THE next day, Nelly went down to Mrs. Kirkland's shop, and, not without some trepidation, asked for Miss Powell, who was not to be seen.
"She is busy up-stairs," said the young lady behind the counter. "Can't I get what you want, as well as Miss Powell?"
"No, ma'am," replied Nelly. "She told me to ask for her if she was not in the shop."
"It is some one of her ragged regiment of Sunday-scholars," said a lady who was buying lace at the counter where Nelly stood. "She is always bringing just such objects into the school. I get downright vexed at her, sometimes."
"I suppose the Sunday-school was made for just such children to begin with," said the shop-girl.
"They might go to the mission school, then," replied the strange lady. "It does not seem as though that elegant school-room could be meant for such ragamuffins."
"You can go up-stairs, my little girl, and see Miss Powell," said the shop-girl, glancing at Nelly, and seeing, from her rising colour and eyes filled with tears, that she had heard and understood the conversation. "You will find her sitting by the window, at work; and please carry her this red braid and ask her if there is any more like it. Will you?"
"Yes, ma'am," replied Nelly, brightening up, and feeling comforted, as Miss Kirkland intended she should, by being intrusted with this little commission. "Shall I come and tell you what she says?"
"If you please," said Miss Kirkland; and Nelly skipped up the long stairs, feeling much relieved. She found Miss Powell sitting on a low seat by the window, working at a beautiful piece of embroidery. She had a large box by her side, filled with ends of worsted of every shade and colour, from which she now and then pulled out a thread. She was deeply engaged in counting stitches in her pattern; and Nelly, who often seemed to show an instinctive sense of good manners, stood by her in silence, waiting to be noticed.
"Ah, Nelly! Is this you?" said Miss Powell, looking up at last. "I was wondering what had become of you. How does your tatting get on?"
"I have learned to do it," said Nelly. "I thought I never should; but I did. But please, the lady down-stairs wants to know is there any more of this braid."
"Tell her there is a whole box on the upper shelf, with the tape. Can you remember that?"
"Yes, ma'am."
Nelly sped down with her errand, and, presently returning, produced her work for inspection.
Miss Powell smiled as she looked at it. "So you really did persevere, and learn! I am very glad. Do you know why? It is because that shows you have some resolution and some self-command. A good many little girls would have thrown it away in despair."
Again the ready tears came into Nelly's large eyes; but this time they were tears of joy and honest exultation.
"I was real glad, too," said she. "I liked to do it; and besides," she added, hanging down her head, "I thought if I could learn one thing I could another."
"Well?" said Miss Powell, as Nelly hesitated.
"I thought may-be I could learn to read; and I do want to learn so much."
"Why don't you go to school?—Oh, I remember, you told me;—because of minding the cow. Have you any one to help you about learning?"
"Kitty Brown said she would help me every night when I brought the milk," said Nelly. "I know the letters and some little words; and the lady Kitty lives with wrote down on this paper the name of the book I was to get," added she, producing the note Kitty had given her.
"'Second-hand copy,'" read Miss Powell. "Why don't you get a nice new book, Nelly?"
"Kitty said I had not money enough to buy a new one. A gentleman gave me ten cents, and granny said I might spend it as I liked. She is real good, granny is," added Nelly. "It isn't her fault that I don't go to school."
Miss Powell took up the tatting and examined it again. The last half-yard was done very well. The scollops were of the same size, firm and even; but it was embrowned to the colour of earth from Nelly's unwashed fingers.
"You have done this last part very nicely," said she. "I could hardly have done it better myself. But Nelly, you must learn to keep your work clean and white, or it will be worth nothing. See here; look at mine. I have had it about a long time, and yet it is not the least soiled. Do you wash your hands every time you take it up?"
"No, ma'am," replied Nelly, blushing. "I don't know as I ever thought of it. It isn't very easy for me to wash my hands clean. I get them so dirty with my work,—gathering swill and feeding the cow. But I will try what I can do."
"That is right. I dare say your work is dirty; but if you always wash your hands directly after it, and whenever they get soiled, you will find it much easier to keep them clean. See here, Mrs. Kirkland," said she, as Mrs. Kirkland came in from another room, "how well Nelly has succeeded with her tatting. She has really done nicely."
Mrs. Kirkland examined the work and commended it; and then, going to a show-case, she took out a spool of thread.
"See here, Nelly," said she; "if you will make all this spool of thread into tatting as nice as that last half-yard, and keep it clean and white, I will give you seventy-five cents for the work. But remember, it must be kept clean, and all the scollops must be of precisely the same size, or else I cannot take it."
"I will try my best," said Nelly, fairly trembling with delight. "I guess I can do it."
"Very well; you may try. It is not every little girl like you that I would trust with a spool of thread; but I don't think you will deceive me."
"You can ask the neighbours about us," said Nelly, with an honest pride that Mrs. Kirkland was pleased to see. "Granny sells milk to ever so many of them,—to Mrs. Powers, and Mrs. Vandake, and Mrs. Blair, and Mrs. Ward."
"Yes; I remember Mrs. Ward told me once last summer what nice rich milk she got," said Miss Powell. "Mrs. Kirkland, will you let me speak to you a moment?"
Mrs. Kirkland heard what Miss Powell had to say, and then turned to Nelly.
"Nelly, if I pay you ten cents beforehand, will you be sure that I shall not lose by it? Then you can buy a nice new spelling-book, instead of an old one; but you will only have sixty-five cents, instead of seventy-five, when you bring home your work."
"I should like it," said Nelly; "only I might be sick, or something, and then I couldn't pay you."
Mrs. Kirkland smiled. "I will run the risk of that. Here is your money, then; and I hope you will make your book very profitable."
"If you like to wait a little while, Nelly, I will go to the book-store with you," said Miss Powell. "I am going that way in about half an hour. You can sit down here by me and begin your work, if your hands are clean. Let me look at them."
Nelly had washed her face and hands with unusual care before leaving home, and she presented them with considerable confidence; but Miss Powell pointed out several places on the sides of the fingers which were certainly far from clean.
"I can't help it," said Nelly. "I rubbed and rubbed, but it wouldn't come off."
"Well, never mind. We will perhaps find a way to remedy it. Wind your shuttle full of thread, in the first place."
Nelly filled her shuttle, and was soon happily at work. Miss Powell showed her the best way of holding the shuttle, and how to pass the thread through her fingers without letting go her hold, by which she was enabled to work much more rapidly. Presently the lady she had seen below in the shop came up-stairs. She first stared and then laughed, as she saw Nelly on the stool by Miss Powell's side. Nelly, on her part, gave her a glance which was any thing but friendly, and then turned her stool entirely round, so as to bring her face to the window.
"Well, I declare! What airs!" said the lady, laughing. "One would think she was, an earl's daughter in disguise, at the very least."
Nelly smiled proudly as she remembered the Butlers of Glengall, and thought perhaps the lady was nearer the truth than she supposed.
"But do you dare trust such a child in the midst of all these pretty things?" said the stranger, in a lower tone, but still loud enough for Nelly to hear. "I should think she would steal all she could lay her hands on."
