As Mrs. Caswell returned the pail, she noticed the book under Nelly's arm.
"What have you there?" she asked, pleasantly.
Nelly produced her large-print Testament and Psalms which Miss Powell had given her, and which was clean and neatly covered, though bearing marks of much use.
"I was going to ask Kitty Brown to hear me read my Sunday-school lesson; but—she was busy," said Nelly, possibly stretching a point so as not to find fault with Kitty. "I don't know all the words, and sometimes she helps me."
"Oh, ho!" said Mrs. Caswell. "Well, Nelly, it is rather late to-night for you to be in the street, so I will not ask you to stay now; but if you will bring your book to-morrow evening, I will help you learn your lesson."
"Thank you, ma'am. I shall be real glad," said Nelly, gratefully.
Here was another friend raised up in time of need; and Nelly, as she hastened home, was more than ever convinced that God did love and take care of her. She was grieved about Kitty's conduct; but in her new-found sense of forgiveness, she was not disposed to be hard upon her former friend.
"Everybody feels out of sorts, sometimes," she reasoned. "I dare say something has happened to vex her. But anyhow, I am glad Mrs. Caswell is going to help me; only I hope she won't be like Mrs. Vandake,—always promising."
The next morning, Nelly was up with the sun, sweeping off the sidewalk and steps, picking up the chips and sticks about the place, and piling the wood up neatly. She then washed off the windows and doors, rubbed up the glass with a newspaper as she had seen the boys do in the shops, cleaned the stove as well as she could, and put the whole house in such order as her means would allow. Granny always slept sound and late in the morning, and Nelly rejoiced in having the place all to herself. She felt, somehow, pretty sure of seeing Mr. Grayson in the course of the day, and she meant to have every thing as decent as possible.
After breakfast, Nelly was not sorry to see granny dressing herself to go out. They had an old neighbour, a distant relation of her grandfather, who had moved away to the other end of the town; and granny now and then made a pilgrimage to see and spend the day with her. Nelly felt in her own mind that if Mr. Grayson did come, it would be much better for granny to be out of the way. As soon as she was left alone, she cleaned the floor in the best possible manner, put every thing to rights about the room, and then, as it was a mild Indian-summer day, she took her favourite seat upon the door-step, where she could keep an eye upon Crummie. Her Testament lay upon the step beside her, and she now and then looked at a verse of her lesson.
In the course of the morning, Mr. Grayson made his appearance, as she expected. He had not much to say to Nelly, however. He looked at the house, inside and out; examined the supports and the foundations; shook his head over the fence and the garden; and grunted at the drain, or what went by the name of one. He also examined Nelly's work, and asked what she expected to get for it; inquired where she got her Testament; told her she must be a good girl, learn all she could, speak the truth, and learn to pay her way; and then went away, leaving Nelly in doubt as to whether he was pleased or displeased by what he had seen.
Presently she saw him in earnest conference with Mr. Vandake. Mr. Vandake was a carpenter and joiner, who also built cisterns, and hung bells, and now and then did a little papering and painting, and was the handy-man of the whole neighbourhood, doing little odd jobs for everybody, and especially for Mr. Grayson himself, who kept him employed more than half the time.
Nelly did not know what to think of all these observations and consultations, and, therefore, wisely determined to think of them as little as possible. So she turned her attention upon her work, and employed herself as busily as she could, till it was time for her to go to Mr. Grayson's office. Then, locking up the house and committing Crummie to the care of a good-natured boy who was watching his own cow upon the common, she set out upon her mission, not without some misgivings, but upon the whole, with very good courage.
Mr. Grayson was sitting as before, writing by the bright open fire in his office.
"Sit down, Nelly," said he, kindly, pushing a chair towards her. "I am busy just now; but I shall soon have done."
Nelly waited accordingly. She had her tatting in her pocket (where she now usually carried it), and, taking it out, she worked away busily till Mr. Grayson should be at liberty to attend to her. She presently became so much engaged in disentangling an obstinate knot that she forgot all about every thing else, till Mr. Grayson spoke to her.
"Well done, Nelly! I like to see the minutes taken care of. Take care of the minutes, and the hours will take care of themselves."
Nelly started and blushed.
"I have got into the habit of working at it every minute, so that I don't know how to do without it," said she, in rather a tone of apology.
"So much the better, Nelly. I only wish all the young folks I know had the same habit. But now put it away, and give me all your attention; for I am going to talk to you very seriously,—as though you were a grownup woman."
Nelly put away her work and prepared to listen.
"You see, Nelly, there are several things to be considered," said Mr. Grayson. "It is not merely that your grandmother does not pay her interest punctually,—though that is always annoying to a business man,—but it is the state in which she keeps the place. It is an injury to all the rest of my property to have such an untidy, tumble-down concern in the midst of it. Nobody likes to buy a place next to such slovenly neighbours; and it has really lost me the sale of two or three lots."
"I see," said Nelly, as Mr. Grayson paused. "I should not like it myself."
"Well, then, you can see that there was some excuse for my being displeased. I have waited upon your grandmother, time after time and year after year, more than I ever did upon any one else; because she was poor and a widow, and I felt sorry for her. People say I am hard-hearted and grasping, and all that, you know; and I don't know but they are right, sometimes. But I have not been hard upon her."
"No, sir," said Nelly; "I don't think you have."
"But I can't always go on waiting," continued Mr. Grayson; "and I can't have all the rest of my property injured. That would not be reasonable. However, I am interested in you, Nelly, for your own sake. I have been making inquiries about you. Mrs. Kirkland tells me that you are very industrious and persevering about your work, that you are perfectly honest and extremely desirous to improve. The neighbours tell me the same thing,—that you are honest and punctual in your dealings about your milk, always giving good quality and good measure."
Mr. Grayson paused and looked at Nelly, who blushed high at the praise, while she wondered at what might be coming next.
"I have been thinking over the whole matter," continued Mr. Grayson, once more; "and I have come to this conclusion. I shall let you keep the place, and not ask you for any money, either principal or interest, for a year, on the following conditions."
Nelly listened with all her ears and all her mind.
"You shall lay out all the money you have in hand in repairs upon the house and the place. Mr. Vandake will do the work for you as reasonably as any one. He works for me, and will follow my directions. That is the first condition. Do you understand it?"
"Yes, sir," said Nelly.
"In the second place, having put the place in order, you shall keep it in order. You shall keep the yard clean, both before and behind. You shall not throw your dish-water and slops on the top of the ground or into the street. You shall not scatter swill about. You shall keep the cow tied up in her own part of the yard when she is not running out; and, next spring, you shall either cultivate the garden or put it into grass. You shall keep the windows mended and the fence whole. On these conditions, and no other, you shall keep the place; and you shall not be asked to pay any thing upon it till the first day of next November,—that is, about a year from this time."
"But if I have the money, I should like to pay," Nelly ventured to say.
Mr. Grayson smiled. "Oh, very well. You may make a payment upon the first day of May, if you have ten or twenty dollars to spare. Now, Nelly, I expect you to keep strictly to these conditions; for I intend to do so myself; and I shall not feel myself bound by my part of the bargain unless you keep to yours. Do you understand me?"
"Yes, sir," said Nelly; "and I will do my best. But—"
"Well, but what?"
