POPULAR NOVELS
By Mrs. Mary J. Holmes,
All published uniform with this volume, at $1.50. acd sent
free by mail on receipt of prie^.
L HUGH WOSTHINGTON.
H. DARKNESS AND DAYLIGE!^
m. LENA RIVERS.
IV. TEMPEST AND SUNSHINE.
V. MARIAN GREY.
VL MEADOW BROOK.
TIL ENGLISH ORPHANS.
TEL DORA DEANE.
IX. COUSIN MAUDE.
X. HOMESTEAD ON THE HILLSIDE.
XI. THE CAMERON PRIDE.
Mrs Holmes is a peculiarly pleasant and fascinating wr
Her books are always entertaining, and she has the
rare faculty of enlisting the sympathy and affec
tions of her readers, and of holding their
attention to her pages with deep
and absorbing interest.
CARLE-TON, Publisher,
New York.
THE
ENGLISH ORPHANS;
OR,
g, low in tye f tin MorBr.
BY
MES. MARY J. HOLMES,
AUTHOR OP " DARKNESS AND DAYLIGHT," " MARIAN GREY," " MEADOW
BROOK," "HOMESTEAD," "DORA DEANE," " COUSIN MAUDE,"
" TEMPEST AND SUNSHINE,"," LEJs A HlVERS," ETC.
NEW YORK:
Carleton, Publisher, 413 Broadway,
M DCCC LXVIII.
EKTXBKD according to Act of Congress In tb year ISO,
BY D. APPLETON & COMPANY,
IB the Clerk s Office of the District Court of the United States, tor tho Southara
District of New York.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER P/B
I. The Emigrants, ....... 7
II. Chicopee, 13
III. Billy Bender 28
IV. Ella Campbell, .... .84
V. The Poor-House, ...... 41
VI. Sal Furbush, . ..... 68
VII. The Lincolns, 71
VIII. At Church, . 80
IX. The New Bonnet, ....... 92
X. Winter at the Poor-House, ..... 98
XI. Alice, ... ..... 104
XII. A New Friend, . . 110
XIII. A New Home in Kice Corner, . . . 122
XIV. Visitors, 129
XV. The Three Young Men, . . . , . . .144
XVI. The Schoolmistress, 164
XVII. Jealousy, ......... 1C6
XVIIL A New Plan, 174
XIX. Mount Holyoke, f . .186
XX. The closing of the year, ...... 195
XXL Vacation, ........ 204
XXIL Education Finished, 216
XXIII. Life in Boston, 227
XXIV. A Change of Opinion. ..... ,237
XXV. The Party, . 243
XXVI. Making up his Mind, .... W
XXVII, The Shadows Deepen, 261
XXVIII. Glenwood, ........ 270
XXIX. A New Discovery 278
XXX. The Crisis, .290
XXXI. A Question, . . 804
XXXII. Going Home, . . , . . 809
XXXIII. Conclusion, . * . 819
M174956
THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
CHAPTER I.
THE EMIGRANTS.
fC WHAT makes you keep that big blue sun-bonnet drawn so
closely over your face ? are you afraid of having it seen ? "
The person addressed was a pale, sickly-looking child
about nine years of age, who, on the deck of the vessel Win-
dermere, was gazing intently towards the distant shores of
old England, which were fast receding from view. Near her
a fine-looking boy of fourteen was standing, and trying in
vain to gain a look at the features so securely shaded from
view by the gingham bonnet.
At the sound of his voice the little girl started, and with
out turning her head, replied, " Nobody wants to see me, I
am so ugly and disagreeable."
" Ugly are you ? " repeated the boy, and at the same time
lifting her up and forcibly holding her hands, he succeeded in
looking her fully in the face. " Well, you are not very
handsome, that s a fact," said he, after satisfying his curios
ity ; " but I wouldn t be sullen about it. Ugly people are
8 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
always smart, and perhaps you are. Any way, I like little
girls, so just let me sit here and e;et acquainted."
Mary Howard, the child thus introduced to our readers, wag
certainly not very handsome. Her features, though tolerably
regular, were small and thin, her complexion sallow, and her
eyes, though bright and expressive, seemed too large for her face.
She had naturally a fine set of teeth, but their beauty was im
paired by two larger ones, which, on each side of her mouth,
grew directly over the others, giving to- the lower portion
of her face a peculiar and rather disagreeable expression.
She had frequently been told that she was homely, and often
when alone had wept, and wondered why she, too, was not
handsome like her sister Ella, on whose cheek the softest
rose was blooming, while her rich brown hair fell in wavy
masses about her white neck and shoulders. But if Ella was
more beautiful than Mary, there was far less in her charac
ter to admire. She knew that she was pretty, and this made
her proud and selfish, expecting attention from all, and grow
ing sullen and angry if it was withheld.
Mrs. Howard, the mother of these children, had incurred
the displeasure of her father, a wealthy Englishman, by mar
rying her music teacher, whose dark eyes had played the
mischief with her heart, while his fingers played its accom
paniment on the guitar. Humbly at her father s feet she
had knelt and sued for pardon, but the old man was inexora
ble,, and turned her from his house, cursing the fate which
had now deprived him, as it were, of his only remaining
daughter. Late in life he had married a youthful widow,
who after the lapse of a few years died, leaving three little
girls, Sarah, Ella, and Jane, two of them his own, arid one a
Btep-daughter and a child of his w.ifc s first marriage.
As a last request Mrs. Temple had asked that her baby
Jane should be given to the care of her sister, Mrs.
THE HARD-HEARTED FATHER. 9
who was on the eve of embarking for America, and who
within four weeks after her sister s death sailed with hei
young niece for Boston. Sarah, too, was adopted by her
father s brother ; and thus Mr. Temple was left alone with
his eldest daughter, Ella. Occasionally he heard from Jane,
but time and distance gradually weakened the tie of paren
tal affection, which wound itself more closely around Ella ;
and now, when she, too, left him, and worse than all, mar
ried a poor music teacher, the old man s wrath knew no
bounds.
" But, we ll see," said he, as with his hands behind him.
and his head bent forward, he strode up and down the room
" we ll see how they ll get on. I ll use all my influence
against the dog, and when Miss Ella s right cold and
hungry, she ll be glad to come back and leave him."