"We cannot always tell by the outside who steals and who does not," answered Mrs. Kirkland, dryly. "We catch people stealing, sometimes, who are much better dressed than poor Nelly."
Nelly could see the lady's face in a mirror which hung near, and she was astonished to see her colour till her face was as scarlet as the worsted she held in her hand. She said no more, but occupied herself in picking out shades of worsted from the pile before her.
"Miss Powell," said Nelly, presently, "what makes folks think that people cannot be honest because they are not dressed nice?"
"I will tell you what I think about it, Nelly; but I don't know that I can make you understand. In this country, almost every one who is industrious and saving can afford to dress neatly. If they cannot buy new things very often, they can at least wash and mend what they have. So, when a person sees another in rags, he is apt to think that person must be idle or shiftless; and idle people are very apt to be dishonest people. Now do you understand?"
Nelly nodded. "I think it is a great deal in knowing how," said she. "Kitty Brown's mother never lets her have the least bit of a hole in her things, even if she hasn't any of the same kind to mend with; and Kitty is the same. She keeps her clothes nice,—oh, ever so long! But somehow, I can't keep my things nice. My frock gets a hole in it, and, when I ask granny to mend it, she says, 'Yes, dear, but there's time enough;' and, the first thing I know, it catches on a nail, or something else, and away it goes. I think it is the best way to mend them the first minute."
"No doubt it is; but Nelly, you must learn to mend your own clothes. You are old enough."
"I wish I did know how," said Nelly.
"Well, we will take the matter into consideration. And, now, what do you think about going to Sunday-school?"
"I shouldn't like to go just now," said Nelly. "I haven't any nice frock to wear; and that lady said I was a ragamuffin. She said you were always bringing such objects into the school. What is an object?"
"It is nothing very bad, Nelly," said Miss Powell, laughing, but looking, as Nelly thought, a little vexed. "An object really means any thing that you can see, or take hold of, or think about. This work of mine is an object, and that pretty doll there, and that red basket. So, you see, it was not a very ugly name."
"It sounded ugly as she said it," persisted Nelly.
"Perhaps so. But Nelly, if you had a proper dress would you like to come to Sunday-school?"
Nelly hesitated.
"Say just what you think," said Miss Powell.
"I should like to learn to read a little, first," said Nelly. "I couldn't learn lessons unless I could read; and I should be ashamed, such a big girl as me, to go with the little ones. I should feel so awkward I shouldn't know what to do."
A good many people would have considered this false shame on Nelly's part, and would have endeavoured to reason or laugh her out of it, in order to bring her at once into Sunday-school. Miss Powell thought differently. She believed Nelly's shame at her own ignorance would be the best spur in driving her to learn. She saw, too, that Nelly's feelings were very strong, and easily excited, and she was afraid that the laughter she might be exposed to from the other children in the infant-room would be likely enough to disgust her and drive her away altogether.
"Well, Nelly, perhaps you are right," said she. "I rather think you are. In fact, when you do come, I want to have you either in my class or Miss Kirkland's; and you could not well be in either unless you knew how to read."
"Does Miss Kirkland have a class,—that lady that gave me the thread and shuttle?"
"That is Mrs. Kirkland. She has a class of little boys. The young lady with fair hair down in the shop is Miss Kirkland,—the one who gave you the braid to bring up to me."
"I like her," said Nelly. "She spoke real kind when the other lady looked at me so scornful. But I had rather be in your class than any one's. Oh, I will try real hard to learn," said she, earnestly, and then added, hopefully, but rather doubtfully, "Do you think I could ever earn money enough to buy a frock?"
"Oh, yes; if you are industrious, and learn to work quickly and neatly. Come; we will go now and buy your new book."
How happy Nelly felt when the new, clean spelling-book, with its nice print and pretty pictures, was put into her hands,—all her own, the first she had ever owned, except a few toy-books her granny had given her! Miss Powell asked the clerk for a sheet of wrapping-paper, and covered the book neatly for Nelly, who could hardly believe in her own happiness.
"We will stop here a minute," said Miss Powell, pausing at a druggist's, where Nelly had often lingered to admire the pretty bottles in the window.
"What can I give you to-day, Miss Powell?" asked the clerk behind the counter.
"A piece of pumice-stone, and the cheapest nail-brush and tooth-brush you have which are good for any thing," answered Miss Powell; "and please charge them to my charity-fund."
Nelly had no idea that these things were meant for her, till Miss Powell put them into her hand and showed her how to use them. "Now, Nelly, you will have no excuse for not keeping your work clean and your breath sweet. Remember, one of the first things necessary towards 'being somebody,' as you say, is personal neatness and cleanliness. Don't you perceive that if your hair had been smoothly brushed and your dress clean and whole, your clothes might have been ever so cheap and poor, but that lady would never have thought of calling you a ragamuffin?"
"I thought about that, myself," said Nelly.
"And I must tell you another thing, Nelly. Mrs. Kirkland will not want to have you come about the store or work for her unless you take pains to look nice. You can easily mend the frock you have on, and ask your grandmother to wash and iron it, and mend that rent in your hat; and then you will look quite respectable."
"I don't know very much about mending," said Nelly, doubtfully.
"But you can do your best, and you can learn to do better," said Miss Powell. "Believe me, Nelly, it is much more important to learn to put in a patch nicely than it is to make the prettiest tatting that ever was seen; and it is not half so hard. And there is one more thing I want to say, Nelly. I shall not give you these things out and out, but upon the condition that out of every dollar you earn, you shall put by two cents, to be given to some person who is worse off than you are."
"Well, I will," said Nelly, much interested. "It is nice to have something to give away. I guess," she added, after some consideration, "I guess I had better mend my frock before I begin my tatting; because when I once begin I shall not want to stop."
"That is a very good plan. Well, good-by, my dear child. And Nelly, just one last word more. You must not forget to ask God's blessing on your work. Ask him to help you, and above all to make you a good girl."
These last words furnished Nelly with food for thought all the way home. She had for some days been trying very hard to be a good girl, but she did not succeed very well. She was conscious that she had been naughty that very morning in speaking disrespectfully and unkindly to her grandmother; and it came upon her heart like a weight when she remembered that she had seen tears in the old woman's eyes. She had been sorry directly, but she had been too proud and in too much of a hurry to say so, and she ran away without even saying good-by. She had meant never to be naughty again, after she had heard those beautiful chapters about heaven; but her resolutions had not seemed to do her much good. But if God would help her for the asking, it seemed to make her way much plainer.
"I will ask him just as soon as I go to bed," she thought; and then it occurred to her to inquire why she should not ask now. It would be a good many hours to bedtime, and she might do many naughty things before then. Nelly was not quite sure that it was right for her to speak to God without kneeling down and shutting her eyes, as she did when she said the prayer Kitty Brown taught her; but she resolved at last to risk it. Her prayer was very short. "Please make me a good girl. I want to be good and go to heaven; but I don't seem to know how. Please help me to be good and do my work nicely and be kind to granny. Please help me to learn to read quick, so I can go to Sunday-school. Amen."
Nelly went on with a lighter heart after her prayer, and found her granny busy over the dinner, and apparently taking more than usual pains with her cookery.
