was too sore to play any longer with the baby, so I slipped it back into its mother's arms, who had got her basket filled and was ready to start for home; a neighbor's lad had come to carry it for her, and with quite a cheerful face she bade me good-bye. The rest of my crowd had got their baskets filled, and paused with longing eyes regarding the heaps that still remained. I made their faces grow suddenly much brighter as, with a slight elevation of voice, I said: "Thomas will carry the rest of these vegetables around for you with the horses. You will please stand at your doors, and, as he drives along, come out for it." There was a subdued murmur of thanks, and then they started homewards. Mrs. Blake waited a few moments behind them to look around the old place where she had spent so many days, and shook hands with Thomas who remembered her very distinctly.
"It's odd doings for Oaklands having yon crowd come with their baskets," he said, grimly; "the young miss be like to turn things topsy-turvey."
"It's high time somebody did; what kind of reckonins will folks have bime-by, of all their riches, and overplus, and so many of their own kind of flesh and blood going hungry and naked?"
"Their reckonins be none in my line. I sees to the roots and posies, that they thrive; and there my work ends."
"Yes, posies are fed and sheltered, and little human creeturs like the widow Larkum's there can starve for all the great folks cares. Deary me! it's a terble onjointed sort of world; seems to me I could regilate things better myself. Well, a good afternoon, Mr. Prime."
"Good afternoon," Mr. Prime coldly responded. Plainly he did not enjoy Mrs. Blake's freedom of speech. I felt my trespasses against Mr. Winthrop were already so great I could scarcely increase them by leaving Mrs. Blake abruptly, so I walked with her through the old gardens, where she had many a time, no doubt, dreamed her dreams long before my spirit got started on its long voyage through time and the eternities. I accompanied her all the way to the gate, listening sadly while she told me for the second time the sorrowful story of the widow Larkum, whose baby I had just been fondling. "Ever since her man fell on the circular saw and got killed, she's been crying more or less. Her eyes look as if they'd been bound in turkey red; and I tell her she'll be blind soon as well as her father; but, laws! when the tears is there, they might as well come. It's their natur, I s'pose, to be a droppin'."
"What is to support them?" I asked.
"I guess the parish, but my! they dread it. I believe Mr. Bowen would be the happiest man in town if the Lord would send his angels for him; he's about the best Christian I ever sot eyes on."
"I think I can help them. Does it cost very much to keep a family."
"It depends on how they're kept. A trifle would do them. She's that savin', the hull of 'em don't cost much more'n a hearty man."
"I will tell, Thomas, to leave plenty of his vegetables with her; and, in the meantime, will you please tell her that I will help to keep the wolf from her door?"
"Indeed, I will, and be glad to. I can do a little myself; so you won't have all to do; and then she is right handy with her needle. My! I feel a burden lifted already. I couldn't help frettin' as well as her, though, she's no more to me than any other body."
"God has given you the heart that feels another's woes. Every one don't have that blessed gift."
"I expect not; or if they do, it's not minded. Seems to me the master looked none too well pleased along wi' us bein' there to-day." She looked at me keenly; but I was not going to make my moan even to this true-hearted friend.
"I hope this act of kindness may leave him so happy that he will give me leave to give away all the unused stuff I see going to waste about the place," I said, a trifle hypocritically.
"He's never knew what want is; and any way his heart's not over tender naterally; but there, young women can do most anything with men folks when they're good-lookin' and have nice ways wi' 'em. There's a sight of difference wi' girls. Some of 'em without any trouble get right into a man's heart, and they'll go through fire and water to please 'em; and others may be just as good-lookin' and they have hard work to get any man to marry 'em. I've wondered more'n a little about it, but it's a mystery." She turned her kindly wrinkled face on me and said, "You're one of them kind that can just wind a man round your finger, and I'm looking for better days at Oaklands. My! but you could do lots of good, if you got him on your side."
"Oh, Mrs. Blake, you don't know anything about it, but you are to be disappointed I am sure. But I can do something without any one's help. Good-bye."
She took my hand, holding it for some time in silence; then she said softly: "Dear; you can get into other folk's hearts beside the men's."
Thomas got his garden stuff distributed satisfactorily. "It would done your heart good to see how pleased the Larkums was over their share: I give 'em good measure, I tell you," he informed me that evening, as I made an errand to the stables in order to interview him.