But he was mistaken, for though right cold and hungry
Ella ofttimes was, she only clung the closer tq her husband,
happy to share his fortune, whatever it might be. Two years
after her marriage, hearing that her father was- dangerously
ill, she went to him, but the forgiveness she so ardently
desired was never gained, for the old man s reason was gone.
Faithfully she watched until the end, and then when she
heard read his will (made in a fit of anger), and knew that his
property was all bequeathed to her sister in America, she
crushed the tears from her long eyelashes and went back to
her humble home prepared to meet the worst.
In course of time three children, Frank, Mary, and Ella,
were added to their number, and though their presence
brought sunshine and gladness, it brought also an increase
cf toil and care. Year after year Mr. Howard struggled on,
while each day rumors reached him of the plenty to be had in
the land beyond the sea ; and at last, when hope seemed dying
out, and even his brave-hearted Ella smiled less cheerfully
I*
10 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
khan was her wont to do he resolved to try his fortune in the
far-famed home of the weary emigrant. This resolution he
communicated to his wife, who gladly consented to accom
pany him, for England now held nothing dear to her save
the graves of her parents, and in the western world she
knew she had two sisters, Sarah having some years before
gone with her uncle to New York.
Accordingly the necessary preparations for their voy
age were made as soon as possible, and when the Winder-
mere left the harbor of Liverpool, they stood upon her deck,
waving a last adieu to the few kind friends, who on shore
were bidding them " God speed."
Among the passengers was George Moreland, whose parents
had died some months before, leaving him and a large fortune
to the guardianship of his uncle, a wealthy merchant resid
ing in Boston. This uncle, Mr. Selden, had written for hia
nephew to join him in America, and it was for this purpose
that George had taken passage in the Windermere. He
was a frank, generous-hearted boy, and though sometimes a
little too much inclined to tease, he was usually a favorite with
all who knew him. He was a passionate admirer of beauty,
and the moment the Howards came on board and he caught
a sight of Ella, he felt irresistibly attracted towards her, and
ere long had completely won her heart by coaxing her into
his lap and praising her glossy curls. Mary, whose sensi
tive nature shrank from the observation of strangers, and
who felt that one as handsome as George Moreland must
necessarily laugh at her, kept aloof, and successfully eluded
all his efforts to look under her bonnet. This aroused his
curiosity, and when he saw her move away to a distant part
of the vessel, he followed her, addressing to her the remark
with which we commenced this chapter. As George had
said, ho liked little girls, though he greatly preferred talking
A KIND NURSE. 11
to pretty ones. On this occasion, however, he resolved to
make himself agreeable, and in ten minutes time he had so far
succeeded in gaming Mary s friendship, that she allowed him
to untie the blue bonnet, which he carefuLy removed, and
then when she did not know it, he scanned her features atten
tively, as if trying to discover all the beauty there was in them.
At last gently smoothing back her hair, which was real
ly bright and glossy, he said, " Who told you that you were
so ugly looking ? " The tears started to Mary s eyes, and
her chin quivered, as she replied, " Father says so, Ella says
so, and every body says so, but mother and Franky."
" Every body doesn t always tell the truth," said George,
wishing to administer as much comfort as possible. " You ve
got pretty blue eyes, nice brown hair, and your forehead, too,
is broad and high ; now if you hadn t such a muddy com
plexion, bony cheeks, little nose, big ears and awful teeth,
you wouldn t be such a fright ! "
George s propensity to tease had come upon him, and in
enumerating the defects in Mary s face, he purposely mag
nified them ; but he regretted it, when he saw the effect his
words produced. Hiding her face in her hands, Mary burst
into a passionate fit of weeping, then snatching the bonnet from
George s lap, she threw it on her head and was hurrying
away, when George caught her and pulling her back, said,
" Forgive me, Mary. I couldn t help plaguing you a little,
but I ll try and not do it again."
For a time George kept this resolution, but he could not
conceal the preference which he felt for Ella, whose doll-like
f ice. and childish ways were far more in keeping with his
iaste, than Mary s old look and still older manner. When
ever he noticed her at all, he spoke kindly to her; but sho
know there was a great difference between his treatment of
her and Ella, and oftentimes, when saying her evening prayer
12 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
she prayed that George Moreland might love her a little
just a little."
Two weeks had passed since the last vestige of land had
disappeared from view, and then George was taken dan
gerously ill with fever. Mrs. Howard herself visited him
frequently, but she commanded her children to keep away,
lest they, too, should take the disease. For a day or two
Mary obeyed her mother, and then curiosity led her near
George s berth. For several minutes she lingered, and was
about turning away when a low moan fell on her ear and
arrested her footsteps. Her mother s commands were for
gotten, and in a moment she stood by George s bedside.
Tenderly she smoothed his tumbled pillow, moistened his
parched lips, and bathed his feverish brow, and when, an hour
afterward, the physician entered, he found his patient calmly
sleeping, with one hand clasped in that of Mary, who with
the other fanned the sick boy with the game blue gingham
sun-bonnet, of which he had once made fun, saying it looked
like its owner, " rather skim-milky."
" Mary ! Mary Howard ! " said the physician, " this is
no place for you," and he endeavored to lead her away.
This aroused George, who begged so hard for her to
remain, that the physician went in quest of Mrs. Howard,
who rather unwillingly consented, and Mary was duly
installed as nurse in the sick room. Perfectly delighted
with her new vocation, she would sit for hours by her
charge, watching each change in his features and anticipat
ing as far as possible his wants. She possessed a very sweet,
clear voice ; and frequently, when all other means had failed
to quiet him, she would bend her face near his and taking
his hands in hers, would sing to him some simple song of home,
until lulled by the soft music he would fall away to sleep.
Such unwearied kindness was not without its effect upop
AFFECTION S WISH. 13
George, and one day when Mary as usual was sitting neal
him, he called her to his side, and taking her face between
his hands, kissed her forehead and lips, saying, " What can
I ever do to pay my little nurse for her kindness ? "
Mary hesitated a moment, and then replied, " Lovo mo
as well as you do Ella ! "
" As well as I do Ella ! " he repeated, " I love you a
great deal better. She has not been to see me once. What
is the reason ? "
Frank, who a moment before had stolen to Mary s side,
answered for her, saying, " some one had told Ella that if
she should have the fever, her curls would all drop off ; and
so," said he, " she won t come near you ! "
Just then Mrs. Howard appeared, and this time she was
accompanied by Ella, who clung closely to her mother s skirt,
looking cautiously out from its thick folds. George did not
as usual caress her, but he asked her mockingly, " if her hair
had commenced coming out ! " while Ella only answered by
grasping at her long curls, as if to assure herself of their
safety.