"How nice the dinner smells!" said Nelly. "What are you boiling, granny?"
"Sure, Mrs. Powers gave me a piece of bacon, and I have cut some greens on the common. So you'll have bacon and greens for your dinner," returned Mrs. Ryan; "and that's more than you desarve, being so cross to your own granny, that brought ye up."
Nelly had been, thinking, all the way home, that she would tell granny she was sorry for her hasty words; but this reproach touched her ever ready pride, and she was about to make a hasty reply,—when something said to her, "And are you going to do wrong the very first minute after you have asked God to help you be good?" Nelly swallowed something like a hard lump which rose in her throat, and answered,—
"Well, granny, I am sorry I was so naughty, and I won't be so any more. You are a dear, good granny, and I love you ever so much!"
"Sure, if you are sorry, there is no more to be said," said the kind-hearted old woman. "We mustn't expect gray heads on young shoulders. What have you got there?"
Nelly displayed all her treasures, her new book, her toilet-articles (the like of which granny had never beheld before), and, finally, her shuttle and thread, describing with great animation the nice lady and the pretty shop, and explaining all her grand prospects. The old woman listened attentively, and looked at Nelly's work with great interest.
"Sure, dear, I could have showed you that," said she. "I learned it when I was a girl; but we called it knitting, then. I used to know a many pretty patterns."
"Oh, granny, can't you remember some of them?" cried Nelly.
"May-be so, if I tried; but now here is your dinner, dear, and after that we will see."
"But I said I would mend my frock first. Miss Powell said I must look neat and nice when I came to the store; and I don't want to be called a ragamuffin again."
"And who was it called you a ragamuffin, dear?"
"A lady who was buying something in the shop; and, granny, you know I am ragged," said Nelly, surveying her frock. "There is no use in denying it."
"And what business had they to cast it up to you, and you the grand-daughter of Lord Glengall?" said Mrs. Ryan, who was apt now and then to forget the exact degree of her relationship to his lordship. "It is fine times, indeed, for them tradesfolk to be looking down upon you! Not that I'm saying a word against them ladies in the shop that taught ye the work," she added, hastily. "Of course, things is different here and in the old country. But nobody shall call you a ragamuffin again, dear!" And the old woman went on muttering and murmuring in Irish, as she was apt to do when excited. Nelly did not often pay much attention to these soliloquies, and, having finished her dinner and washed up the few dishes, she set herself seriously about mending her frock, while Mrs. Ryan, still murmuring to herself, made herself ready to go out.
"Where are you going, granny?" asked Nelly.
"Never you mind, dear. You will see when I come home. Just you sit upon the door-step and have an eye to the cow while I am away."
Nelly accordingly took her sewing to the door-step, where she worked away sedulously, now and then lifting her eyes to glance at the cow, and giving a peculiar cry which Crummie well understood as a hint that she must not stray too far.
"There!" said Nelly, at last, holding up her work, and looking at it. "That a'n't so bad, after all. I wonder if I can't wash it?" But glancing at the stove and perceiving that the fire was out, Nelly gave up the last idea, and, after a sedulous use of her new nail-brush and pumice-stone, she took her tatting and sat down to work at it, delighted to find how much faster she could work than before. She had made almost a quarter of a yard, when a shadow coming before her caused her to look up, and she uttered a joyful exclamation as she saw Mr. Lambert with a little carpet-bag in his hand.
"Well, Nelly, and so you are at work at your tatting still?" he said, kindly. "You are a persevering little girl."
"I don't like to give up when once I begin," said Nelly.
"That is right. No, I can't come in now. I have brought you a little present, Nelly—a frock and some other things of my daughter's,—which I think you will find useful. See: do you think you can wear this?"
Nelly's face grew crimson with delight at the sight of the pretty plaid frock hardly worn at all, she thought, the nice gray sack, and red striped stockings,—she had always wanted some red stockings,—and the good, substantial, though partly worn-out boots.
"And now, Nelly, I want you to do me a favour," said Mr. Lambert. "I want you to take your work and sit down just as you were when I first saw you by the side of the road,—there! that is just it. Now sit still a few minutes." Mr. Lambert took his book and pencil, and drew rapidly for about twenty minutes.
"There, that will do," said he. "Now tell me, which is your cow?"
"I will call her, if you want to see her," said Nelly, much puzzled with these strange proceedings. "She always comes when I call her."
Nelly called Crummie, accordingly, who came obediently and stood quite still, munching the bits of bread Nelly gave her; while Mr. Lambert again drew in his book for a little while.
"I think I have it now," said he, at last, shutting up his book and putting it in his pocket, without offering to show Nelly the drawing he had made. "Many thanks, Nelly. I hope you will go regularly to Sunday-school and learn all you can. Will you?"
"Yes, sir."
Mr. Lambert walked away, and Nelly stood watching him for some minutes before it flashed across her mind that she had promised to go to Sunday-school.
"But I did not say when I would go," said she to herself. "I do mean to go as soon as I learn to read a little."
Nelly did not feel quite satisfied with this evasion, but she dismissed the thought for the present, and began trying on her new clothes. They were all too large; but Nelly did not mind that. It was a good fault, she said; and great was the satisfaction with which she looked at herself in the foot-square of mirror which was all she possessed.
"Now, if I only had a nice hat; but may-be I'll get that too. I guess I could buy one for twelve shillings or a dollar, and I can soon earn that. Won't granny be pleased? And here she comes now. Why, granny, have you been buying out all the stores this afternoon?"
Mrs. Ryan had her arms full of parcels, which she flung down on the bed with,—
"There, my Lady Eleanor! just see there what. I've brought you;" and then, observing Nelly's new clothes, "And pray where did you get all these fine things?"
Nelly related the events of the afternoon, and was disappointed and a good deal puzzled to see that her grandmother did not seem at all pleased.
"Sure, he might have brought them before, if he'd been coming at all! Much good they are now, to be sure!"
"Why, granny, what is the matter?" asked Nelly. "Don't you think it was kind of the gentleman? I thought you would be glad to see me look so nice."
"And so you do look nice, dear; and I am glad, only—But never mind. We won't borrow trouble. Why don't you open your parcel and see what I have got for you?"
Nelly uttered exclamations of delight over the contents of the bundles. There were two nice new frocks, a gayly-striped petticoat,—even a hoop-skirt. Another parcel held a pretty straw hat, trimmed with beads and blue ribbons, a nice white handkerchief, and a pair of thread gloves.
"Why, granny, all these for me!" exclaimed Nelly. "It never rains but it pours. Just think of me with three new frocks at once, and a hat, and all!"
"Mind you take care of them, for they cost a deal of money," said Mrs. Ryan. "Ay, a deal of money," she repeated, nodding her head. "But I won't have you called a ragamuffin again by these upstarts, that never saw a rale lady or lord in their lives."
"Oh, the name didn't hurt me any," said Nelly, who could now afford to laugh at her morning's trouble. "Words break no bones, you know you say, granny."
"Ay, dear; but they break worse, sometimes. They break hearts; and hearts can't be mended as easy as bones. Remember that, dear," said the old woman, significantly. "And now put all the fine things away, and get the supper ready; for I'm tired and weary."