"I don't know what granny will say. She thinks there is no use in keeping things so nice; and she will not keep Crummie tied up, whatever I say."
"She must keep her tied up, or she won't have any place at all to keep her in," said Mr. Grayson, decidedly. "Tell her so."
"Please, sir," said Nelly, "would you write it all out plain on a piece of paper, so I can read it to granny and to myself? I can read plain writing now."
"Can you?" asked Mr. Grayson. "Read the directions on this letter."
Nelly read, "Mr. John Webster, 96 Wall Street, New York."
"So you can read figures too! Do you know any arithmetic?"
"I am just beginning to learn," said Nelly. "But I haven't got any slate, except Kitty Brown's; and she wants hers back." (For Kitty had sent her word to that effect that very morning).
"Oh, she wants it back, does she? Well, Nelly, you shall not be dependent upon Kitty for a slate any longer. Stop into the book-store, as you go along, and buy yourself a slate. Tell them to charge it to my account."
"I don't believe they will let me have it," said Nelly.
"That is well thought of. I will write you an order."
He wrote something on a paper and handed it to Nelly, who read, "Please let Miss Nelly Ryan have a slate worth twenty-five cents, two pencils, a steel pen and handle, and one quire of ruled foolscap paper."
"That will keep you going for some time," said Mr. Grayson. "Now go and get your things; and tell granny what I say, and make her understand that I am in earnest," he added, laying his hand on Nelly's shoulder. "Remember, I am a man of my word. I have spoken to Vandake; and he will do every thing necessary, at a reasonable rate. Good-by, Nelly."
AS soon as granny came home, she inquired eagerly as to the result of Nelly's interview with Mr. Grayson. She was by no means pleased with it.
"Sure he might give it to us out and out, and never feel the want of it. And what's the use of laying out good money on the old thing, and we may be going to leave it any time?"
"As to that," said Nelly, "we may leave any place at any time, you know, granny. If we were at Kilmane Park, we shouldn't know whether we were going to stay there. We should be just as likely to die there as here. Mr. Grayson says the house is very good and firm, what there is of it; and thirty dollars will do a good deal towards putting the outside to rights,—mending the windows and the door-step, righting up the fence, and so on. And you will see, when we get it all fixed up, and the garden planted, and all, what a nice, pretty little place it will be."
"And what is the cow to do?" asked Mrs. Ryan. "She will never stand it to be tied up at night."
"I dare say she won't mind it after a little bit; and you know she always stays in the shed at night in winter," said Nelly. "And, anyhow, she will have to try it, if she is going to stay anywhere."
Granny still murmured. She thought they might as well let the place go, and hire a room somewhere. As for Crummie, they could manage somehow, or they could sell her.
Nelly exclaimed at the idea of selling Crummie. "And besides, granny, we should lose all we have paid already. It would be like putting seventy-five dollars right into Mr. Grayson's pocket; and I don't think we can well afford that."
"And that's true too," said granny.
"And then how nice it would be, if any of the folks from Ireland should come, to have a pretty place to see them in!" said Nelly, pursuing her advantage. "You wouldn't like to have my lord, or even his lawyer, come and find us living in a pig-pen, would you?"
Nelly was, in her own heart, rather ashamed of this last argument. But it answered a better purpose than many a wiser one. Mrs. Ryan had been all day talking with her old crony about the past and prospective glories of the Butlers; and she assented at once.
"And there's something in that too. And it's very good tobacco the old gentleman sent," she continued, filling her pipe. "And may-be, after all, he means to let us have the place, only he wants it to look decent, as you say. So just go on your own way, dear; and, as for Crummie, what she don't like she may leave."
Delighted with the permission, Nelly hastened to get her grandmother's tea ready, and then went out to milk, bestowing an extra amount of caresses upon Crummie, as some set-off for the hardship about to be inflicted on her. It was found possible to secure her in the shed, however, without tying her; and the old cow submitted philosophically to the restraint, much to Nelly's delight.
"I always said she had as much sense as a Christian," said she. "She knows it is for her good, or I wouldn't do it."
Nelly did not forget to carry her Testament with her when she went to Mrs. Caswell's with the milk; though, remembering how Mrs. Vandake had disappointed her, she did not build much upon the promise. But Mrs. Caswell was not one who made promises lightly, and when she did make one she was apt to remember it. She heard Nelly read her lesson, explained the hard words to her, and told her she might bring her book and read every night if she chose.
"Have you ever learned any spelling lessons, Nelly?"
"No, ma'am. I read the spelling lessons in the first part of my book to Kitty, but I did not learn them out of the book."
"Suppose, then, that you learn a spelling lesson to-morrow; and I will hear you spell it in the evening. There are few things more important than good spelling."
"Thank you, ma'am," said Nelly, much pleased. "I can learn it while I am doing my tatting, can't I?"
"Oh, yes; very nicely. I wonder, by the way, if you are the little girl Mrs. Kirkland told me of, who makes tatting so neatly and earns so much? Do you work for her?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Well, Nelly, I am glad to make your acquaintance. You had better begin your spelling lessons with the words of two syllables, and learn two lines. And be sure you call the letters right while you are studying them. Good-night."
When Nelly went to Mrs. Powers's, she found the pan set ready for her; but Kitty was nowhere to be seen. Kitty had had time to become heartily ashamed of the way in which she had treated Nelly. She had told her little brother (who chanced to come in while she was angry about the pitcher) to go and ask Nelly for her slate. When she got it, she would have been very glad to send it back again. But she did not know how. She was not prepared to humble herself before Nelly and say she had been to blame. So she hid herself in her own room, ashamed and miserable, while Nelly poured out the milk, watching for her to go away that she might come down and take care of it. Nelly, however, went out so quietly that Kitty did not hear her; and another Kitty, who was also keeping a sharp look-out, was quicker in her movements than the one up-stairs: so that when Kitty Brown came down she found Kitty Whitecat with her nose and whiskers in the milk-pan. Kitty sprang, and so did Puss; and between them they knocked down the pan, spilt the milk, and broke the dish,—all of which Kitty laid up against Nelly, as if it had been her fault.
The next day the repairs began, and went prosperously on. The windows were mended, the frames put to rights, the door new-hung, the fence straightened up; and both that, the lean-to kitchen and Crummie's shed received a resplendent coat of whitewash. Mr. Vandake found somewhere a door-step with a rail and bench, which had been discarded by some one for a more ambitious veranda; and this was mended up and set before granny's door, where it looked, it must be confessed, rather more as if the house belonged to it, than as if it belonged to the house. Nelly, however, saw no fault to find with it, and looked forward with great delight to the time when it should be warm enough to sit upon the bench and work. A slight fence divided Crummie's portion of the yard from the garden; and Mrs. Caswell promised to give Nelly plenty of flowers to set out the next spring. I am not sure that Mr. Vandake had not received some private directions from Mr. Grayson; but certain it is that no thirty dollars ever effected such an amount of repairs before. Nelly ceased to regret her new shawl, as she saw the altered aspect of the place; and even granny admitted that the money was well laid out.
Meantime, Nelly was going on with her work and her lessons, busy as a little girl could well be. She learned a spelling lesson every day; and soon Mrs. Caswell added a lesson in Colburn's Arithmetic, which Nelly found much easier to comprehend than the one she had first tried. She began to have an understanding of figures, and to handle them easily; and this was soon to be of great use to her.