In a few days George was able to go on deck, and though
he still petted and played with Ella, he never again slighted
Mary, or forgot that she was present. More than once, too, a
kind word, or affectionate look from him, sent such a glow
to her cheek and sparkle to her eye, that Frank, who always
loved her best, declared, cc she was as pretty as Ella any day
if she d break herself of putting her hand to her mouth
whenever she saw one looking at her," a habit which she had
acquired from being so frequently told of her uneven teeth.
At last after many weary days at sea. there came the joy
ful news that land was in sight ; and next morning, when the
children awoke, the motion of the vessel had ceased, and
Boston, with its numerous domes and spires, was before them
14 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
Towards noon a pleasant-looking, middle-aged man came 05
board, inquiring for George Moreland, and announcing him-
self as Mr. Selden. George immediately stepped forward,
and after greeting his uncle, introduced Mr. and Mrs. How
ard, speaking at the same time of their kindness to him dur
ing his illness.
All was now confusion, but in the hurry and bustle of
going ashore, George did not forget Mary. Taking her
aside, he threw round her neck a small golden chain, to
which was attached a locket containing a miniature likeness
of himself painted a year before.
" Keep it," said he, " to remember me by, or if you ge
tired of it, give it to Ella for a plaything."
" I wish I had one for you," said Mary ; and George re
plied, " Never mind, I can remember your looks without a
likeness. I ve only to shut my eyes, and a little forlorn, sallow
faced, old-looking girl, with crooked teeth "
He was prevented from finishing his speech b} 7 a low cry
from Mary, who, pressing his hands in hers, looked beseech
ingly in his face, and said, " Oh, don t, George ! don t talk
so."
He had not teased her about her looks for a long time,
and now just as he was leaving her, twas more than she
could bear. Instantly regretting his thoughtless words,
George took her in his arms, and wiping away her tears, said,
" Forgive me, Mary. I don t know what made me say so,
for I do love you dearly, and always will. You have been
kind to me, and I shall remember it, and some time, per
haps, repay it." Then putting her down, and bidding adieu
to Mr. and Mrs. Howard, Frank, arid Ella, he sprang into
his uncle s carriage, and was rapidly driven away.
Mary looked after him as long as the heads of the white
horses were in sight, and then taking Frank s hand, followed
ARRIVAL AT BOSTON. 15
her parents tc the hotel, where for a few days they had de
termined to stop while Mrs. Howard made inquiries for her
sister.
Meantime, from the richly curtained windows of a ]argo
handsome building a little girl looked out, impatiently wait
ing her father s return, wondering why he was gone so long,
and if she should like her cousin George, or whether he was
a bearish looking fellow, with warty hands, who would tease
her pet kitten and ink the faces of her doll babies. In the
centre of the room the dinner table was standing, and Ida
Selden had twice changed the location of her cousin s plate,
once placing it at her side, and lastly putting it directly in
front, so she could have a fair view of his face.
" Why don t they come? " she had said for the twentieth
time, when the sound of carriage wheels in the yard below
made her start up, and running down stairs, she was soon
shaking the hands of her cousin, whom she decided to bo
handsome, though she felt puzzled to know whether her kit
ten and dolls were in any immediate danger or not !
Placing her arm affectionately around him, she led him
into the parlor, saying, " I am so glad that you have come to
live with me and be my brother. We ll have real nice
times, but perhaps you dislike little girls. Did you ever see
one that you loved ? "
" Yes, two," was the answer. " My cousin Ida, and one
other."
" Oh, who is she? " asked Ida. " Tell me all about her.
How does she look ? Is she pretty ? "
Instantly as George had predicted, there came before his
vision the image of " a forlorn-looking, sallow-faced child,"
whom he did not care about describing to Ida. She, how
ever, insisted upon a description, and that evening when tea
was over, the lamps lighted, and Mr. Selden reading the
16 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
paper, George told her of Mary, who had watched so kindly
over him during the weary days of his illness. Contrary to
his expectations, she did not laugh at the picture which he
drew of Mary s face, but simply said, " I know I should like
her." Then after a moment s pause, she continued ; " They
are poor, you say, and Mr. Howard is a music teacher.
Monsieur Dupres has just left me, and who knows but papa
can get Mr. Howard to fill his place."
When the subject was referred to her father, he said
that he had liked the appearance of Mr. Howard, and would
if possible find him on the morrow and engage his services.
The next morning Ida awoke with an uncomfortable impres
sion that something was the matter with the weather. Rais
ing herself on her elbow, and pushing back the heavy cur
tains, she looked out and saw that the sky was dark with
angry clouds, from which the rain was steadily falling, not
in drizzly showers, but in large round drops, which beat
against the casement and then bounded off upon the pavement
below.
All thoughts of Mr. Howard were given up for that day
and as every moment of Mr. Selden s time was employed for
several successive ones, it was nearly a week after George s
arrival before any inquiries were made for the family. The
hotel at which they had stopped was then found, but Mr. Sel-
den was told that the persons whom he was seeking had left
the day before for one of the inland towns, though which one
he could not ascertain.
" I knew twould be so," said Ida rather fretfully ;
" father might have gone that rainy day as well as not.
Now we shall never see nor hear from them again, and
George will be so disappointed." But George s disappoint
ment was soon forgotten in the pleasures and excitement?
of school, and if occasionally thoughts of Mary Howard came
A PLEASANT HOME. 17
over him, they were generally dispelled by the lively sallies
of his sprightly little cousin, who often declared that " she
should be dreadfully jealous of George s travelling com
panion, were it not that he was a great admirer of beauty
and that Mary was terribly ugly."
CHAPTER II.
CHICOPEE.
IT -was the afternoon for the regular meeting of the Ladies
Sewing Society in the little village of Chicopee, and at the
usual hour groups of ladies were seen wending their way to
wards the stately mansion of Mrs. Campbell, the wealthiest
and proudest lady in town.