Nelly obeyed, wondering more and more at her grandmother's unusual mood. She tried to divert her from it by asking her questions about Ireland and Kilmane Park. But, for once, the artifice failed of its effect. Granny gave short though not unkind answers, and continued to talk to herself in Irish, till at last Nelly grew scared.
"Don't you feel well, granny? Shall I go for the doctor?"
"No, dear," said Mrs. Ryan, rousing herself with an effort. "There's nothing much the matter, but a trouble of my own that ye can't help. And it's glad and pleased I am to see you so neat and handy, and to know that the child of my heart has found friends to help her when—But never mind that. Was it the park you was asking about?"
"Yes, granny; about the fountains you told me of, and the lake where the young lord was drowned."
Mrs. Ryan plunged at once into the legend of the lake; and when Nelly went out with her milk, she left her granny almost as cheerful as ever.
She went first, as usual, to Mrs. Vandake's.
"What book have you there?" asked Mrs. Vandake.
"My spelling-book, ma'am. I bought it myself," said Nelly, with justifiable pride.
"But you need not have done that, child. Don't you know I promised you one? I found it for you only this afternoon."
"I didn't like to wait, and you didn't like it, either, when I told you of it," said Nelly.
"But you might have known. However, I don't blame you. I did put you off, I know. Well, never mind; you won't want the spelling-book, but you may have the Reader all the same."
Nelly thanked her, thinking that there was no end of presents that day. After she had finished all her other errands, she went to Mrs. Powers's; and it was with no small satisfaction to pupil and teacher that she took her first reading-lesson of Kitty Brown.
FOR some time Nelly's reading-lessons went on very prosperously. Kitty, though not a very experienced, was a very zealous teacher, and Nelly was extremely anxious to learn. Mrs. Powers herself took a great interest in these lessons, and gave Kitty many hints as to the best way of proceeding, besides now and then hearing a lesson herself; and Nelly, whenever she went down to the shop with her work, carried her spelling and reading book with her, to display her progress to Miss Powell. She had learned to make tatting with great rapidity and precision; and Granny Ryan, reviving the knowledge she had acquired in her childhood, showed Nelly how to make several different patterns,—the shamrock, or clover-leaf, the daisy, and so forth.
Nelly was now always clean and neat, with well-washed hands and face and nicely-brushed hair; and Mrs. Kirkland, finding her both handy and trustworthy, used to employ her in little matters about the store. Sometimes she dusted show-cases, and baskets which were hanging up; sometimes she sorted out worsted from a large box of coloured odds and ends, which ordinarily resembled the box of coloured silks presented by the fairy Disorder in Miss Taylor's Original Poems. Nelly was not in the least aware that she was under close observation at these times; but such was the case. Mrs. Kirkland and Miss Powell had a benevolent design for her, and they were at the same time educating her for the place and trying her fitness for it. Nelly was now earning a good deal of money; and, as she had no occasion to spend it in a new dress, she allowed it to accumulate in Mrs. Kirkland's hands.
Nelly had made up her mind, after some consideration, that her promise to Mr. Lambert obliged her to go to Sunday-school at once, without waiting till she should learn to read. How much her new hat and frock had to do with this decision, I cannot say; but certain it is that she presented herself at the school the very next Sunday, and was placed, at Miss Powell's special desire, in her own class,—Miss Powell herself undertaking to see that she had her lessons.
Fortunately for both Nelly and her teacher, the whole of the intermediate department of the large school learned the same lesson, five verses in the Gospel of St. Matthew every Sunday, to be recited word for word. Nelly was soon able, with Kitty's assistance, to spell out the lessons for herself, and Miss Powell showed her how to learn them easily and perfectly, by committing one verse to memory every day and repeating it many times over, reviewing the verses which went before. Kitty, who had been learning verses and hearing the Bible read ever since she could remember, was astonished at the interest Nelly took in these lessons. Kitty never thought of learning more than her allotted five verses; but Nelly always wanted to read on to the end of the story, however long it might be. Especially was she interested in any thing about heaven. It was a subject on which she was never tired of thinking and talking.
For Nelly, though her condition had considerably improved since we first saw her at her grandmother's gate, was not very happy. She was a child of strong and deep feelings; she had—however she came by it—a natural taste for every thing neat and pretty and graceful, and there was very little in her own home to gratify these tastes. She would have been glad to clean up the house and to put the garden in some kind of order; but granny was very jealous of any interference within doors; and as for the garden, where was the use in trying to plant any thing, so long as Crummie was allowed to run at her own sweet will about the place? In vain Nelly represented to her grandmother the convenience of having lettuce and peas of their own raising, and the advantages which would be derived from planting out the raspberry-shoots Mrs. Powers had offered to give her. Mrs. Ryan thought the peas would want sticks; and where were they to come from? and the cow—poor craythur—would break her heart entirely if she had to be tied up at night.
"Do you think you know more than your granny that brought you up? And where would you have been now, if I hadn't taken care of you? And now you set yourself up to teach me! Sure you're growing proud, and ashamed of old granny, that has worked and slaved for you all your life, because you've got some grand friends all at once."
And then the old woman would break out into a passionate lament over her hard fate and her child's ingratitude; and Nelly, vexed and grieved, would give up the subject for that time, or she would lose her own temper, and scold back again,—which was much worse; for it made granny ten times more unreasonable, besides leaving a sore pain in Nelly's own conscience, which lasted long after granny had regained her good humour.
It was a certain case that granny was becoming more and more irritable all the time. Perhaps she was only jealous of Nelly's new friends; perhaps there was some other cause; but the old woman grew very hard to get on with. Then Nelly disliked her work more and more. She did not so much mind watching Crummie on the common, or driving her farther out in the country, where the grass by the road-sides was fresh and green, and where she could sit on a fence or a stone and work on her tatting. But she hated putting on her old frock and going about gathering swill; and she was always afraid that some of the ladies she saw in Mrs. Kirkland's shop would recognize her. This did actually happen one day, to Nelly's intense mortification. A lady who lived on the Avenue, and to whose house Nelly often went for swill, saw and spoke to her.
"Why, Nelly, is this you? What are you doing here?"
Nelly coloured, and muttered something in answer; and when Miss Powell came back she found her crying. It was some time before she could get at the cause of grief; but at last out it all came, and a great deal more,—ending with Nelly's old complaint, "There is no use in my ever trying to be anybody."
"Nelly," said Miss Powell, gravely, "I am afraid you have a great deal of false pride."
"I don't know what you mean, Miss Powell," said Nelly.
"Is there any thing wrong in gathering swill or feeding the cow?" asked Miss Powell.
"No, ma'am; it is to help granny."
"Then it is right, instead of wrong."
"Yes, ma'am. But if I could only help her in some other way."
"If you could work in the shop, as I do, for instance, you would not be ashamed of that, you think?"
"No, ma'am; I should be very silly to be ashamed of that. I should be proud of it."
Miss Powell smiled.