"That Mr. Bowen, her blind father, he come out too, and I've not got better pay for anything for years than what he give me," Thomas continued solemnly.
"What did he give, you?" I asked.
"Well I can't just go over his words, but it minded me of the blessing the preacher says over us before we go out of church, only this was all just for you and me."
"You have found to-day that it is more blessed to give than to receive."
"That Mrs. Blake wan't far astray; but there, I wouldn't let on to the likes of her that Mr. Winthrop might do more for them. Anyway there's no one gives more for the poor in the parish, nor anything nigh as much; only its taxes, and one don't get credit for them."
"It is only for want of thought, Thomas. He has never been among the poor, to see their wants and sufferings."
"But what makes you think, and the rest all forget?"
"I expect it is because my memory is better. I could always remember my lessons at school better than the most of the pupils."
"Ah, Miss, there's more than the memory. I wish there was more rich folks like you; it would be a better world for the poor."
His words startled me, the thought had never before occurred to me that I might be rich. I went to my room, and, with more than my usual care, dressed for dinner. Compared with Esmerelda's, my gowns were getting shabby, and old-fashioned; and I concluded if I had means of my own, it was time to treat myself charitably as well as my poor acquaintances. The dinner bell rang at last, and I went down with some trepidation to meet my guardian. My conscience confronted me with my repeated words of insubordination during the day, commanding me to apologize for my rudeness; but instinct with a stronger voice counselled silence. As we took our seats at dinner, Mrs. Flaxman, I thought, with a worried expression was furtively regarding us; but she kept silent. With a good-humored smile Mr. Winthrop turned to me, saying: "Your crowd did not fall to quarrelling over the spoil, I hope."
"I wish you could have seen how good-humored they were on leaving. I think they would have talked above their breath only they were afraid."
"You did not strike me as looking particularly formidable. Indeed, I quite pitied you; for you seemed the most frightened, nervous one in the lot."
"They were not afraid of me. Even the widow Larkum's baby cooed softly until you were out of sight."
"It must be a child of amazing intelligence."
Mrs. Flaxman, looking more anxious than ever interjected a remark, not very relevantly, about the prospect of our early winter; but Mr. Winthrop allowed her remark to fall unheeded.
"You seem particularly interested in that tender-eyed widow and her infant. Is it long since you made their acquaintance?"
"I cannot say that I am even now acquainted with her." I answered politely.
"I should judge you had a weakness for widows. Mrs. Blake seems on very cordial terms with you."
"I would take just as much interest in your widow, Mr. Winthrop, if she was poor and sorrowful. The wheel of fortune may make a revolution some day, and give me the opportunity."
He really seemed to enjoy the retort which fell uncontrollably from my lips.
"Allow me to thank you beforehand for your kind offices to that afflicted individual; though the prospect for their being required is not very good at present."
"Mrs. Fleming has sent invitations for a garden-party," Mrs. Flaxman interposed desperately. "I think Mr. Winthrop had better permit you to go to New York for some additions to your toilet."
"I will accompany her myself; she might get entangled with widowers on her next trip."
"Not if they are as provoking as the unmarried," I murmured below my breath; but he seemed to catch my meaning.
"They understand the art of pleasing your sex amazingly. I believe you would find them more fascinating than Mrs. Blake, or your new friend, the widow Larkum."
I felt too sorrowful to reply, and my temper had quite expended itself. I waited until he arose from the table and then followed him into the library. He looked surprised, but very politely handed me a chair. I bowed my thanks, but did not sit down; I stood opposite him with only the study table between us. I was nervous, and half afraid to ask my question, but summoning all my courage I broke the silence by saying:—"Mr. Winthrop, will you please tell me if I am rich or poor?"'
"That is a comparative question," he answered with provoking coolness. "Compared with Jay Gould or Vanderbilt, I should say your means were limited; but, on the other hand, to measure your riches with your widowed friends, most persons would allow your circumstances to be affluent."
"But have I any money left after my board and other expenses are paid?"
He smiled sarcastically. "I do not take boarders; it has never been our custom at Oaklands."
I was getting angry and retorted:—"I shall not eat any man's bread without paying for it, if he were a hundred times my guardian."
"But if you had no money wherewith to pay him; what then?"
"I have an education; with that surely I can earn my living as well as Esmerelda. My knowledge of French and German will help me to a situation, if nothing else."