Many, who for months had absented themselves from the
society, came this afternoon with the expectation of gaining a
look at the costly marble and rosewood furniture with which
Mrs. Campbell s parlors were said to be adorned. But
they were disappointed, for Mrs. Campbell had no idea of
turning a sewing society into her richly furnished drawing-
rooms. The spacious sitting-room, the music-room adjoin
ing, and the wide cool hall beyond, were thrown open to all,
and by three o clock they were nearly filled.
At first there was almost perfect silence, broken only
by a whisper or under tone, but gradually the restraint wore
way ; and the woman near the door, who had come " because
she was a mind to, but didn t expect to be noticed any
way," and who, every time she was addressed, gave a nervous
bitch backward with her chair, had finally hitched herself
into the hall, where with unbending back and pursed up lipa
she eat, highly indignant at the ill-concealed mirth of
SCENE OF WANT. 19
the young girls, who on the stairs were watching her retro
grade movements. The hum of voices increased, until at
last there was a great deal more talking than working. The
Unitarian minister s bride, Lilly Martin s stepmother,
the new clerk at Drury s, Dr. Lay s wife s new hat and its
probable cost, and the city boarders at the, hotel, were all
duly discussed, and then for a time there ffts again silence,
while Mrs. Johnson, president of the society, told of the
extreme destitution in which she had that morning found
a poor English family, who had moved into ihe village two
or three years before.
They had managed to earn a comfortable living until the
nusband and father suddenly died, since which time the
wife s health had been very rapidly failing, until now she was
no longer able to work, but was wholly dependent for subsist
ence upon the exertions of her oldest child Frank, and the
charity of the villagers, who sometimes supplied her with
far more than was necessary, and again thoughtlessly neglect
ed her for many days. Her chief dependence, too, had now
failed her, for the day before the sewing society, Frank had
been taken seriously ill with what threatened to be scarlet
fever.
" Dear me," said the elegant Mrs. Campbell, smoothing
ihe folds of her rich India muslin " dear me, I did not
know that we had such poverty among us. What will they
do?"
"They ll have to go to the poor-house, won t they?"
" To the poor-house ! " repeated Mrs. Lincoln, who
spent her winters in Boston, and whose summer residence
was in the neigborhood of the pauper s home, " pray don t
send any more low, vicious children to the poor-house.
My Jenny has a perfect passion for them, and it is witb
difficulty I can keep her away."
20 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
" They are English I believe," continued Mrs. Camp
bell " I do wonder why so many of those horridly misera
ble creatures will come to this country."
" Forgets, mebby, that she s English," muttered the
woman at the door ; and Mrs. Johnson added, " It would
draw tears from your eyes, to see that little pale-faced
Mary trying to wait upon her mother and brother, and
carrying that sickly baby in her arms so that it may not
disturb them."
" What does Ella do ? " asked one, and Mrs. Johnson
replied, " She merely fixes her curls in the broken looking-
glass, and cries because she is hungry."
" She is pretty, I believe ? " said Mrs. Campbell, and
Rosa Pond, who sat by the window, and had not spoken
before, immediately answered, " Oh, yes, she is perfectly
beautiful ; and do you know, Mrs. Campbell, that when she
is dressed clean and nice, I think she looks almost exactly
like your little Ella ! "
A haughty frown was Mrs. Campbell s only answer,
and Rosa did not venture another remark, although several
whispered to her that they, too, had frequently observed the
strong resemblance between Ella Howard and Ella Camp
bell.
From what has been said, the reader will readily under
stand that the sick woman in whom Mrs. Johnson was so
much interested, was our old acquaintance Mrs. Howard.
All inquiries for her sisters had been fruitless, and after
stopping for a time in Worcester, they had removed to
Chicopee, where recently Mr. Howard had died. Their
only source of maintenance was thus cut off, and now they
were reduced to the utmost poverty. Since we- last saw
them a sickly baby had been added to their number. With
motherly care little Mary each day washed and dressed it,
SICKNESS. 21
%
and then hour after hour carried it in her arms, trying to
still its feeble moans, which fell so sadly on the ear of he*
invalid mother,
It was a small, low building which they inhabited, con
taining but one room and a bedroom, which last they had
ceased to occupy, for one by one each article of furniture
had been sold, until at last Mrs. Howard lay upon a rude
lounge, which Frank had made from some rough boards.
Until midnight the little fellow toiled, and then when his
work was done crept softly to the cupboard, where lay one
slice of bread, the only article of food which the house con
tained. Long and wistfully he looked at it, thinking how
good it would taste 5 but a glance at the pale faces near
decided him. " They need it more than I," said he, and
turning resolutely away, he prayed that he " might sleep
pretty soon and forget how hungry he was."
Day after day he worked on, and though his cheek occa
sionally flushed with anger when of his ragged clothes and
naked feet the village boys made fun, he never returned
them any answer, but sometimes when alone the memory of
their thoughtless jeers would cause the tears to start, and
then wiping them away, he would wonder if it was wicked to
be poor and ragged. One morning when he attempted to
rise, he felt oppressed with a languor he had never before
experienced, and turning on his trundlebed, and adjusting
his blue cotton jacket, his only pillow, he again slept so
soundly that Mary was obliged to call him twice ere she
aroused him.
That night he came home wild with delight, <: he had
earned a whole dollar, and knew how he could earn anothei
half dollar to-morrow. Oh, I wish it would come quick,
said he, as he related his success to his mother.
13ut, alas, the morrow found him burning with fever
22 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
and when he attempted to stand, he found it impossible to
do so. A cv3e of scarlet fever had appeared in the village
and it soon > jcame evident that the disease had fastened
upon Frank. The morning following the sewing society,
Ella Campbell and several other children showed symptom}
of the same disease, and in the season of general sick
ness which followed, few were left to care for the poor widow
Daily little Frank grew worse. The dollar he had earned
was gone, the basket of provisions Mrs. Johnson had sent was
gone, and when for milk the baby Alice cried, there was none
to give her.
At last Frank, pulling the old blue jacket from under his
head, and passing it to Mary, said, " Take it to Bill Ben
der, he offered me a shilling for it, and a shilling will buy
milk for Allie and crackers for mother, take it."