"And yet, Nelly, a great many of the ladies you see here would almost as soon gather swill, as you do, as work in the shop. There is a lady—I tell you this in confidence, and you must not repeat it—who makes tatting for us, and does beautiful embroidery. We pay her a great deal of money every year, yet she is always in a fright lest some of her genteel acquaintances should find out that she works for a shop; and, I am sorry to say, she has told a good many wrong stories about it. What do you think of that?"
"She is very silly," said Nelly. "I should think she would be proud of earning money."
"On the contrary, she thinks it a degradation. She feels herself lowered by it; and, if any of her fine acquaintances should meet her here and see her receiving pay for her work, she would cry as bitterly as you did just now, and with just about as much reason."
Welly blushed scarlet. "But, after all, Miss Powell, it is not nice work," said she. "It is nasty, disagreeable work, and gets my hands and clothes all dirt."
"That is a very good reason why you should dislike it, and why you should want to do something better as soon as possible, but no reason why you should be ashamed of it, so long as it is necessary. If you were depending on other people for support while you could help yourself, or if you were pursuing any dishonest course to obtain money, you would have good reason to be ashamed of that; but you need never blush to have people know that you do any kind of honest and necessary work."
"I am ashamed of our house, sometimes," said Nelly. "It looks so shackling and dirty, and every thing lies all about; while all the places around are neat and pretty, and painted up so nice. I do try, sometimes, to put things in order; but granny is put out when I do, and says I feel above her."
"You see, granny has her pride too, Nelly. But I would not worry her about it. She is growing an old woman, and, I dare say, does not feel very well."
"Granny is very different from what she used to be," said Nelly, after she had worked a while in silence. "It worries me a great deal, sometimes."
"How different?" asked Miss Powell.
"She used always to be so good-natured," said Nelly; "nothing ever seemed to put her out, hardly. And now every thing makes her cross. Some days she frets from morning till night, and I can't do any thing to please her."
"Poor granny!" said Miss Powell. "You must try to be very patient and gentle with her, Nelly. Don't contradict her or try to argue with her. Just let her have her own way."
"I do try," said Nelly; "but sometimes she provokes me, and I answer back, and scold; and then I am always sorry."
"Yes; it is not a good plan. You must learn to have patience, Nelly; and when you find it hard you must ask God to help you."
So Nelly did, and she tried very hard to keep the peace with granny. But she was not happy. She had little comfort at home; and when she thought about going to heaven, as she did whenever things went wrong, she began to find herself oppressed with a new trouble. She did not see how she was ever going to get there. Mrs. Brown had told her that she must be good in order to go to heaven; and Nelly knew very well that she was not good. She began to see new faults in herself every day,—faults that she had never before thought of as faults. She tried very hard to conquer them; but she did not always succeed, and they were constantly coming up again when she thought them vanquished. She always meant to talk the subject over with Miss Powell; but she could not do so without confessing how naughty she was, and her pride (always one of the strong points of her character) forbade her doing that. So she went on with more or less of a load on her mind all the time,—doing her best to conquer herself;—always defeated, soon or late,—and, with the perseverance which she showed in every thing, always trying again.
It was now the middle of November. Nelly had learned to read pretty well,—and also to write a little, by means of Kitty Brown's old copy-books, which her careful mother had preserved. She had not only learned to make tatting, in which she excelled, but also to sew more or less neatly, and to do several different crochet stitches. She seemed to have a natural talent for using her hands; and all she undertook she accomplished with a deft quickness that constantly surprised Miss Powell. Book-learning came a good deal harder; and Nelly was sometimes inclined to give up in despair over her words of three syllables and her first attempts at understanding figures. Nevertheless, she kept on, determined not to be overcome, and encouraged by Miss Powell's assurance that she would find it easier by-and-by. She had made a great deal of tatting, and had kept a rude account of the number of spools of thread she had worked up; and she was already calculating what sort of a warm shawl she should buy for winter,—when something occurred which upset all her fine plans.
One day she came home from the shop in excellent spirits. She had learned some new work,—how to embroider with worsted,—and Miss Kirkland had lent her a simple pattern, with the shades to work it, and a square of canvas. She had asked the price of some pretty woollen shawls, and calculated that she could afford to buy one and still have money to spare for a present for granny. Moreover, Mr. Garland, the pastor of the church Nelly attended, had recognized and shaken hands with her, and had called her Miss Nelly. Nobody need laugh at Nelly. She had a right to be pleased. It was a mark of respect, and showed her that she looked like a lady.
Nelly had another cause of rejoicing that, day. She had at last opened her mind to Miss Powell and told her all her troubles, and she had learned that she was not expected to work her way to heaven,—that a way had been provided, not for saints, but for sinners,—that Jesus had died that she might live, and because He lived she should live also. Nelly had not understood clearly all Miss Powell told her; she had laid up a great deal for thought and future inquiry; but she felt that God was her friend, that he was not a taskmaster, exacting from her so much for so much, but that he was more desirous to have her in heaven than she was to go there; that all her debt was paid and overpaid, and her service was now a labour of love and thankfulness to Him who had bought her with so great a price. Nelly felt as though she could never commit another wilful sin. All the lingering flowers in the gardens she passed, all the gay leaves strewing the side-walks under the maples, every thing, from the clouds over her head to the beautiful soft wools she held in her hand, had a new beauty in her eyes. As she approached the gate, and remembered how utterly miserable she had been the first day she saw Miss Powell, she could hardly believe she was the same person.
As Nelly drew nearer, she was rather surprised to see the gate hanging open, and Crummie with her head almost in at the door, lowing in vain for her mid-day pail of water. Her grandmother was nowhere to be seen. Much startled, Nelly hurried forward, and entered the house. The fire was out, and granny sat on her stool by the side of the cold stove, her pipe on the floor, her head between her hands, and rocking back and forth, now and then giving vent to her feelings in a low wail,—that terrible Irish keene, more harrowing to the nerves than almost any other sound I have ever heard.
It was a long time before Nelly could get at the truth, through her grandmother's passionate words and lamentations, her bitter denunciation of the hard-hearted man who would turn Nelly upon the street and herself into the poor-house, and her recollections of the ancient grandeur and wealth of the Butlers, who would never have demaned themselves to speak to the like of him; but at last all came out.
She learned that Mr. Grayson, of whom her grandmother had bought the place long before, had been to see her that morning. She learned, to her utter amazement and consternation, that the place had never been paid for, that it did not belong to them, and that they were likely at any time to be turned out into the street.
IT is small wonder that Nelly forgot every thing,—even her new-found hope,—and sat down for a few minutes in dumb despair. But she was not one to give up long at a time, and the training of the past summer had developed her natural qualities of determination and perseverance. Presently she began to question her grandmother and to try to get at particulars. But the old woman would do nothing but cry and lament and wail, till Nelly's overstrained nerves began to give way under the excitement. She found her voice and hands beginning to tremble and her heart to throb violently; and she felt instinctively that it would never do to give way. She turned and went out.
"Nelly, Nelly!" called the old woman. "Don't be after going away, dear! Don't desert your poor old granny!"
"I am not going away, granny dear," said Nelly, gently. "I will come back in a few minutes."
As she opened the door, she found poor Crummie waiting for her drink, and expressing as much astonishment as a cow was capable of, at the unwonted neglect.