"If I say you must not leave here; that I will not permit my ward to work for her living?" he questioned.
"If I resolve to be independent, and earn something beside, to help the poor, can you compel me to a life of ease and uselessness?"
"Ah, I see what is troubling you—the widows are on your mind. A gracious desire to help them has caused this mercenary fit. I am glad to inform you that there is a snug sum lying at your bankers in your name. When you come of age you will know the exact amount."
"You will pay for my board and expenses out of it," I said, rather incoherently; "and then, if there is any left, may I have it to lay out as I choose?"
"I do not care to assume the rôle of a hotel-keeper, so we will compromise matters. You can name whatever sum you choose for your board, and I will give it to you in quarterly instalments for your pensioners."
I was silent for a few moments, perplexed to know what answer to give. If he were to take from my own income the sum I might mention if I accepted his terms, would I not still be a debtor to his hospitality? I spoke at last, knowing that his eyes were reading my face. "Could I not first pay you all that I really cost you, and then if there was any money left, have that to expend just as I choose?"
"I have hitherto allowed you a certain sum for pocket money. I limited the supply, because, as a school-girl, I believed too much would be an injury. Since, however, you are now a young lady grown and gifted with highly benevolent instincts, I will increase your spending money to any reasonable sum you may name."
"Will it be my own money?"
"Certainly; I shall not exercise the slightest supervision over the way you spend it, so long as your Mill Road friends do not get quarreling over the division of it."
"You do not understand my meaning. Will it be the money my father left me?"
"I cannot promise it will be just the same. No doubt that has passed through scores of hands since then; in fact, it may be lying in the bottom of the sea. I did not expect you would be so exact in money matters, or I might have been more careful."
"Mr. Winthrop, why do you so persistently misconstrue my meaning?" I said, desperately. He looked down more gently from his superior height into my troubled face, and the mocking gleam faded from his eyes.
"Why are you so scrupulously, ridiculously insistent in maintaining such perfect independence? Can you not believe I get well paid for all you cost me, if we descend to the vulgarity of dollars and cents, in having a bright, original young creature about the house with a fiery, independent, nature, ready to fight with her rich friends for the sake of her poor ones?"
"I wish we could be friendly, Mr. Winthrop," I half sobbed, with an impulsive gesture stretching out my hands, but remembering myself, as quickly I drew them back, and without waiting for a reply fled from the room. Once in the hall I took down my hat from the rack and slipped out into the night, my pulses throbbing feverishly, and with difficulty repressing the longing to find relief in a burst of tears. The short twilight had quite faded away into starlight, but the autumn air was still warm enough to permit a stroll after nightfall. When I grew calm enough to notice whither my feet had strayed, I found myself on the Mill Road. Instinctively I felt I should not go so far from home in the darkness unattended; but I was naturally courageous as well as unconventional, and the desire was strong on me to tell Mrs. Blake my good news. I got on safely until Daniel Blake's light was in sight, when, just before me, I heard rough voices talking and laughing. I turned and was about fleeing for home, when a similar crowd seemed to have sprung up, as if by magic, just behind me. In my terror I attempted to climb a fence, but fence-climbing was a new accomplishment, and in my ignorance and fright, I dragged myself to the top rail and then fell over in a nerveless heap on the other side. The crowd were too self-absorbed to notice the crouching figure divided from them by a slight rail fence, and went shouting on their way until stopped by the other crowd. I waited until they had got to a safe distance, when I arose and sped swiftly along over the damp grass until another fence intercepted my progress; when fortunately I remembered that just beyond this fence was a low marshy field, with deep pools of water. By some means I again got over the fence, bruising my fingers in the effort. The voices were growing fainter in the distance, and now with calmer pulses, I proceeded on my way to the Blakes'. But a new alarm awaited me; for I recollected Daniel would be at home now, and Tiger, his constant companion, would be somewhere in his vicinity. The dog was a huge creature, capable of tearing me to pieces in a very short time if he was so inclined. Folding my arms tightly in the skirt of my dress, I presently heard Tiger approaching, giving an occasional savage growl. I called him to me with as much simulated affection in the tones of my voice as I could command, and walked straight for the kitchen door. I put my hand on the latch, not daring to hesitate long enough to knock, when he caught my sleeve in his teeth. Half beside myself with terror, I called to Mrs. Blake, and in a second or two the door opened and Daniel was peering out curiously into my white face. The light from the lamp in his hand shone full on the dog holding my sleeve in his white, long teeth. Daniel's slow brain scarce took in the situation, but his mother, who sat where she could look directly at us, caught up the tongs and gave Tiger a blow he probably remembered to his dying day. He dropped my dress and slunk silently away into the darkness. Instantly I felt sorry for him. "Won't you call him back," I cried. "He thought he was doing his duty, and he took care not to put his teeth in my arm."