" No, Franky," answered Mary, " you would have no
pillow, besides, I ve got something more valuable, which I
can sell. I ve kept it long, but it must go to keep us from
starving ; " and she held to view the golden locket, which
George Moreland had thrown around her neck.
" You shan t sell that," said Frank. " You must keep
it to remember George, and then, too, you may want it more
some other time."
Mary finally yielded the point, and gathering up the
erumpled jacket, started in quest of Billy Bender. He was
a kind-hearted boy, two years older than Frank, whom he
had often befriended, and shielded from the jeers of their
companions. He did not want the jacket, for it was a vast
deal too small ; and it was only in reply to a proposal from
Frank that he should buy it, that he had casually offered
him a shilling. But now, when he saw the garment, and
learned why it was sent he immediately drew from his old
leather wallet a quarter, \11 the money he had in the world,
THE DYING EOT. 23
and giving it to Mary bade her keep .fc, as she would need
it all.
Half an hour after a cooling orange was held to Frank s
parched lips, and Mary said, " Drink it, brother, I ve got
two more, besides some milk and bread," but the ear she
addressed was deaf and the eye dim with the fast falling
shadow of death. " Mother, mother ! " cried the little girl,
" Franky won t drink and his forehead is all sweat. Can t
I hold y)u up while you come to him? "
Mrs. Howard had been much worse that day, but she
did not need the support of those feeble arms. She felt,
rather than saw that her darling boy was dying, and agony
made her strong. Springing to his side she wiped from hi*
brow the cold moisture which had so alarmed her daughter
chafed his hands and feet, and bathed his head, until he
seemed better and fell asleep.
" Now, if the doctor would only come," said Mary ; but
Jhe doctor was hurrying from house to house, for more than
one that night lay dying in Chicopee. But on no hearthstone
fell the gloom of death so darkly as upon that low, brown
house, where a trembling woman and a frail young child
watched and wept over the dying Frank. Fast the shades
of night came on, and when all was dark in the sick room,
Mary sobbed out, u We have no candle, mother, and if I go
for one, and he should die "
The sound of her voice aroused Frank, and feeling for
his sister s hand, he said., " Don t go, Mary : don t leave me,
the moon is shining bright, and I guess I can find my way
to God just as well."
Nine ; ten ; eleven ; and then through the dingy win
dows the silvery moonlight fell, as if indeed to light the way
of the early lost to heaven. Mary had drawn her mother s
lounge to the side of the trundlebed, and in a state of almost
24 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
perfect exhaustion, Mrs. Howard lay gasping for breath
while Mary, as if conscious of the dread reality about to oc
cur, knelt by her side, occasionally caressing her pale cheek
and asking if she were better. Once Mrs. Howard laid her
hands on Mary s head, and prayed that she might be preserv
ed and kept from harm by the God of the orphan, and that
the sin of disobedience resting upon her own head might not
be visited upon her child.
After a time a troubled sleep came upon her, and she
slept, until roused by a low sob. Raising herself up, she
looked anxiously towards her children. The moonbeams fell
full upon the white, placid face of Frank, who seemed calmly
sleeping, while over him Mary bent, pushing back from his
forehead the thick, clustering curls, and striving hard to
smother her sobs, so they might not disturb her mother.
" Does he sleep ? " asked Mrs. Howard, and Mary, cover
ing with her hands tne face of him who slept, answered,
" Turn away, mother; don t look at him. Franky is dead.
He died with his arms around my neck, and told me not to
wake you."
Mrs. Howard was in the last stages of consumption, and
now after weeping over her only boy until her tears seemed
dried, she lay back half fainting upon her pillow. Towards
daylight a violent coughing fit ensued, during which an ulcer
was broken, and she knew that she was dying. Beckoning
Mary to her side, she whispered, " I am leaving you alone
in the wide world. Be kind to Ella, and our dear little Allie,
and go with her where she goes. May God keep and bless
my precious children, and reward you as you deserve, my
darling 1!
The sentence was unfinished, and in unspeakable awe tho
orphan girl knelt between her mother and brother, shudder
ing in the presence of death, and then weeping to think shf
was alone
CHAPTER III.
. BILLY BENDER,
JUST on the corner of Chicopee Common, and undeivthe shad
ow of the century-old elins -which skirt the borders of the
grass plat called by the villagers the " Mall," stands the small
red cottage of widow Bender, who in her way was quite a
curiosity. All the " ills which flesh is heir to," seemed by
some strange fatality to fall upon her, and never did a new
disease appear in any quarter of the globe, which widow
Bender, if by any means she could ascertain the symptoms,
was not sure to have it in its most aggravated form.
On the morning following the events narrated in the last
chapter, Billy, whose dreams had been disturbed by thoughts
of Frank, arose early, determined to call at Mrs. Howard s,
and see if they were in want of any thing. But his mother,
who had heard rumors of the scarlet fever, was up before him,
and on descending to the kitchen, which with all her sickness
Mrs. Bender kept in perfect order, Billy found her sitting
before a blazing fire, her feet in hot water, and her head
thrown back in a manner plainly showing that something
aew had taken hold of her in. good earnest. Billy was ac-
e lstornod to her freaks, and not feeling at all frightened,
26 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS
stepped briskly forward, saying, " Well, mother, what s the
matter now ? Got a cramp in your foot, or what? "
" Oh, William, 1 said she, "I ve lived through a sight
but my time has come at last. Such a pain in my head and
stomach. I do believe I ve got the scarlet fever, and you
must run for the doctor quick."
" Scarlet fever ! " repeated Billy, " why, you ve had it
once, and you can t have it again, can you? "
" Oh, I don t know, I never was like anybody else, and
can have any thing a dozen times. Now be spry and fetch
the doctor but before you go, hand me my snuffbox and
put the canister top heapin full of tea into the teapot."