"Poor Crummie!" said Nelly; "you shall not suffer, at any rate, as long as I have any thing to give you."
She went to the pump and brought a pailful of water for the cow. The familiar action did something of itself towards calming her agitation, as duties performed, however simple, almost always do.
She stood by the cow while she drank, and then went into the little shed and shut the door after her. When she came out, she had been crying, and her face was pale; but she was calm and composed as if she had received new strength.
"Come, granny," said she, cheerfully, as she re-entered the house; "we must have something to eat, at any rate, even if we are turned out this very night. I am going to kindle up a fire and make you a nice, strong cup of tea, and some toast. You will feel better when you have eaten something."
At first granny resolutely refused to touch any food; but Nelly's coaxing at last prevailed. She drank one cup, and then another, and then found out that she was hungry, and ended with making a good meal.
Nelly could not eat,—the food seemed to choke her; but the tea was refreshing and comforting.
As granny's bodily wants were supplied, her spirits rose in proportion; and by the time she had finished her sixth cup she was ready to cast off all her anxiety and believe that something would turn up to make all right.
"And what if we do have to leave the old shanty? It's only for a while; and it's not much we shall miss it when we get back to Kilmane, where they wouldn't have it for a dog-kennel."
Nelly found it hard to repress the impatient words which rose to her lips at this speech. But she controlled herself, and answered quietly—
"Well, never mind that now, granny. I want to hear just what Mr. Grayson said."
"Sure I told you what he said. What does it signify? and what could you do, if you knew,—a child like you? Don't be setting yourself above your betters, Nelly Ryan!"
Nelly had no intention of setting herself up. But she knew that, child as she was, she would have to do all that was to be done; and she persisted till, partly by coaxing, partly by a little mild compulsion, she succeeded in extracting the whole story. The place had been about one-third paid for at first; and, since then, Mrs. Ryan had kept along by paying her interest, and a few dollars in addition, once or twice a year. But this last year she had not even paid her interest; and Mr. Grayson, getting out of patience, declared that he would wait upon her no longer.
"How did it happen that you did not pay the interest this year, granny?"
"Sure I had other uses for the money; and what was ten or fifteen dollars to him, that's rolling in riches?"
"But if it was his, granny, he ought to have had it. People want what is their own, if they are rich, I suppose."
"And, if he was a rale gentleman, he'd never think of disthressing a poor widow for a few dollars. But there's no such gentlemen here as there is at home in old Ireland."
"I am sure, granny, they do things as bad in Ireland. Didn't you tell me, only yesterday, how Sir Patrick Byrne used to live in Paris and let his factor squeeze the people for their rent, and take their bits of pigs and pull down the shanty over their heads? But never mind that," she added, hastily. "No doubt there's good and bad both there and here. You did not tell me how it was that you didn't pay the money this year."
"And didn't I lay it all out for you, ungrateful child that you are, for the very clothes that you go to church in, as fine as a paycock, and me not a dacent rag to my back nor a roof over my head? Answer me that, miss! And you coming and telling me how the ladies called you a ragamuffin! A pretty thing, indeed, for you to throw it in my face, and me turning meself out of house and home for your sake!"
"I didn't mean to throw it in your face, granny. I am sure you meant to be very kind; and the things were just what I wanted. We won't mind about that. What did Mr. Grayson say about our going out of the house?"
But no more was to be got out of granny, except wails and reproaches.
"Well, never mind," said Nelly, after a little consideration. "How much money have you got in the house, granny?"
Granny did not know. It was all in the broken mug on the shelf.
Nelly counted it over, and found there were almost five dollars. She then examined into the state of the provisions.
"There is flour enough for two weeks yet, besides the meal and the potatoes, and the great piece of pork Mrs. Ward gave us when she shut up her house. There is tea enough for you, and you don't want sugar. I want to take this money, granny, to put with what I have at the shop. May-be he will let us off, after all, if we pay all we can."
At first, the old woman was utterly opposed to this plan. It was only throwing it away to pay it to that old miser; and what should they do if they gave away all their money, forbye the cow, that must have her food?
Nelly was by no means sure that the cow would not have to go too; but she wisely forbore to say any thing about that at present. She reminded granny that the milk-money would be coming in on Saturday, and would be more than enough to supply all that was wanted, and then dressed herself to go out again, asking her granny to have an eye to Crummie.
Granny murmured something about Nelly's thinking she knew more than anybody; but she made no more active opposition; and Nelly set out on her expedition,—without much courage, it must be confessed, but with a determination to do her best.
Her first visit was to Miss Powell. The shop was full of people, and Nelly had to restrain her impatience while Miss Powell sorted worsted, matched beads, helped people to make up their minds whether they wanted to work camp-chairs or brackets, and to decide between Persian patterns and flower patterns, cross-stitch or Penelope stitch, chalk beads or crystal,—and all the thousand and one things which belong to a retail fancy-store towards holiday time.
At last, Miss Kirkland caught sight of Nelly's distressed face, and, going to her relief, whispered to Miss Powell,—
"Do see what that child wants. She looks the picture of distress and impatience."
Miss Powell slipped out and drew Nelly into a corner of the ante-room.
"Now, Nelly, tell me what is the trouble; for I am sure there is something serious the matter. But be quick; for you see how busy I am."
In a few words, Nelly told her story, ending with, "I thought I would see how much Mrs. Kirkland owed me; and, if she would pay me, I would carry the money to Mr. Grayson. Perhaps he would let us stay on and make up the rest by-and-by. And, at any rate, it would do no harm to try."
"No harm, certainly; but perhaps a great deal of good," said Miss Powell. "Is that your plan, or granny's?"
"Mine," replied Nelly. "Granny is rather for letting it go; but I can't bear to do that. We have paid so much on it already; and then the neighbours all know us, and we them, and they are very kind. We mightn't do so well with the milk anywhere else."
"Very true. Well, Nelly, I will ask Mrs. Kirkland to run over your account. She is very busy; but no doubt she will make time, as the need is so urgent. Come down to the desk with me."
Mrs. Kirkland was very busy, trying to be on three different floors and in six different places all at once; but on hearing the story, she left all, and calculated Nelly's account, while the child stood waiting between fear and hope.
"Well, Nelly, how much do you think I owe you?"
Nelly guessed about eighteen dollars.
"More than that, Nelly. I owe you twenty-five dollars and a half: twenty-two fifty for tatting, and the rest for work that you have done here in the store."
Nelly drew a long breath. "I did not think it was near so much. I did not think what I did in the store was any thing. I never expected to be paid for that."
"But I meant to pay you, my dear. You were a great help to me, and you did your work faithfully and well. I hope you may do a great deal more yet. Here is your money."
Nelly could hardly believe her eyes or her fingers as she turned over the three clean bills,—two tens and a five. She had never had a tenth part as much in her hands before.
"Now go on and see Mr. Grayson," said Miss Powell; "and do not be frightened if he is a little rough at first. I do not think he is a bad man; though he is often hard and harsh in his manners. I would go with you, if I could. But I cannot be spared; and, after all, perhaps you will do better alone."