"It seems to me your heart is a leetle too tender of the brute; he might have skeered you to death," Daniel said, as he went out after his dog to see how heavy damage the tongs had inflicted.
"I should not have come here so late; it was I and not the dog who was to blame," I gasped, as I sank into Mrs. Blake's rocking-chair.
"I've wanted Daniel to put the critter away; he's been offered fifty dollars for him, but he's kind of lonesome, and refuses the offer."
Mrs. Blake was looking at me closely. I knew she was curious to know what brought me there at that unusual hour, so I hastened to explain, and asking her would she go with me to the Widow Larkum's while I told her of the help I expected to afford, and also of my mishaps on the way there.
"Not to-night, dearie. These roads ain't none too safe after night for women folks. It's a mercy you tumbled over the fence. My! what would Mr. Winthrop say if he knowed?" she questioned solemnly.
"But he will never know, if I can get back safely."
"Dan'el and me'll go with you, and take Tiger and the lantern. They're all afraid of the dog, if I haven't lamed him."
She went to the door and called Daniel. He came in presently, with Tiger limping after him.
"You give him an unmerciful blow; a leetle more and he'd never barked again."
"Bring him in and I'll give him a bone and rub the sore place with liniment."
"Let me feed him," I begged. "I want to make friends with him."
"You'd best not put your hands on him. He don't make free with strangers."
I took the bone; to my regret it was picked nearly bare, and I idly resolved Tiger should have a good solid dinner the next day, if he and I survived the mishaps of the night.
"Poor fellow! I am very, very sorry I have caused you so much pain," I said, giving him the bone and patting his huge head fearlessly.
"Look out!" Daniel said, warningly.
"You needn't be afeard," his mother said. "Tiger knows quality."
Whether he was as knowing in this respect as she asserted, he gnawed his bone and let me stroke his shaggy coat, while Mrs. Blake bathed his bruised back.
"There, he'll be all right now in no time; and Dan'el, you get the lantern and we'll go back to Oaklands with Miss Selwyn."
Daniel got up wearily, and did as his mother bade. After his hard day's work in the mill he would willingly, no doubt, have been excused escorting damsels in distress to their homes.
Mrs. Blake soon came out of her room with her bonnet and shawl on—the former one without a veil, which she excused on the ground that dew took the stiffening out of crape—"Leastways," she added, "the kind I wear." Tiger followed us, and more in mercy to him than the tired Daniel, I insisted on going home alone once we had got beyond the precincts of the Mill Road. I met with no further adventure, and reached my own room in safety, fondly hoping no one in the house was aware of my evening's ramble, and one that I determined should never be repeated. My cheeks burned even after my light was extinguished, and my head throbbed on the pillow at Mr. Winthrop's biting sarcasm if he knew the risk I had just run from bipeds and quadrupeds, with Daniel Blake, his mother and dog as body-guard past the danger of Mill Road ruffianism.
The following morning I went down to breakfast with some trepidation, and feeling very much like a culprit. Mrs. Flaxman came into the room first, and in her mild, incurious fashion said: "We were hunting for you last evening. Mr. Winthrop wished to see you about something."
I did not reply, neither did she inquire where I had bestowed myself out of reach of their voices. I felt certain Mr. Winthrop's curiosity would be more insistent, and was quite right in my conjectures. He came in as usual, just on the minute, and seating himself, went through with the formality of grace; but before our plates were served, he turned to me and rather sternly said: "Are you in the habit of going out for solitary night rambles?"
"I never did but once," I faltered, too proudly honest to give an evasive answer.
"That once, I presume, occurred last night?"
"Yes."
"Strictly speaking, it wanted just five minutes to nine when you slipped stealthily into the side entrance."
I sat, culprit-like, in silence, while his eyes were watching me closely.
"Don't you think two hours a long time to be loitering about the garden in the dark?"