Kitty Brown watched with great interest for Nelly's lesson the Sunday after their quarrel, expecting, and half hoping, to hear her miss, and be reproved; but she was disappointed. Nelly recited with perfect correctness, and received extra commendation. Kitty would have found it hard to tell why she was displeased at Nelly's success; but displeased she certainly was.
"I sha'n't trouble myself about her any more," said she. "She would never have known any thing, only for me,—the ungrateful little thing. I don't ever mean to speak to her again."
But Kitty did not keep her resolution long,—no longer than till she went up home and found Nelly sitting upon the new front step, reading her Testament. She had not been that way before, since the repairs began, and could not help stopping to observe them.
"Oh, Kitty, is that you?" exclaimed Nelly, springing up to meet her. "Come in and see how nice we look! I have been watching for you all the afternoon."
Kitty could not, for very shame, repel Nelly's affectionate greeting.
"Why, you do look real nice! And what a pretty bench!"
"And just think, Kitty; I paid for it all myself; out of the money that I earned this summer!" said Nelly. "I 'tatted' it," she added, laughing. "Just think of making a fence and a front stoop all out of tatting!"
"I can't learn to make tatting," said Kitty. "I tried a whole hour one day, and I could not get it."
"Oh, I worked at it a great deal longer than that," replied Nelly. "I don't know how many hours I kept at it; and then, when I did learn it, I forgot it again. I did feel discouraged then,—after I had worked so long, and then to find, when I tried again, that I could not do it, after all. But I stuck to it, and by-and-by it came back to me. I don't believe but I could show you how to do it."
"Oh, I don't care," said Kitty; "I wouldn't take the trouble. Why don't you come to say your lessons now?" she asked, attempting to speak indifferently. "Have you got tired of them?"
"Why, Kitty, I thought you did not want to hear me any more," said Nelly. "You sent for your slate; you know. Mrs. Caswell hears my lessons now," she added. "I read and say an arithmetic and spelling lesson to her every day,—the arithmetic one day and the spelling the next. She says I am getting on nicely."
"I didn't know you knew Mrs. Caswell," said Kitty.
"I carry milk to her now. She saw my book, and asked me of her own accord. Wasn't it nice?"
"She is a real good woman, I know. She taught little Harry Mercer a great deal. Poor little fellow! He didn't live long enough to have it do him much good."
"And he has been in heaven just about a year," said Nelly, musingly. "Yes, just a year. Don't you remember, it was the first Sunday in the month?"
"Yes; I remember it was Catechism-day, and Mr. Willson spoke about it."
"I stood at the gate and saw them carry out the coffin," continued Nelly. "I thought it was dreadful for him to be buried in the cold and dark ground and left all alone; and that night I was afraid to go to bed, lest I should die too. I didn't know any thing about heaven then. When I was tired of living as we did, I used to think about granny's stories and try to make them seem real to me. But they never did, hardly; and when I loft off thinking about them and came back, every thing looked so poor and mean to me, I couldn't bear it. I got to hate those stories; and yet they were about all the comfort I had."
"You are a great deal better off now than you were then," said Kitty.
"Yes, indeed, in all sorts of ways."
"I am sure you don't look like the same child," continued Kitty. "You are a great deal better dressed. But that isn't all: you look so much more cheerful and happy."
"Well, I am," said Nelly, with emphasis. "I have learned to earn money and help support myself, and that is a great deal; and every one has been very kind to me. I never could have learned to read and write, if you had not helped me; and Miss Powell taught me so many things, and Mr. Grayson has been so good about the house. And then," added Nelly, in the reverent voice with which she always spoke of such subjects, "I have learned so much about God and heaven, and about the Saviour dying for us: that is the very best of all. And then to think that he will let me go to heaven and see him and live with him forever,—just think, Kitty,—to be happy and good, and all for ever and ever,—for ever and ever!"
Nelly dwelt on the sound of the words as if she loved them.
"You must think you are very good, if you are so sure of going to heaven," said Kitty, with a touch of the old sarcasm in her voice.
"No, indeed," returned Nelly: "Miss Powell told me better than that. Oh, how I did try and try to be good, all by myself! And every day I did something wrong; and I thought, 'I shall never go to heaven at this rate.' So at last I told Miss Powell how I felt; and she told me how God forgives us and helps us and takes us to heaven, not for what we do, but for what his Son has done for us. You don't know how much easier it has seemed to be good since then. It is just the difference between doing things for a task, and doing them for some one who has been good to you."
"I believe you are a real Christian," said Kitty, her better nature getting the upper hand. "I wish I was! but I seem to grow worse every day. But Nelly, I was real sorry I treated you so about your lessons, and about the slate. I never should have sent for it, only Harry came in while I was real angry about something, and I told him to go and get it. You don't know how I felt when he brought it next day; and I would have sent it back, only I was ashamed. Don't you want it now?"
"Mr. Grayson gave me one," replied Nelly; "and I don't need a slate as much, because I do my sums in my head."
"Well, it has all turned out for the best," said Kitty, rising. "Of course Mrs. Caswell can teach you better than I can; but that don't make it any better for me."
"Don't think any more about it," said Nelly. "Every one is cross sometimes; I am sure I am. But I am so glad we are him friends again!"
"Nelly is a real Christian," said Kitty, as she went home. "I wish I was!"
THE next week the repairs upon the house were all finished, and Mr. Grayson came down to inspect them. It was with no small pride that Nelly showed him all that had been done. She was beginning to consider Mr. Grayson as a friend. The old gentleman looked about into all the holes and corners, inspected the cow-house, and shook his head over some litter by the back door.
"All very nice, Nelly, and a great improvement; and now the main thing is to keep it nice. Unless you do that, you might live in the finest house in town, and never have it either neat or comfortable. Do you know what dirt means, Nelly?"
Nelly thought she did; but when pressed to define the word she found it not so easy.
"Well, now, I will tell you how a learned gentleman defined dirt. He called it 'something in the wrong place.'"
"I should think dirt was always in the wrong place," said Nelly. "I don't see how there can be any right place for dirt."
"Well, but let us see," said the old gentleman. "Now, here is the litter and stuff in the cow-house. Where it is, it is dirt,—ill-smelling, disagreeable, and bad both for Crummie's health and your own; but put on your garden and well dug in, it will become manure,—enriching the ground and helping to produce all sorts of pleasant and useful things. Look at those ends of rag and snaps of paper blowing about. Lying round as they do now, they are dirt; but put them in your rag-bag and they will help to make nice white paper. Grease makes very ugly spots on the floor or your dress; but we could have neither soap nor candles without it. Now do you understand?"
"Yes, sir."
"Now, if I were you, I would clear out the cow-house thoroughly and spread the stuff on the land. You can either dig it in this fall or let it lie till spring; but as the ground has never been cultivated, it might be better to dig it at once, so that the frost and snow may help to mellow the soil and make it fine and fit for planting. It will be rather hard work for you, so I will let my man dig it for you the first time; after that, you must keep it in order yourself."
"I will," said Nelly. "Mrs. Caswell says she will give me some raspberry and currant bushes, and some flowers, next spring, and a vine to plant at the end of the house and run all over it, like that one on the church, which turns so red in the fall."