You may guess how Nelly's heart beat as she ascended the stairs which led to Mr. Grayson's office. A sort of mist seemed to swim before her eyes as she opened the door and entered; and it was half a minute before she could distinguish objects. When she could, she saw an old gentleman sitting at a desk, near an open fire, and busily engaged in writing. He just glanced round, and, seeing a little girl standing at the door, he said, hastily,—
"No, no. No beggars here. Go away, child; go away."
"If you please, sir, I am not a beggar," said Nelly, with dignity. "I came upon business."
"Upon business!" returned Mr. Grayson, laying down his pen and turning round. "And what may be your business, child?"
"I am Mrs. Ryan's grand-daughter, that lives in College Street," said Nelly.
But Mr. Grayson interrupted her. "And you have come to beg your grandmother off, I suppose?—eh? Wasn't I right in saying you were a beggar?—eh?"
"No, sir," said Nelly, with a flush of colour in her cheek and a flash of her gray eyes. "I have got some money of my own, that I earned; and I thought I would ask you if you were willing to take that, and let us stay a while longer and try to pay the rest."
Mr. Grayson laid down his pen, and pushed his glasses up on his forehead to look at Nelly. He might have looked through all his pictures and not have seen any thing prettier or more attractive than the neat little figure before him.
"Come here, child," said he. "Don't be afraid. Come; I want to talk to you."
Nelly approached; and Mr. Grayson turned his arm-chair towards the fire, and drew her close to him.
"What is your name?"
"Nelly Ryan."
"How old are you, Nelly?"
"Going on fourteen, sir."
"And so you have earned some money? How much?"
"Twenty-five dollars, sir; and I have five dollars more."
"Twenty-five dollars!" said Mr. Grayson, surprised. He had expected to hear of three or four dollars at the most. "Twenty-five dollars!" he repeated. "Pray, how could such a chit as you earn twenty-five dollars?"
"I work for Mrs. Kirkland, at the fancy-store on the corner," said Nelly. "I make tatting for her, and sometimes I help her in the store. I didn't think it was so much myself, till she told me."
"Tatting!" repeated the old gentleman. "I think I have seen my girl make something she called tatting. That is the work the ladies do when they hold a pin in their mouth, isn't it?"
Nelly laughed. She could not help taking courage from this little joke of the old gentleman's.
"Yes, sir; but I put my pin on my waist."
"But twenty-five dollars seems a great deal to earn in such work as that, my girl. Are you sure you are telling me the truth, now?" Nelly did not flinch under the penetrating glance the old gentleman fixed upon her.
"You can ask Mrs. Kirkland herself, sir. I get six shillings a spool, and I can make two spools a week, and sometimes a little more. Mrs. Kirkland has tatting collars worth ten dollars apiece; but I cannot make those yet," she added, modestly. "Miss Powell is going to teach me when she gets time. She has taught me all I know, except to read."
"Oh, indeed! And who taught you to read?"
"Kitty Brown, that lives at Mrs. Powers's, sir."
"Oh! So Kitty taught you to read? And can you write, Nelly?"
"Yes, sir."
"And who taught you that? Miss Powell?"
"No, sir. I learned out of Kitty's old copy-books. Miss Powell showed me a little, though; and I take my copy-book to show her when I go to the shop."
"I see! I see! Why, Nelly, you must be rather a persevering little girl, I think."
"I don't like to give up any thing when once I begin," said Nelly. "Is that persevering?"
"That is persevering," replied Mr. Grayson, apparently much amused; "and an excellent thing it is. And you say you have got—how much money?"
"Twenty-five dollars that I earned, and five dollars of granny's. And please, sir, granny would have paid in the summer, only she spent the money to buy clothes for me to wear to Sunday-school, because I cried because a lady called me a ragamuffin. I didn't know it till to-day."
"Oh, ho!" said Mr. Grayson. "Well, Nelly, see here. I want to think about this matter a little and to make some inquiries. You may go home now, and come here again to-morrow afternoon. And Nelly, you had better not take your money home, but give it to Mrs. Kirkland to keep for you. Your house is not very secure, and something might happen. Don't you be troubled, my girl," he added, seeing that Nelly looked disappointed. "I mean to do exactly what is right by you and your granny; and, anyhow, I sha'n't turn you into the street. I dare say I was rough with the old woman this morning. You see, Nelly, people think that because I am rich it doesn't matter whether I have my dues or not. So they try to cheat me; and that makes me angry."
"Granny would not cheat you," said Nelly, rather indignantly. "She never cheated anybody."
"Good for you, Nelly! Always stand up for granny." He put his hand in his pocket, and took out twenty-five cents. "Suppose I give you this for your own; what will you do with it?"
"Pay it to you for the house," said Nelly, slyly.
Mr. Grayson laughed. "That would be hardly worth my while, Nelly. But what would you buy for yourself?"
"Some tobacco for granny. She is old, you know, and she can't do without her pipe," said Nelly, in a tone of apology. "I wish she would; for it makes the place smell so. But please, Mr. Grayson, I would rather you would not give me any money just now,—not when we owe you so much. It don't seem fair, somehow."
"Well, just as you like," said Mr. Grayson. "But I think granny must have her tobacco."
He rose as he spoke, and, taking an empty wafer-box, he stuffed it full of tobacco from a large jar which stood on his table. "There; give that to granny. She never smoked any like that, I am certain. You see, I am old too, and I don't know how to do without my tobacco, either. But it is a bad habit, Nelly,—a nasty habit. Don't you have any thing to do with it."
"No danger, sir. I can't bear it," said Nelly, thinking, at the same time, how strange it was that Mr. Grayson should use it himself while he condemned it in others. She did not know the enslaving force of habit and appetite.
"Well, good-by, Nelly. Be a good girl, sleep sound, and come here this time to-morrow afternoon."
"Well, Nelly, what news?" asked Mrs. Kirkland, as Nelly entered the shop to deposit her money. "I don't quite know how to read your face."
Nelly repeated all that had passed.
"I think you may be easy," said Mrs. Kirkland. "I know Mr. Grayson pretty well,—indeed, he is my landlord,—and I don't think he means you any harm. But remember, Nelly, whatever happens, you have always friends in Miss Powell and in me. I advise you to go home, make your house as clean and nice as you can, say your prayers, and trust all to God."
"WELL, and what did he say to ye?" asked Mrs. Ryan, as Nelly re-entered the house, where she still sat on her low stool, just as Nelly had left her; and then, before there was time to answer, "Sure I knew there was no use in going to him,—only just throwing away your money, and leaving me without so much as a penny to buy tobacco. But you're getting so set-up with your Sunday-school and your fine ways, that you think you know more than your own granny, that brought you up, and has seen real ladies and gentlemen in Ireland, such as would never demane themselves with work, as they do here."
"I have brought you some tobacco, granny," said Nelly, as soon as she could stem the tide of words. "Mr. Grayson sent it to you himself; and he was very kind, granny,—not cross at all."
"Sure he'd not be cross to you, and you coming to put money in his pocket," returned granny, slightly mollified by the sight and smell of her favourite refreshment, "and you looking and speaking as pretty as a born lady, which you are! What did he tell you, dear?"