Billy obeyed, and then, knowing that the green tea would
remove his mother s ailment quite as soon as the physician,
he hurried away towards Mrs. Howard s. The sun was just
rising, and its red rays looked in at the window, through
which the moonlight had shone the night before. Beneath
the window a single rose-tree was blooming, and on it a
robin was pouring out its morning song. Within the cottage
there was no sound or token of life, and thinking its inmates
were asleep, Billy paused several minutes upon the threshold,
fearing that he should disturb their slumbers. At last with
a vague presentiment that all was not right, he raised the
latch and entered, but instantly started back in astonishment
at the scene before him. On the little trundlebed lay Frank,
cold and dead, and near him in the same long dreamless sleep
was his mother, while between them, with one arm thrown
lovingly across her brother s neck, and her cheek pressed
against his, lay Mary her eyelids moist with the tears which,
though sleeping she still shed. On the other side of Frank,
and nestled so closely to him that her warm breath lifted the
brown curls from his brow, was Ella. But there were no
SEAL DISTRESS. ~
tear stains on her face, for she did not yet know how bereaved
she was.
For a, moment Billy stood irresolute, and then as Mary
moved uneasily in her slumbers, he advanced a step or two
towards her. The noise aroused her, and instantly remem
bering and comprehending the whole, she threw herself with
a bitter cry into Billy s extended arms, as if he alone were
all the protector she now had in the wide, wide world. Ere
long Ella too awoke, and the noisy outburst which followed
the knowledge of her loss, made Mary still the agony of her
own heart in order to soothe the more violent grief of her ex
citable sister.
There was a stir in the cradle, and with a faint cry the
baby Alice awoke and stretched her hands towards Mary,
who, with all a mother s care took the child upon her lap,
and fed her from the milk which was still standing in the
broken pitcher. With a baby splay fulness A lice dipped her
small fingers into the milk, and shaking them in her sister s
face, laughed aloud as the white drops fell upon her hair.
This was too much for poor Mary, and folding the child clo
ser to her bosom she sobbed passionately.
" Oh, Allie, dear little Allie, what will you do ? Wh*,.
shall we all do ? Mother s dead, mother s dead ! "
Ella was not accustomed to see her sister thus moved, and
her tears now flowed faster while she entreated Mary to stop.
u Don t do so, Mary," she said. " Don t do so. You make
me cry harder. Tell her to stop, Billy. Tell her to stop."
But Billy s tears were flowing too, and he could only an
swer the little girl by affectionately smoothing her tangled
curls, which for once in her life she had forgotten to arrange
At length rising up, he said to Mary, " Something must bo
done. The villagers must know of it, and I shall have to
leave y?u alone while I tell them.
28 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
In half an hour from that time the cottage was
filled with people, some of whom came out of idle curiosity, and
after seeing all that was to be seen, started for home, telling
the first woman who put her head out the chamber window
for particulars, that " twas a dreadul thing, and such a pity,
too, that Ella should have to go to the poor-house, with her
pretty face and handsome curls."
But there were others who went there for the sake of com
forting the orphans and attending to the dead, and by noon
the bodies were decently arranged for burial. Mrs, John
son s Irish girl Margaret was cleaning the room, and in tht
bedroom adjoining, Mrs. Johnson herself, with two or threo
other ladies, were busily at work upon some plain, neat
shrouds, and as they worked they talked of the orphan chil
dren who were now left friendless.
" There will be no trouble," said one, " in finding a place
for Ella, she is so bright and handsome, but as for Mary, I
am afraid she ll have to go to the poor-house."
" Were I in a condition to take either," replied Mrs. John
son, " I should prefer Mary to er sister, tor in my estima
tion she is much the best girl 5 but there is the baby, who
must go wherever Mary does, unless she can be persuaded
to leave her."
Before any one could reply to this remark, Mary, who
had overheard every word, came forward, and laying her
faco on Mrs. Johnson s lap. sobbed out, li Let me go with
Alice, I told mother I would."
Billy Bender, who all this while had been standing by thv,
door, now gave a peculiar whistle, which with him was omi
nous of some new idea, and turning on his heel started for
home, never once thinking, until he reached it, that his mo
ther more than six hours before had sent him in great haste
t rr the physician. On entering the house, he found her, as
THE BURIAL OP MRS. HOWARD. 29
ae expected, rolled up in bed. apparently in the last stage of
scarlet fever ; but before she could reproach him, he said,
" Mother, have you heard the news ? "
Mrs. Bender had a particular love for news, and now for
getting " how near to death s door" she had been, she eager
ly demanded, ci What news ? What has happened ? "
When Billy told her of the sudden death of Mrs. How
ard and Frank, an expression of " What ? That all ? "
passed over her face, and she said, " Dear me, and so the poor
critter s gone ? Hand me my snuff, Billy. Both died last
night, did they ? Hain t you nothin else to tell ? "
" Yes, Mary Judson and Ella Campbell, too, are dead."
Mrs. Bender, who like many others courted thu favor of
the wealthy, and tried to fancy herself on intimate terms with
them, no sooner heard of Mrs. Campbell s affliction, than her
own dangerous symptoms were forgotten, and springing up
she exclaimed, " Ella Campbell dead ! What ll her mother
do ? I must go to her right away. Hand me my double
gown there in the closet, and give me my lace cap in the low
er draw, and mind you have the teakettle biled agin I get
back."
" But, mother," said Billy, as he prepared to obey her,
" Mrs. Campbell is rich, and there are enough who will pity
her. If you go any where, suppose you stop at Mrs. How
ard s, and comfort poor Mary, who cries all the time because
she and Alice have got to go to the poor-house."
" Of course they ll go there, and they orto be thankful
they ve got so good a place Get away. That ain t my dou
ble gown ; that s a cloak. Don t you know a cloak from a
double gown ? "
11 Yes, yes," said Billy, whose mind was not upon his mo
ther s toilet " but," he continued, : I want to ask you, can t
30 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
we, couldn t you take them for a few days, and perhaps
something may turn up."
" William Bender," said the highly astonished lady,
what can you mean ? A poor sick woman like me, with
one foot in the grave, take the charge of three pauper chil
dren ! I shan t do it, and you needn t think of it."
" But, mother," persisted Billy, who could generally coax
her to do as he liked, "it s only for a few days, and they ll
not be much trouble or expense, for I ll work enough harder
to make it up."
" I have said no once, William Bender, and when /say
no. I mean no," was the answer.
Billy knew she would be less decided the next time the
subject was broached, so for the present, he dropped it, and
taking his cap he returned to Mrs. Howard s, while his mo
ther started for Mrs. Campbell s.