"My gardener shall give you a grape-vine, and that will bear fruit as well as look pretty," said Mr. Grayson. "Now, Nelly, remember what I say about keeping things neat. I shall take a look at you now and then, to see how you get along."
Nelly seemed likely to get on nicely, except that her different employments rather interfered with each other.
The next time she went down to the shop, she found no one but Mrs. Kirkland and Miss Powell, trying to wait on a whole shopful of people.
"Oh, Nelly, you are just the person I was wanting to see! Alice has taken this time, of all others, to sprain her ankle; and Miss Cameron must needs go and be married!" said Mrs. Kirkland, as if marriage were an unheard-of transgression, invented for her express annoyance. "Miss Powell and myself are all alone; and you must take hold and help us. Just get out the buttons for that lady. You know where they are."
Nelly complied, and plunged at once into the button business, and the braid business, and the pin business, and endless other businesses, surprising herself by the ease with which she remembered the places and prices of things. She now and then found herself at a loss in calculating and making change; but Miss Powell was at hand to help her, and on the whole she made out very well, and gave satisfaction to her customers.
Mrs. Kirkland found Nelly so useful that she could not spare her to go home to dinner; so she stayed, and had her luncheon with Miss Powell, on bread-and-butter and cold ham and chocolate, which Alice Kirkland sent down to her mother. She could not get away till dark, and then went home with a strict injunction from Mrs. Kirkland to come back in the morning as soon as she had carried round her milk.
"What a useful, handy little creature she is!" said Mrs. Kirkland. "She is worth more than any young girl I ever had. Who would have believed, when she came in to return that pattern, early last spring, that we should be so glad of her help in the store?"
"Nelly had one grand advantage to begin with," said Miss Powell. "She was brought up to be strictly honest,—never to meddle with the least thing which does not belong to her. She owes her grandmother an immense debt of gratitude for that part of her education, at least."
"Yes, indeed. It is wonderful how few girls are to be trusted. They may not take large sums or things of much consequence, but they are always meddling. The servant I have now is good for a great many things; but she constantly helps herself to tea and sugar, and to my thread, needles and pins. Yet, if I should send her away, it is ten to one the next comer would be worse,—would have all her faults, without her good qualities. People often talk of common honesty; but I sometimes think strict honesty the most uncommon thing in the world."
"I have watched Nelly closely, and I have never seen her take the smallest trifle. She sometimes asks if she may have empty boxes or bits of tinsel and ornamental paper; but I have never seen her appropriate any such thing without leave."
Granny Ryan grumbled not a little at Nelly's long absence, and still more at her going away again the next day. She complained of the loneliness of being by herself from morning till night. But the truth was, she began to grow somewhat jealous of Nelly, and to feel as though the child was getting above her. Almost every one who has tried to benefit children of Nelly's class has met with this feeling, and found it a great hindrance. People do not like to have their children better off than themselves.
Mrs. Ryan was not so bad in this respect as many others that I have met; but she could not help a spasm of jealousy now and then. She raised numberless objections to Nelly's going to the shop,—her own loneliness, Crummie's needs, and the necessity of Nelly's going after the slops for her.
But Nelly disposed of all in one way or another. She knew that Mrs. Kirkland needed her services; and she felt, rather than thought, that this was a turning-point in her life,—that on her action now it depended whether she were to grow up intelligent, respectable and comfortable, or whether she should live, like her mother and grandmother, just contriving to keep soul and body together, and tolerated by neighbours and acquaintances because no one knew what to do with them. She felt that a permanent place in Mrs. Kirkland's store was the summit of all her wishes; and she began to see that such a place would presently be incompatible with the care of Crummie. But leaving this matter to settle itself, or be settled by time and circumstances, Nelly contented herself with meeting granny's objections partly by reasoning, partly by jokes and coaxing, ending with—
"And you just dress yourself up by-and-by and come down to the store, to see your own Nelly up behind the counter, waiting on the ladies, as grand as Mrs. Kirkland or Miss Alice herself."
"And a fine place, to be sure, for the grand-daughter of an Irish earl, to be selling such things!" grumbled the old woman. "But I'll not deny that they have been kind to you; and your purty little fingers do look more fit for silks and laces than to be handling slop-pails."
"You'll see," said Nelly, exulting in her success. "May-be, some day, we'll have a nice little shop of our own. Who knows? Then you shall sit in a nice white cap and a fine shawl, like Mrs. Grayson's own, and take care of the money; and all the ladies will say, 'What a handsome woman Mrs. Ryan is!' It's easy to see where Nelly gets her good looks," added Nelly, archly.
"Get along with your blarney. You'd coax the very birds off the trees!" said Granny Ryan. "Sure I hope to see you in your own drawing-room before I die."
"And, then, think what a fine thing to know all sorts of nice work!" said Nelly. "Well, granny, I'm off. Take good care of yourself and Crummie, and I'll buy something good for supper when I come home. They are selling the spare-ribs very cheap."
Nelly succeeded even better to-day than yesterday, and very proud she felt to be left in the entire charge of the lower shop while Mrs. Kirkland went out to the bank and Miss Powell was busy up-stairs.
"It is not every little girl I would leave in this way," said Mrs. Kirkland; "but I know I can trust you, Nelly."
Nelly blushed high, and inwardly determined that she would never do any thing to forfeit this trust. She made herself as useful as possible that day and the next, and at the end of the week Mrs. Kirkland proposed to engage her at least till after the holidays, at a regular salary of three dollars a week.
"I should like it better than any thing else in the world," said Nelly; "but I don't exactly see what I am to do. I must carry around the milk in the morning and at night, and feed the cow. I don't see how I can come before nine o'clock, now the mornings are so short."
"Could not granny carry round the milk herself in the morning?" asked Mrs. Kirkland.
"I don't know: she used to, sometimes," said Nelly.
"I think I must go and see granny myself," said Mrs. Kirkland, who was really anxious to secure Nelly's services, not merely for the child's sake, but for her own. "I feel as if I must have you, Nelly."
"It is a great chance for me," said Nelly, "a better chance than I could ever have expected,—and no one knows how I hate to lose it; but granny is old, and she has her little ways; and you know she brought me up the best she could, and never let me want for any thing she could do for me; and I shouldn't feel it was right to go straight against her, even if I was to gain by it."
"Very true, Nelly; and, as I was saying the other day, you owe granny a great deal for bringing you up in such strict habits of honesty. Only for that, I never would have taken you into the store as I have done."
"Granny was very particular about that," said Nelly. "Almost the only time she ever whipped me, was for taking some fruit from a lady's garden. She made me go and carry it back and ask pardon. But that was when I was a little girl," added Nelly, with dignity.
Mrs. Kirkland smiled. "Well, I will call and see granny, in a day or two. Meantime, you may carry her this red shawl, if you like, and tell her I sent it to her. There are a few imperfections in it; but it is warm and soft."
"I think it is lovely," said Nelly. "Granny likes red, and she is always complaining of cold in her shoulders. If you do come and see her, I wouldn't contradict her," she added, shrewdly. "I have always noticed that after she has talked all she likes, and said all she has to say, she will do almost any thing I want her to; but if I begin to argue, there is no end to it."
"That is the way with more people than granny," said Mrs. Kirkland, much amused. "Well, Nelly, I will attend to your hint, and see what I can do; for I must have you, and that is all about it."