"You must not be too hard on Medoline," Mrs. Flaxman interposed. "It is an instinct with young folk to stray under the starlight and dream their dreams. No doubt we both have been guilty of doing it in our time." I flashed Mrs. Flaxman a look of gratitude, and wondered at the naïve way she counted Mr. Winthrop with herself, as if he too had arrived at staid middle-agehood.
"Dreaming under stars and wandering around in attendance on widows are two very different occupations," he said, quietly, and without a break in his voice asked Mrs. Flaxman what he should help her to. I swallowed my breakfast—what little I could eat—with the feeling that possibly each succeeding mouthful might choke me; but full hearts do not usually prove fatal, even at meal time.
I arose from the table as soon as Mr. Winthrop laid down his napkin, and was hastening from the room when I heard him move back his chair; and, swift as were my movements, he was in the hall before I had reached the topmost step of the staircase.
"Just one more word, please," I heard him say. I turned around, resolved to take the remainder of my lecture from a position where I could look down on him. He held out a parcel, saying: "Will you come and get this, or shall I carry it to you?"
I descended without replying, and held out my hand for the roll. He took hold of my hand instead. The firm, strong grasp comforted me, though I expected a severer lecture than I had ever received before in all my life. I looked up at him through tear-filled eyes when he said, in a strangely gentle voice for the circumstances:
"I saw you coming along the Mill Road last night with the Blakes and their lantern. Why were you there so late?"
"I wanted so much to tell the widow Larkum I was in a position now to help her."
He was silent for awhile; then he said:
"I am glad you did not try to mislead me at the breakfast-table. I could not easily have forgiven such an act. Next to purity, I admire perfect truth in your sex."
"Mr. Winthrop, you will believe me that I never went out of our own grounds after night before alone, and I never will, if I live for a hundred years."
"Pray do not make rash promises. I only claim obedience to my wishes until you are of age. I will accept your word until that date, and shall not go in search of you along the Mill Road, or any other disreputable portion of the town again. Your mother's daughter can be trusted."
I tried to withdraw my hand, in order to escape with my tear-stained face to my own room, quite forgetting the parcel I had come down the stairway for.
"We start for New York this afternoon. Mrs. Flaxman accompanies us. She will be congenial society for you, having been a widow for nearly a score of years."
"I do not care particularly for widows. It is the poor and desolate I pity."
"Well, here is the first instalment of widows' money. I give it to you quarterly, purely from benevolent motives."
"Why so?" I asked, curiously.
"If you received it all at once Mill Road would be resplendent with crape and cheap jewelry."
"I suppose I must thank you," I said, hotly; "but the manner of the giving takes away all the grace of the gift."
"You express yourself a trifle obscurely, but I think I comprehend your meaning," he said, without change of voice. If I could have seen his eyes flash, or his imperturbable calm disturbed, my own anger would have been less keen.
"May I go now?" I presently asked, quite subdued; for he had fallen into a brown study, and was still holding my hand.
"Yes, I had forgotten," he said, turning away, and a moment after entered the library and shut the door. I went in search of Mrs. Flaxman, whom I found still in the breakfast-room, and in a rather nervous condition, busy about the china, which she rarely permitted the servant to wash.
"Shall we stay long in New York?" I asked, very cheerfully, the fifty dollars I held in my hand, and the easy way I had got off with Mr. Winthrop, making me quite elated.
"One can never tell. Mr. Winthrop is very uncertain; we may return in a day or two, or we may stay a fortnight."
"You are not anxious to go?" I questioned, seeing her troubled face.
"Not just now, in the height of the pickling and preserving season. Reynolds has excellent judgment, but I prefer looking after such things myself."
She looked wistfully at me while she dried her china. "May I help you, Mrs. Flaxman? It never occurred to me before that I might share your burdens. I should learn to have cares, as well as others."
"I always like to have you with me, dear. Sometimes I try to make myself believe God has given you to me, instead of my own little Medoline."
"Had you a daughter once?"
"Yes; and, like yourself, named after your own dear mother."
"Oh, Mrs. Flaxman, and you never told me. Was she grown up like me?"
"She was only six years old when she died, just a month after her father; but the greater grief benumbed me so I scarce realized my second loss until months afterward."
"Is it so terrible, then, to lose one's husband?"
"It depends greatly on the husband."
"The widow Larkum cries constantly after hers, but he was bread-winner, too. A hungry grief must be a double one."