Next morning between the hours of nine and ten, the toll
ing bell sent forth its sad summons, and ere long a few of
the villagers were moving towards the brown cottage, where
in the same plain coffin slept the mother and her only boy.
Near them sat Ella, occasionally looking with childish curi
osity at the strangers around her, or leaning forward to peep
at the tips of the new morocco shoes which Mrs. Johnson
had kindly given her ; then, when her eye fell upon the cof
fin, she would burst into such an agony of weeping that many
of the villagers also wept in sympathy, and as they stroked
her soft hair, thought, " how much more she loved her mo
ther than did Mary," who, without a tear upon her cheek,
sat there immovable, gazing fixedly upon the marble face of
her mother. Alice was not present, for Billy had not only
succeeded in winning his mother s consent to take the chil
dren for a few days, but he had also coaxed her to say that
Alice might come before the funeral, on condition that he
BABY TENDING. 31
would remain at home and take care of her. This he did
willingly, for Alice, who had been accustomed to see him.
would now go to no one else except Mary.
Billy was rather awkward at baby tending, but by dint of
emptying his mother s cupboard, blowing a tin horn, rattling
a pewter platter with an iron spoon, and whistling Yankee
Doodle, he managed to keep her tolerably quiet until he saw
the humble procession approaching the house. Then, hurry
ing with his little charge to the open window, he looked out.
Side by side walked Mary and Ella, and as Alice s eyes fell
upon the former, she uttered a cry of joy, and almost sprang
from Billy s arms. But Mary could not come ; and for the
next half hour Mrs. Bender corked her ears with cotton,
while Billy, half distracted, walked the floor, singing at the
top of his voice every tune he had ever heard, from " Easter
Anthem" down to " the baby whose father had gone a hunt
ing," and for whom the baby in question did not care two
straws.
Meantime the bodies were about to be lowered into the
newly made grave, when Mrs. Johnson felt her dress ner
vously grasped, and looking down she saw Mary s thin, white
face uplifted towards hers with so earnest an expression, that
she gently laid her hand upon her head, and said, " What ia
ft, dear?"
" Oh, if I can. if they only would let me look at them
once more. I couldn t see them at the house, my eyes were
so dark."
Mrs. Johnson immediately communicated Mary s request
to the sexton, who rather unwillingly opened the coffin lid.
The road over which they had come, was rough and stony,
and the jolt had disturbed the position of Frank, who now
lay partly upon his mother s shoulder, with his cheek resting
against hers. Tenderly Mary laid him back upon his own
32 THE ENGLISH ORPHAN.
pillow, and then kneeling down and burying her face in hor
mother s bosom, she for a time remained perfectly silent, al
though the quivering of her frame plainly told the anguish
of that parting. At length Mrs. Johnson gently whispered,
Come, darling, you must come away now ;" but Mary did
not move ; and when at last they lifted her up, they saw
that she had fainted. In a few moments she recovered, and
with her arms across her sister s neck, stood by until the
wide grave was filled, and the bystanders were moving away.
As they walked homeward together, two women, who had
been present at the funeral, discussed the matter as fol
lows :
" They took it hard, poor things, particularly the oldest."
u Yes, though I didn t think she cared as much as t oth
er one, until she fainted, but it s no wonder, for she s old
enough to dread the poor-house. Did you say they were
staying at widder Bender s ? "
" Yes, and how in this world widder Bender, as poor as
she pretends to be, can afford to do it, is more than I can tell."
" Are you going to the other funeral this afternoon ? "
" I guess I am. I wouldn t miss it for a good deal. Why,
as true as you live, I have never set my foot in Mrs. Camp
bell s house yet, and know no more what is in it than the
dead."
" Well, I do, for my girl Nancy Ray used to live there,
and she s told me sights. She says they ve got a big look
ing-glass that cost three hundred dollars."
" So I ve heard, and I s pose there ll be great doin s this
afternoon. The coffin, they say, came from Worcester, and
cost fifty dollars."
" Now, that s what I call wicked. Sposin her monoy
did come from England, she needn t spend it so foolishly ;
but then money didn t save Ella s life, and they say her mo
A PARTING. 33
ther s done nothing but screech and go on like a mad woman
fcince she died. You ll go early, won t you? "
" Yes, I mean to be there in season to get into the par
lor if I can."
And now, having reached the corner, where their psth
diverged, with a mutual " good day" they parted
2*
CHAPTER IV.
ELLA CAMPBELL,
SCARCELY three hours had passed since the dark, moist
earth was heaped upon the humble grave of the widow and
her son, when again, over the village of Chicopee floated the
notes of the tolling bell, and immediately crowds of persons
with seemingly eager haste, hurried towards the Campbell
mansion, which was soon nearly filled. Among the first ar
rivals were our acquaintances of the last chapter, who were
fortunate enough to secure a position near the drawing-room,
which contained the " big looking-glass."
On a marble table in the same room, lay the handsome
coffin, and in it slept young Ella. Gracefully her small wax
en hands were folded one over the other, while white, half-
opened rose buds were wreathed among the curls of her hair,
which fell over her neck and shoulders, and covered the pur
ple spots, which the disease had left upon her flesh. " She
is too beautiful to die, and the only child too," thought more
than one, as they looked first at the sleeping clay and then
at the stricken mother, who, draped in deepest black, sob
bed convulsively and leaned for support upon the arm of
the sofa. What now to her were wealth and station ? What
did she care for the elegance which had so often excited the
envy of her neighbors ? That little coffin, which had cost BO
ANOTHER DEATH 35
many dollars and caused so much remark, contained what to
her was far dearer than all. And yet she was not one half
so desolate as was the orphan Mary, who in Mrs. Bender s
kitchen sat weeping over her sister Alice, and striving to
form words of prayer which should reach the God of the
fatherless. \
But few of the villagers thought of her this afternoon,
Their sympathies were all with Mrs. Campbell ; and when at
the close of the services she approached to take a last look of
her darling, they closed around her with exclamations of grief
and tears of pity, though even then some did not fail to note
and afterwards comment upon the great length of her costly
veil, and the width of its hem ! It was a long procession
which followed Ella Campbell to the grave, and with bowed
heads and hats uplifted, the spectators stood by while the
coffin was lowered to the earth ; and then, as the Campbell
carriage drove slowly away, they dispersed to their homes,
speaking, it may be, more tenderly to their own little ones,
and shuddering to think how easily it might have been them
selves who were bereaved.