In going home that night, Nelly met with a grand surprise. She was going to the past-office with some letters for Mrs. Kirkland, when, on passing her favourite book-store, where the pictures were exhibited, she saw Mr. Lambert's tall figure and silver beard towering above a number of people who were looking at a large painting. Nelly had not seen him for some months, and hardly expected him to recognize her; but he pounced upon her at once.
"Why, Nelly, is this you? I have been meaning to hunt you up, ever since I came home. How nicely you look! What are you doing now-a-days? Making tatting?"
"Making a great many things," said Nelly. "I am in Mrs. Kirkland's store," she added, feeling two inches taller. "I stay there all the time now."
"I am glad to find you doing so well. But come, look at my picture and see how you like it."
Mr. Lambert made way for Nelly, with very little ceremony, among the crowd of gazers, and placed her in front of the picture. Nelly uttered a cry of delight. There was Crummie, "as natural as life," cropping the grass; and surely that was no other than Nelly,—that little girl with the short black curls and the ragged red petticoat, working at her tatting, under the chestnut-tree.
"Well, what do you say?" asked Mr. Lambert. "Does it look like you?"
"It looks like Crummie," said Nelly; "but I did not think I was as pretty as that," she added, ingenuously.
"Then you never looked in the glass," said a gentleman standing by. "Who is she, Lambert, and where does she live?"
"She is my little friend, Mr. Rowe, and she lives under very sufficient protection," said Mr. Lambert, gravely, and with a look and tone that Nelly did not understand. The gentleman laughed and turned away.
"So you like the picture, Nelly?" said Mr. Lambert, after she had looked a while longer and was proceeding on her errand.
"Yes, very much," answered Nelly; "but I don't like that gentleman speaking to me so," she added, with an angry flash of her eye. "I think he was real impudent."
"And so he was. Don't have any thing to say to him, Nelly, in case he ever speaks to you."
"I never do talk to strangers," said Nelly: "granny told me not to."
"Granny is a wise old woman, and, if you are a wise little girl, you will be guided by her. But Nelly, I have something to tell you. Do you know I have sold my picture for two hundred and fifty dollars?"
"Two hundred and fifty dollars!" repeated Nelly, in a tone of awe. "What a heap of money! I am real glad you have got it, though; and won't Miss Nelly be pleased?"
"Miss Nelly thinks more of spending the money than of the way it comes," said Mr. Lambert. "But Nelly, some of this money belongs to you."
"I don't see how," said Nelly; "I didn't do any thing to earn it, did I?"
"Well, perhaps not, strictly speaking; but I should never have painted the picture if you had not given me the idea and served as my model. So I think some of the price is justly your due." He put his hand into his pocket and took out his purse. "I should like to give you more, if I could afford it; but you must accept this; and I hope it may do you a great deal of good." He put a ten-dollar bill into Nelly's hand as he spoke.
"I am sure I am much obliged," stammered Nelly, bewildered by this sudden stroke of good fortune; "but somehow, I don't feel as if I ought to take it."
"Nonsense!" said Mr. Lambert, lightly. "Don't say any more about that; but tell me what you mean to do with the money."
"I believe I will buy a load of hay, if granny will let me," said Nelly.
"A load of hay!" exclaimed Mr. Lambert, in surprise. "What could put that in your head?"
"Granny said if we could afford to buy hay for Crummie, I should not have to gather swill," said Nelly; "and I should be glad to get rid of that. And then it would take one thing out of the way of my staying in the shop."
Mr. Lambert laughed. "You are the most practical child I ever saw, Nelly. I wish my girl had half your sense. But what about going into the shop?"
Nelly told him the story.
"Oh, you must go into the shop," said Mr. Lambert. "Tell your grandmother I shall not paint her portrait if she does not let you go."
Nelly promised. "I do hope she will. It seems such a chance for me, and I may never have another."
Whether it was Mrs. Kirkland's argument or Mr. Lambert's threat that prevailed, I cannot say; but certain it is, granny consented that the ten dollars should be laid out in hay, and that Nelly should accept Mrs. Kirkland's offer. It was also found possible to make an arrangement by which little Harry Brown carried round the milk to most of the customers, receiving his pay in the same commodity.
Granny's remaining objections were quite overcome by her first visit to the store, where she heard Nelly called "Miss Ryan," and saw her engaged in work which the old woman acknowledged was "far more fit for the likes of her than going round to people's back-doors with a slop-pail."
NELLY had now reached the height of her ambition. She was actually employed in the same store with her dear Miss Powell, and under her eyes,—in that same store which had so often attracted her longing gaze as being a paradise of every thing-wonderful and beautiful.
She was learning something new every day. She had the pleasure of feeling that she gave entire satisfaction to her employers, and of knowing that even granny was gratified with her improved condition. Yes, Nelly had attained the height of her ambition.
Like other and greater people, however, Nelly discovered that in reaching this height she had by no means left all her troubles behind her. The store was a very popular one, and Nelly entered at the busiest season. They were thronged with customers from morning till night. Nelly must learn to attend to two or three at once, to answer questions upon two or three different subjects without becoming confused, to remember where every thing was, and to employ every spare minute with her crochet-needle; for there was a greater demand even than usual at that season for babies' jackets and blankets, scarfs and afghans, and all the other worsted articles in which Mrs. Kirkland dealt so largely. She must learn to do all this, to preserve her patience and presence of mind, and not lose her temper when, as now and then happened, customers were rude or unreasonable. It was far harder work than tending Crummie, and tried Nelly's nerves much more severely. No matter how hard she might have worked or how far she might have run out-of-doors, she could always fall asleep the instant she went to bed, and never wake till it was time to get up. But now she found her work haunting her at night in a very unpleasant fashion. The patterns she had been working stared her in the face; she saw endless buttons, of all possible and impossible styles, whenever she shut her eyes; and her dreams were tormented with visions of wrong change, of bundles mis-sent, and customers hopelessly offended: so that she seemed to rise in the morning as tired as she went to bed. She began to grow thin, pale and nervous. Miss Powell herself noticed the change in her.
"You are growing nervous, Nelly," said she. "What is the matter?"
"I do get so tired," said Nelly, laying down her work and leaning back in her chair (a rare luxury, which a hopelessly rainy and slushy day allowed her to enjoy). "I never was so tired before in all my life. I used to think it was very hard work running after Crummie; but it did not weary me any thing like so much as this does. It makes my head so tired!"
"I am afraid you carry too much of your work home with you," said Miss Powell. "Don't you sit up at night to work?"
"No, ma'am granny won't let me."
"I am glad she has so much sense. But Nelly, you must learn not to carry it in your mind, either. Try, as soon as you get home, to put every thing which concerns the shop out of your head, and think about something else."
"I do try," said Nelly; "but I don't make out very well; and I get so fidgety in the store,—so afraid of making mistakes in change, or prices, or something! I do want to do just right and please Mrs. Kirkland. But I am afraid I never shall learn. I am afraid she doesn't like me, after all; and I do so—"
Nelly's voice was lost in the tears which would come in spite of her.
Miss Powell laid down her work and took Nelly's hand in her own.
"You are a little fanciful, my child. Why should you think that you don't please Mrs. Kirkland?"
"She looks so sober," said Nelly; "and she hardly spoke to me all day yesterday."