"He told me to come again to-morrow afternoon, and he would see what he could do," replied Nelly. "He would hardly believe I had earned so much by my work; and I dare say he means to go and ask Mrs. Kirkland herself about it. But come, granny; do light your pipe and be comfortable, and I will tell you all about it while I am getting supper ready. I am afraid we shall be late with the milk."
It was not from any love of the smoke that Nelly urged granny to light her pipe; but she knew from long experience that granny's good humour was very much a matter of physical sensation. When she was comfortable, she was usually amiable; when she was uncomfortable, she was almost always cross. Mr. Grayson's tobacco was of very superior quality, and granny's spirits rose with the smoke she puffed out, till she was ready to believe that Mr. Grayson not only meant to allow them to remain in the house, but intended to make them a present of it out and out.
Nelly was not so sanguine as that. She did not expect Mr. Grayson to give them the house, nor did she see any reason why he should do so. The most she hoped was that he would allow them to remain where they were and pay for the place by degrees; and she determined in her own mind that every shilling she could spare from her earnings should go for that purpose. She finished up her work, and then set out to carry round her milk, not forgetting to take her book with her that she might read to Kitty Brown.
Kitty was secretly growing rather tired of these lessons. As long as she was decidedly Nelly's superior in learning, she was very willing to teach her, and felt a pleasant sense of patronage in so doing. But now Nelly read and wrote as well as Kitty, if not better; she had learned several sorts of work which Kitty did not know, and was always asking questions which Kitty could not answer, especially about the Bible. Kitty felt it rather a reproach to herself that Nelly, who had only been to Sunday-school six months in all her life, and hardly ever heard of a Bible before that time, should care so much more about it than she did; and it annoyed her whenever Nelly talked about heaven, as she was very fond of doing.
All these feelings were, perhaps, no more than natural. Kitty might not be able to help having them, in the first place; but she could have helped entertaining and dwelling upon them till she nourished up a spirit of envy and jealousy towards her friend which made her feel like saying and doing almost any thing disagreeable and spiteful. Hence, when Nelly produced her Testament and proposed to read over the next Sunday's lesson, Kitty answered, pettishly enough, that she hadn't time.
"It won't be but a minute, you know," pleaded Nelly, whose heart was full of things that she wished to talk over with her friend; "and it is such an interesting lesson! And oh, Kitty, Miss Powell was talking to me this morning, down at the store, about heaven; and she says,—"
"You are always talking about what Miss Powell says, as if she was the only person in the world," interrupted Kitty. "I guess my Sunday-school teacher knows as much as she does, any day."
"I am sure I never said she didn't," said Nelly, a good deal hurt by Kitty's tone and manner; "only, you know, we have always been over the lessons together; and I thought you would like to hear what she told me. I am sure I did. I don't hardly know what I should have done to-day, only for that. It seemed—" added Nelly, reverently, "it seemed just as though God sent it to me on purpose."
"Yes; that's very likely," said Kitty, half to herself, as she wrung out her cloth with a good deal more energy than was necessary. "Do you suppose God thinks so much more of you than he does of any one else, as all that comes to?"
"Of course not," replied Nelly. "That isn't it. But Kitty, the Bible says, not a sparrow falls to the ground without him, and the very hairs of our heads are all numbered. That was the very first Bible lesson I learned. And, besides, Miss Powell says that God does love me—yes, even me—just as much as if there were no one else in the world; and so why shouldn't he send me things just when I want them? It seems only natural to me. If I love people, I always want to help them. Don't you?"
"You! Oh, you are a great saint, no doubt!" said Kitty, scornfully, and feeling more and more provoked, she could not tell why. "For my part, I don't set myself up to be better than other folks. I don't pretend to be a saint. If I can get along and do as well as my neighbours, I shall be satisfied, for my part. I never knew any good come of people's setting themselves up as patterns. Look at Mr. Jenkins, how he treats Abbey."
"Oh, Kitty!" said Nelly. "Didn't I hear you say, the other day, that Abbey was enough to provoke a saint, and that you would like to see your mother get hold of her?"
"Well, well," said Kitty, assuming the superior all at once, "I haven't any time to stay here gossiping with you, Nelly. You had better take your pails and go along. It Is growing late, and Mrs. Powers won't like it. She doesn't like to have people hanging about the kitchen."
Nelly looked at Kitty for a moment without a word, and then, taking up her pails, walked out of the kitchen, and shut the door behind her with more than usual softness, leaving Kitty master of the field, but by no means satisfied with her victory. Something told her that she had acted a mean and cowardly part towards Nelly,—that she had broken her word, and disappointed her friend; and her pride also told her that she had been far from appearing to advantage, and that Nelly would have a good excuse for despising her. All these feelings did not tend to make her more good-natured or more attentive to her work; and the consequence was that she first broke a valuable china pitcher, and then was so impertinent about it that Mrs. Powers gave her a severe lecture and threatened to send her home to her mother. Kitty went to bed and cried herself to sleep; nor did she find any comfort in the thought that God saw and noticed all she did. Kitty was afraid of God when she thought of him at all. She did not love him.
Meantime, Nelly walked homewards with her heart full of grief and perplexity. It seemed to her as though every thing disagreeable in her life had all come together on this one day, which had begun so happily. She loved Kitty with all her heart, and she racked her brains in trying to think how she could have offended her. Perseverance was rather natural to Nelly, and the habit of mind had become so strengthened that she could not possibly understand that Kitty should have grown tired of her undertaking. Then there were her lessons. She had always referred all the hard words to Kitty, and now Miss Powell was so busy all the time, she did not like to trouble her. Moreover, Kitty had promised to help her with her sums, and had lent her a slate and pencil. She did not feel as though she could keep on using them while Kitty was so angry with her. And who would help her? or how was she to learn without a teacher?
As Nelly walked along the quiet moonlit street, thinking of these things, she almost ran against a lady who was just going in at her own gate.
"Why, who is this?" asked the lady.
"Nelly Ryan, ma'am," answered Nelly, hastily brushing away the tears which had run over her eyelids. "I didn't mean to run against you; but I was just thinking of something, and I did not see you."
"And I was just thinking of you, Nelly," replied the lady. "Have you all the customers you want for your milk?"
"No, ma'am; we could spare another quart since Mrs. Jay moved away."
"Mrs. Ward tells me that your milk is clean and rich, and that you always give good measure," continued Mrs. Caswell. "I should be glad to have you bring me a quart every evening, that I may have cream for coffee. The milk I take now has no cream, and it seems to be half water."
"We never put water in the milk," answered Nelly. "It is richer sometimes than others, according to the cow's feed; but we never put water in it. I can give you some to-night, if you like," she added, holding up her unemptied pail. "Mrs. Ward only took a pint, and I have a pint left."
"So much the better. Come in, and I will take it at once."
Mrs. Caswell turned out the milk, and Nelly stood meanwhile admiring the neat kitchen,—pleasanter than many parlours,—the flowers on the window-seats, the books on the shelf, and thinking to herself, "How much I should like to have our house looking just like this! I wonder if I ever could!"