"Did Mr. Winthrop say anything further to you about being out last night?"
"A little," I replied, with scarlet cheeks; "but he will never do so again. I shall not give him cause to reprove me."
"That is the most lady-like course. You are no longer a little girl, or a school-girl either."
I wiped my plates in silence, but my mortification was none the less intense. I realized then, more keenly than ever, that I must preserve the proprieties, and confine myself to the restrictions of polite society. The breezy, unconventional freedom Mrs. Flaxman had for those few months permitted me had been so keenly enjoyed. I fretted uneasily at the forms, and ceremonies of artificial life, while the aboriginal instincts, which every free heart hides away somewhere in its depths, had been permitted too full development.
The china cleansed, and put away, I stood surveying the shining pieces that comprised our breakfast equipage, and like the tired clock in the fable, thought wearily of the many hundred times Mrs. Flaxman had washed those dishes; of the many thousand times they, or others, would go through the same operation, until Mrs. Winthrop's sands of time had all run out, and Oaklands gone to decay, or passed into other hands.
"Isn't it tiresome work washing dishes—the same yesterday, to-day and fifty years hence? I wish I had been created a man; they don't have such sameness in their work."
"Are you sure, dear? Fancy a bookkeeper's lot, or a clerk's reckoning up columns of figures so like there is not a particle of variety; not a new or thrilling idea in all their round of work from January to December, unless we except a column that won't come right. That may have a thrill in it now and then, but certainly not a joyous one. After we return from New York, if you pay attention to a clerk's work in the stores we visit, you will acknowledge a lady's household tasks delightful in comparison. The farmer's life has the most variety, and comes nearest to elementary things and nature's great throbbing vitals; but as a rule they are a dissatisfied lot, and unreasonably so, I think."
"Come to look at things generally, it's a very unsatisfactory sort of world, anyway. I think it's affairs might just as well get wound up as not. There have been plenty of one variety of beings created, I should think, to fill up lots of room in the starry spaces, and there are so many to suffer forever."
"It is hardly reverent, dear, for us to criticise God's plans. It is His world, and we are His creatures; and we may all be happy in Him here, and there be happy with Him forever. Besides, life does not seem monotonous when we are doing His will."
"But I know so few who are doing His will save you, and that poor blind Mr. Bowen. I read my Bible every day, and sometimes I get thinking over its words, and I reckon there will only be one here and there fit to enter Heaven. All our friends nearly would be terribly out of place to be suddenly transplanted to the Heavenly gardens. What could they talk about to the shining ones? The fashions, and social gossips, and fancy work and amusements would all be tabooed subjects there, I expect."
"You do not know many people yet. I thank God there are thousands longing to serve Him. I think, dear, you must have a touch of dyspepsia this morning; your thoughts are so morbid."
"Oh no, indeed; I am quite well. But shall we see any of those people you describe in New York?"
"If we stay long enough, doubtless we shall. I have a few rare friends there whose friendship often gives me the feeling of possessing unlimited riches."
"I wish I had such friends," I exclaimed, with sudden longing. "You and the Mill Road folk are the only ones I have on this side the ocean, and the most I care much for on the other already think in another language from mine."
"Yours will not be a friendless life, I feel certain. I see elements in your impulsive nature that must attract those who love the true and unselfish."
"Oh, Mrs. Flaxman, what a delicious compliment to give me, just when I was most discouraged about myself! Mr. Winthrop finds me such a nuisance, and all your pretty and elegant lady friends I know care so little for me that I can't but believe that I am a poor specimen, although you speak so kindly."
"You will be wise to learn the art of not thinking much about your merits. I find these the happiest lives who live most outside of self; and they are the most helpful to others."
"But we have mainly to do with ourselves. How can we help wondering if our particular barque on the voyage of life is to be a success or not?"
"It lies with ourselves whether it is or no."
"But persons like Mrs. Larkum and the Blakes, how can they have a successful voyage, when they are so poor and lowly?"
"You must get the thought out of your mind that being poor and humble makes any difference in God's sight. When Christ visited our planet his position was as lowly as the Blakes; his purse as empty as the widow Larkum's. We are such slow creatures to learn that character itself is the only greatness in God's sight. Our ancestry and rent roll are the small dust of the balance with Him."
"But Mr. Winthrop thinks most of those things—the ancestry and wealth."