"Is that all?" asked Miss Powell. "You don't consider, Nelly, how much care Mrs. Kirkland has on her mind. She has all her business, in the first place; then she is uneasy about Miss Alice, whose ankle does not get any better; and she has other troubles more serious still. But she is so far from being displeased with you, that I heard her tell Mr. Willson only last night what a comfort and help you were to her. She said you repaid her twice over for all she had ever done for you; for, though you made mistakes sometimes, you were honest and faithful in sight and out of sight: you did not idle away half your time in gossiping or looking out of the window the moment her back was turned."
Nelly blushed high with delight. "I am sure I want to please her," said she, earnestly.
"And you do please her: so you may set your heart at rest about that. And as for the rest, Nelly, do you remember the chant they sung in church yesterday morning before service?"
"Yes, ma'am: it was, 'Cast thy burden on the Lord, and he shall sustain thee.' I thought it was beautiful. I kept singing it all the afternoon."
"But I fear you did not think of applying it to your own case, Nelly. Why don't you do the same thing? Why don't you cast your burden on the Lord, and trust him to sustain you?"
"I don't know," replied Nelly. "I never thought I could."
"Try it, and see. Tell him all about what troubles you."
"What!" interrupted Nelly. "About my puzzles in making change and remembering the prices of things?"
"Yes, to be sure. Why not?"
"I did want to; but I did not know as it would be right," said Nelly. "Kitty Brown says she does not believe it is right to pray about such things,—only about our souls."
"I rather think Kitty has not looked into her Catechism lately," said Miss Powell. "Are we not to ask God to give us all things needful for our souls and bodies?"
"Yes, ma'am. I didn't think of that, though, when we were talking about it."
"You need never be afraid to ask God for any thing," said Miss Powell. "If you have a desire that you are afraid to ask God to bless, be sure that desire is wrong and ought to be put down."
"It can't be wrong for me to want to keep my place and earn money to pay for our house," said Nelly.
"No, indeed. But Nelly, you must pray in faith, my child. You must not ask God in the morning to give you strength and wisdom to do your duty through the day, and then go on worrying for fear you shall not do it. That would be casting your burden upon the Lord and then taking it up and carrying it away again. A great many people go on in that way all their lives, and get very little good from it. You must ask him to help you and then believe he will, and go on in the strength of that prayer. Try it, and see if he does not keep his promise."
Nelly followed her friend's advice, and found, as every one will who honestly trusts Him, that he does keep his promise. She strove resolutely to put away all thoughts of the store and her work as soon as she went to bed, and to give her last waking thoughts to God, by repeating the hymns, verses and prayers she had learned in Sunday-school. She presently found herself beginning to sleep much better, and her work no longer troubled her dreams. Mrs. Kirkland took care to send her upon all the errands, and Nelly found the exercise very beneficial to her.
It troubled Nelly a good deal that she had so little time for her lessons. She could not go to Mrs. Caswell with her arithmetic more than twice a week, and then she found time to prepare only a very short recitation. She comforted herself with the thought that she was learning in one way, if not in another (which was true; for she was learning to be very ready in making change and calculating prices), and also in thinking that she would have more time after the holidays, when the rush of work and trade should slacken a little.
Nelly had another trouble in the store, which she did not mention to Miss Powell, but which distressed her greatly. She was pretty sure that she several times missed little articles, which had not passed through her hands. They were not things of any very great value,—a stick of braid of some special sort, a few odd buttons of some particular pattern, a spool or two of coloured silk out of a box which should have been full,—but Nelly was sure that they did not go properly. She could not suspect any one in the shop. There was no one employed but herself and Miss Powell down-stairs and Miss Lennox up-stairs. Mrs. Kirkland was usually at the desk, busied, when not making change or engaged with the books, in some wonderful piece of embroidery.
Nelly came to the conclusion that the thief was one of the habitual customers of the store. She resolved to watch closely. She did so, and at last made up her mind. The thief was that very lady who had called her a ragamuffin while she was learning to make tatting on her first entrance to the store! Nelly was very slow in coming to this conclusion. She could not make up her mind to think that a lady belonging to a respectable family; who had always been well taught, always gone to church and to Sunday-school, could be guilty of stealing. She even accused herself of uncharitableness and bearing malice because the lady had affronted her. But the more closely she watched the more sure she became that her suspicions were correct.
Then arose the very grave question, what to do about it? Suppose she should tell her suspicions: would Mrs. Kirkland believe her word against that of a lady, an old customer? Would she not run the risk of losing her own place, without doing anybody any good,—that place for which she had prayed and worked, and in which she was striving so hard to give satisfaction? On the other hand, was it right to allow her employer to be robbed? The thefts grew bolder and bolder every day; and Kelly began to be afraid that she should herself be accused. Mrs. Kirkland had missed some little articles; and Nelly fancied that she began to watch her more closely. She could not ask advice without mentioning her suspicions; and she did not like to do this till she was quite certain. It was a great responsibility to fall upon the shoulders of a girl like Nelly, and it almost weighed her down. She was conscious that something should be done directly, and yet she could not make up her mind what to do. But one thing she did know,—that God had always helped her before whenever she had asked him; and she went again and again to the same source of strength and wisdom. The light and the counsel came at last, and from rather an unexpected quarter.
Granny had lately learned to take great pleasure in hearing Nelly read, especially in the Testament,—at first from pride in the child's achievements, but latterly from interest in the book itself. Granny had rather fallen between two stools, if I may say so, in the matter of religious belief. Her mother's family were Romanists; but the Butlers were Protestants; and granny's mother, partly from pride, partly from affection, had professed to follow her husband's faith; though, in fact, she knew little about it. She had taught her little girl to call herself a Protestant, and to feel a pride in adhering to her father's religion and setting at defiance all the coaxings and persecutions of her aunts and cousins. She sent the little Gracie to the Ladies' school, instead of to the Sisters'; and, though Gracie was neither very regular in her attendance nor very diligent when there, she had learned her creed and some few rudiments of doctrine. She had always called herself a Protestant, even after she married Tim Ryan (who was a Romanist of the very-easy-going kind); but her religious notions were dim and obscure. Such as they were, they began to be awakened by Nelly's reading and by her accounts of what she heard in Sunday-school. She began to take pleasure in recalling and repeating things which she had learned in her youth; and when Nelly was away she would sometimes take the large-print Testament Miss Powell had given the child, and spell out a chapter by herself.
One Sunday afternoon, Nelly had been reading aloud the parable of the talents. When she had finished it, she exclaimed at the stupidity and laziness of the slothful servant.
"I'm thinking there was more than that the matter; though that's bad enough, mind," said the old woman, shrewdly. "I'm thinking the poor crater was a coward, me dear."
"How?" asked Nelly. "What was he afraid of, granny?"
"Why, ye see, dear, he would run some risk in trading with his lord's money," replied granny. "He might lose it, or make some bad speculation with it, and so be blamed when his lord came home; and he was so afraid of being found fault with that he just did nothing at all,—which was the very worst thing he could do."
"I see," said Nelly, thoughtfully.
"I remember a story that would show you what I mean—" continued granny, "a true story, too, that happened in Ireland when I was a girl like yourself."
"Oh, do tell it, granny!" exclaimed Nelly. "I love true stories."
"Well, you must know, dear, that one of my uncles—Martin was his name, and a good, steady lad, but not wonderful knowing—was groom at the great house,—that's not Kilmane Park, you understand, but Dunsandle House, the seat of Sir Patrick Byrne. Sir Patrick was wonderful fond of horses, and his children took after him,—especially his eldest daughter, Miss Una, the boldest rider to hounds in all the county, and as constant at the hunt as the huntsman himself. Well, there was one horse in the stable that was a terror to all the grooms and to Sir Patrick himself,—a chestnut mare. She was named Pooka; and you would think an evil spirit was in her, by the look of her eye. Well, this very mare it was, above all others, Miss Una was possessed to ride; and ride her she would, for all her father and friends could say; and at last Sir Patrick forbade the grooms to saddle Pooka for Miss Una. So what does Miss Una do, but get up very early in the morning, open the stable with a key she had, saddle the horse herself—"
"A young lady saddle a horse!" interrupted Nelly.
"Sure she could do it as well as any man; for she had been, as you might say, brought up with horses,—more was the pity! So she saddled the mare herself, and was off for a gallop before any of them was up; and when Martin, who was head-groom, came to the stable, there was the mare gone and the door unlocked. Here was a pretty to-do! At first, Martin thought the baste had been stolen; but then he remembered that she would never let a stranger touch her; and, looking about, he picked up Miss Una's handkerchief; which she had dropped in the stall. That gave him a guess at the truth; and while he was standing debating in his own mind what to do, up comes Miss Una, with the mare all in a foam. She started and laughed when she saw Martin standing there."
"'Ah, Martin, so you have caught me! but I was too quick for you,' said she, giving her head a saucy toss, and looking beautiful, my uncle said. 'I'm determined not to lose my rides on Pooka,' said she, patting, the mare's neck."
"'And what am I to say to Sir Patrick?' said Martin."
"'What you like,' answered Miss Una, with another toss; 'only you will repent if you tell tales; that's all.'"
"She wasn't much of a lady, anyhow," observed Nelly.
"We won't be hard upon her," said granny, gravely. "She was a motherless girl from her birth, and had grown up as wild as a hawk, petted by her father out of all reason one day and crossed out of all reason the next. Well, you see, my dear, Martin was between two fires if Sir Patrick knew that he had let Miss Una ride the mare, he would be turned off, and may-be thrashed into the bargain,—for Sir Patrick was a violent man; and again, if he made an enemy of Miss Una, he knew what that would come to; for she was sure to have her own way with her father, by hook or by crook, and it was a boast with that family that they never forgot a friend or forgave an enemy; and the latter part was true, whether the former was or not."
"The right way would have been the brave way,—of telling the truth, and doing as he was bid; but Martin was afraid to do that. So he rubbed down the mare and did the best he could with her; and when Sir Patrick noticed that she did not seem fresh, he made some excuse, being mighty knowledgable about horses. So every morning Miss Una takes a gallop on the mare, and Martin saddles the beast for her; for he thought that was one risk the less, anyhow. And Miss Una—poor dear!—was wonderful pleased with having her own way, and gave Martin and Martin's wife many a present; for she was laundress at the house, which was another reason that Martin was afraid to tell."
"But now see the end. One morning, Pooka had been more than commonly vicious and spiteful, and Martin begged and prayed Miss Una, on his knees almost, not to ride her; but all in vain. He might as well have talked to the mountain-torrent. So away she went in her beauty and her pride; but she never, never came back alive."
"Martin waited and waited, blaming himself all the time, and wishing, too late, that he had done the straightforward thing at first. Well, it came breakfast-time, and Miss Una was not there, nor in her room; and there was great wonderment where she could be, and no little alarm and stir; for you must know there had been a love-affair between her and her cousin, whom Sir Patrick had forbidden the house; and the first thing every one thought, was that Miss Una had gone off with her cousin."
"At last the stir came to Sir Patrick's ears; and when he found out that Miss Una was missing, he raved like a madman about the house, declaring and swearing that he would never see her face again. At last he went down to the stable for his own horse, to follow the runaways,—alas! alas! just in time to see the chestnut rush home covered with sweat and dirt, the saddle turned half round, but no Miss Una."
"They followed the track of the mare in the road till they found the poor girl lying by the way-side, all torn and disfigured by having been dragged over the rocky roads. At first they thought she was dead; but as they lifted her to lay her on a turfy bank under a tree, she just opened her eyes, and, seeing her father standing over her, she said, faintly,—"
"'Papa, Martin was not to blame.'"
"I'm glad she said that, anyway," said Nelly, who was crying heartily over the story.
"It was the last word she ever spoke," continued granny, wiping her own eyes. "They made a litter to carry her home, but she breathed out her life there, under the great ash that is called Miss Una's tree to this day; and it was only her bleeding and mangled body that was carried home to the great house."
"Sir Patrick was like one out of his mind, with grief and rage. He cursed Martin so, it was awful to hear him; and not only that, but he turned him and his wife away, and drove the whole family off his land, where they had lived for generations,—since the flood, for aught I know,—to wander where they would. He declared the mare should be starved.* But Martin saved him from that sin; for he just took a pistol and shot her dead before his master's face."
"So you see, honey," concluded the old woman, "it would have been far better for Martin to have done his duty, leaving the consequences to take care of themselves. He was a broken man ever after, and never could sleep without dreaming it all over again. And, my dear, take my advice, and always do the straight thing and the open thing, even if it should seem to be the greatest risk in the world, and you be ever so much blamed. The blessing of God shines on the straight path."
"And that's true," said Nelly, drawing a long breath, as if relieved of a heavy weight; "and I'll do it, too, cost what it may. Thank you, granny, for telling me the story."
* A fact.
WHEN Nelly went to the store next morning, she had fully made up her mind as to her duty, and was resolved, by God's help, to do it, let it cost what it might. She remembered granny's words, "The blessing of God shines on the straight path." She had found it true heretofore, and she determined to be guided thereby.
It seemed for a while as if she were to have no occasion for putting her resolution in practice. Miss Bartlett did not make her appearance for some days; and when she did, though Nelly watched her closely, she could detect nothing wrong; nor did she miss any thing afterwards.
Nelly drew a long sigh of relief and thankfulness. "Oh, I do hope she will never do so again! I do hope she has thought better of it! It would be so dreadful if I should have to tell Mrs. Kirkland!"
But Nelly was not to get rid of her trouble so easily. It was only a few days before Miss Bartlett came again. A case of valuable fans was on the counter, none of which had yet been sold. Miss Bartlett asked for some coloured braid; and as Nelly turned to take it down from the shelf, she distinctly saw in one of the mirror-panels which decorated the store that Miss Bartlett took up a pearl-carved fan and slipped it into her muff. She turned back to the counter. One of the fans was certainly gone. Miss Bartlett glanced carelessly at the braid, pronounced it perfectly hideous, and then, taking up the muff, she turned and went up-stairs. The next moment Nelly had restored the fans to their place and was speaking to Mrs. Kirkland at the desk. Her face was very pale, and her voice trembled; but she did not hesitate.
"Mrs. Kirkland, that lady who has just gone up-stairs has taken one of those pearl fans. I saw her put it in her muff when my back was turned."
"How could you see her when your back was turned?" asked Mrs. Kirkland, laying down her work and looking sharply at Nelly, but without any of that surprise which Nelly had expected.
"I saw her in the glass," answered Nelly, without hesitation.
"Have you ever seen her take things before?"
"I can't say that I ever saw her," said Nelly; "but I have been sure for some time that she did take little things. She hardly ever comes here without my missing something after she is gone. But this time I saw her; and she has the fan now,—one of those twenty-dollar pearl fans that Miss Powell said nobody would buy because they were so small and so expensive."
"Miss Lennox," called Mrs. Kirkland, "come down-stairs at once, please. I want you."
"Now, Nelly, come up-stairs with me; and be sure you know that you are right."
"I am quite sure," said Nelly, firmly. "I could not be mistaken."
Mrs. Kirkland found Miss Bartlett standing by the worsted-table, selecting shades of wool, as unconcerned as possible. But Nelly thought she looked a little startled as they entered.
Mrs. Kirkland looked about to see that no strangers were present, and then said to Miss Bartlett, quietly, but with marked emphasis, "Miss Bartlett, I believe you have taken something which does not belong to you." Miss Bartlett coloured and then turned pale, and made a movement to take up her muff,—an unlucky movement, as it chanced; for it flirted the large pink silk and silver tassels of the fan into plain sight, as though the fan had determined not to be accessory to its own abduction.
Mrs. Kirkland laid her hand upon it.
"Yes, this is it," said she, looking the young lady steadily in the face, as she took the fan from its place of concealment. "It is fortunate that you did not drop it in the street."
Miss Bartlett gave an affected laugh; but Nelly observed that her hands trembled so that she could not hold the worsted.
"I suppose I took it up with my pocket-handkerchief," said she. "Your girl, here, keeps things in such a litter and confusion that it is no wonder one should do such a thing. But I dare say she finds her own account in having things upside down. It makes it all the easier for her to help herself."
Nelly coloured high with indignation.
Mrs. Kirkland answered, quietly, "Nelly does not keep things in confusion, neither does she help herself. I wish every one with whom I deal were as strictly honest as she is."
"Dear me, Mrs. Kirkland!" exclaimed Miss Bartlett, with an appearance of virtuous indignation, "you act as if you thought I meant to steal the fan. Of course it was an accident."
"It was an awkward accident," said Mrs. Kirkland, dryly. "Unluckily, it is not the first of the kind which has happened. I have a great respect for your father, Miss Bartlett, and I should be sorry to be obliged to apply to him; but I must do so if any more of these accidents happen."
"There is no danger of any accident happening to rue in your shop, Mrs. Kirkland; for I shall never enter it again."
"So you said before," remarked Mrs. Kirkland.
"And I will take care that none of my acquaintances do so, either," continued the lady, disregarding the interruption. "You will rue the day that you ever set that beggar's brat to watch and spy upon me. And I will be revenged upon her, too. I dare say she steals from you all the time. Indeed, I know she does. I have seen her slip things into her pocket."
"There! I would not say any more, Miss Bartlett," interrupted Mrs. Kirkland. "You do not mend matters. As for your not coming here yourself, I certainly prefer that you should not do so: I am not fond of such scenes; nor can I afford to be robbed. As to Nelly, I know her."
Miss Bartlett took up her muff, and flounced out of the shop without any more words.
"You have done well, Nelly. I am pleased with you," said Mrs. Kirkland, who was a woman of few words. "You have acted with great presence of mind, and saved me from a serious loss. I shall not forget it. Don't say any thing about the matter, my dear. I do not want the unfortunate girl to fall into disgrace by my means. The trouble will come upon her and her family soon enough."
"But she could not have taken it by accident, Mrs. Kirkland," said Nelly. "I saw her take it out of the case and put it in her muff."
"No doubt she did. It is not the first scene of the sort I have had with her; but I did hope she meant to do better. I have been watching her for some time, however. Now go to work on Mrs. Sprague's afghan, and finish one of the black stripes as quickly as you can, that I may begin the embroidery. You need not be troubled about what Miss Bartlett said," she added, seeing that Nelly still looked uncomfortable. "I know her, and I know you."
With a most thankful spirit, Nelly began the black stripe; and most earnestly did she resolve to be more and more careful to do her duty.
"Granny, you were right," said she, when she went home that evening. "The blessing of God does shine on the straight path. I have found that out to-day. I can't tell you how, because Mrs. Kirkland told me not; but you don't know how I thank you for telling me that story the other day."
"If she told you not to tell, you had better not say any thing about it anyway, honey," said granny. "Sometimes a thing slips out unawares, and when it's out it's like the smoke out of the chimney, dear,—it can't be got in again."
"Well, I won't," said Nelly: "only, granny, I do want to say one thing; for it has been on my mind all day. I used to grumble because you did not give me an education; but you did give me an education in one way, and of the best sort. You taught me to be honest, and never to touch the least thing that did not belong to me. I should not be trusted as I am now, only for you. Mrs. Kirkland said to-day she would trust me with any thing in the shop. I feel as though I had been very ungrateful to you, granny; but I do love you."
Nelly's voice faltered, and she could find no farther expression, save by throwing her arms round the old woman's neck and hugging and kissing her in true Irish fashion.
"Sure you was but a child; and one don't expect gray heads on young shoulders," said granny, taking Nelly on her knee, as if she had been still a baby. "And it's true for you, Nelly. Your granny hasn't always done the right thing by you. But I think I have lived in a kind of dream all my life, dear," she continued. "I have always been thinking and thinking of going back to Ireland and being a great lady; but I'm thinking I shall go to a better country first, my dear."
"You don't feel sick, do you, granny?" asked Nelly, anxiously.
"No, dear. I have my health wonderful for an old woman of seventy-four. But yet I am old, you know; and, of course, I have not as long to live as I had forty years ago; and it becomes me to be thinking about the place where I am hoping to go."
"I think it is much pleasanter to think about going to heaven than about going back to Ireland, because that is a thing one can be sure about," said Nelly. "And one never can be sure about any thing in this world, because, somehow, the most likely things are the very ones that never happen."
"And have ye just found that out?" said the old woman, smiling at Nelly's very Irish mode of stating the matter. "That's a discovery was made some years before you were born or thought of, my Lady Eleanor. But it's true, for all that; and a good thing it is to think of. And glad and proud I am to see my Nelly trusted and honoured. So now put away your work a while, and read me another chapter before I go to bed."
Nelly met with only one more serious trouble this year; and that came through her old friend Kitty Brown. Kitty had been for a time rather shy of Nelly. She had formerly found it very pleasant to have some one to patronize; and she could not help feeling rather aggrieved that Nelly had so soon mounted over her head, and was earning so much larger wages than herself. She forgot, as girls are apt to do, that she was receiving board as well as wages. She fancied that Nelly was "stuck up" and looked down upon her (which certainly was not the case); and in her own heart she magnified what she had done for her friend, and denounced Nelly's ingratitude in bitter terms. But as Nelly continued to treat her in exactly the same way as before, she by degrees dropped her coldness and stiffness, and returned to her former friendly manner. Mrs. Powers frequently sent her down town upon errands, and she fell into the habit of running into Mrs. Kirkland's store to gossip with Nelly and stare at the customers, thus wasting her own time as well as that of her friend.