Dark and dreary was the house to which Mrs. Campbell
returned. On the stairs there was no patter of childish feet.
In the halls there was no sound of a merry voice, and on her
bosom rested no little golden head, for the weeping mother
was childless. Close the shutters and drop the rich damask
curtains, so that no ray of sunlight, or fragrance of summer
flowers may find entrance there to mock her grief. In all
Chicopee was there a heart so crushed and bleeding as hers ?
Yes, on the grass-plat at the foot of Mrs. Bender s garden
an orphan girl was pouring out her sorrow in tears which al
most blistered her eyelids as they fell.
Alice at last was sleeping, and Mary had come out to
weep alone where there were none to see or hear. For her
36 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
the future was dark and cheerless as midnight. No friends
no money, and no home, except the poor-house, from which
young as she was, she instinctively shrank.
" My mother, oh, my mother," she cried, as she stretched
her hands towards the clear blue sky, now that mother s
home, " Why didn t I die too? "
There was a step upon the grass, and looking up Mary
saw standing near her, Mrs. Campbell s English girl, Han
nah. She had always evinced a liking for Mrs. Howard s
family, and now after finishing her dishes, and trying in vain
to speak a word of consolation to her mistress, who refused io
be comforted, she had stolen away to Mrs. Bender s, osten
sibly to see all the orphans, but, in reality to see Ella, who
had always been her favorite. She had entered through the
garden gat , , and came upon Mary just as she uttered the
words, " Why didn t I die too ?"
TLe sight of her grief touched Hannah s heart, and sit
ting down by the little girl, she tried to comfort her. Mary
felt that her words and manner were prompted by real sym
pathy, and after a time she grew calm, and listened, while
Hannah told her that " as soon as her mistress got so any
body could go near her, she meant to ask her to take Ella
Howard to fill the place of her own daughter."
" They look as much alike as two beans," said she, " and
sposin Ella Howard ain t exactly her own flesh and blood,
she would grow into liking her, I know."
Mary was not selfish, and the faint possibility that her
sister might not be obliged to go to the poor-house, gave her
comfort, though she knew that in all probability she herself
must go. After a few more words Hannah entered the cot
tage, but she wisely chose to keep from Ella a knowledge of
her plan, which very likely might not succeed. That night
after her return home Hannah lingered for a long time abou<
A KIND HEART. irff
the parlor door, glancing wistfully towards her mistress,
who reclined upon the sofa with her face entirely hidden by
her cambric handkerchief.
" It s most too soon, I guess," thought Hannah, " I ll
wait till to-morrow."
Accordingly next morning, when, as she had expected /
she was told to carry her mistress s toast and coffee to her
room, she lingered for a while, and seemed so desirous of
speaking that Mrs. Campbell asked what she wanted.
" Why, you see, ma am, I was going 10 say a word about,
about that youngest Howard girl." (She dared not say
Ella.) " She s got to go to the poor-house, and it s a pity,
she s so handsome. Why couldn t she come here and live ?
I ll take care of her, and twouldn t be nigh so lonesome."
At this allusion to her bereavement Mrs. Campbell burst
into tears, and motioned Hannah from the room.
" I ll keep at her till I fetch it about," thought Hannah,
as she obeyed the lady s order. But further persuasion from
her was rendered unnecessary, for Mrs. Lincoln, whom we
have once before mentioned, called that afternoon, and after
assuring her friend that she never before saw one who was
so terribly afflicted, or who stood so much in need of sym
pathy, she casually mentioned the Howards, and the ex
treme poverty to which they were reduced. This reminded
Mrs. Campbell of Hannah s suggestion, which she repeated
to her visitor, who answered, " It would unquestionably be i.
goood idea to take her, for she is large enough to be useful in
the kitchen in various ways."
Mrs. Campbell, who had more of real kindness in her
nature than Mrs. Lincoln, replied, " If I take her, I shall
treat her as my own, for they say she looks like her, and
ber name, too, is the same."
Here Mrs. Campbell commenced weeping, and as Mrs
33 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
Lincoln soon took her leave, she was left alone fo*
several hours. At the end of that time, impelled by ssme-
tiling she could not resist, she rang the bell and ordered
Hannah to go to Mrs. Bender s and bring Ella to her room
as she wished to see how she appeared.
With the utmost care, Ella arranged her long curls, and
then tying over her black dress the only white apron which she
possessed, she started for Mrs. Campbell s. The resemblance
between herself and Ella Campbell was indeed so striking, that
but for the dress the mother might easily have believed it
to have been her own child. As it was, she started up when
the little girl appeared, and drawing her to her side, involun
tarily kissed her ; then causing her to sit down by her side,
she minutely examined her features, questioning her mean
time concerning her mother and her home in England. Of
the latter Ella could only tell her that they lived in a city,
and that her mother had once taken her to a large, hand
some house in the country, which she said was her old home.
" There were sights of trees, and flowers, and vines, and
fountains, and little deer," said the child, " and when I asked
ma wky she did not live there now, she cried, and pa put
his arm tight round her, no."
From this Mrs. Campbell inferred that Ella s family
must have been superior to most of the English who emi
grate to this country, and after a few more questions she de
cided to take her for a time, at least ; so with another kiss
ehe dismissed her, telling her she would come for her soon.
Meantime arrangements were making for Mary and Alice
and on the same day in which Mrs. Campbell was to call for
Ella, Mr. Knight, one of the "Selectmen," whose business
it was \o look arter the town s poor,* also came to the cot-
"Massachusetts ^&oh town has its own poor-house.
A NEW HOME. 32
tage. After learning that Ella was provided for, he turned
to Mary, asking "how old she was. and what she could
do," saying, that his wife was in want of just such a girl tc
do " chores," and if she was willing to be. separated from
Alice, he would give her a home with him. But Mary
only hugged her sister closer to her bosom as she replied
" I d rather go with Alice. I promised mother to take
care of her."
" Very well," said the man, c< I m going to North Chico-
pee, but shall be back in two hours, so you must have your
things all ready."
" Don t cry so, Mary," whispered Billy, when he saw
how fast her tears were falling. " I ll come to see you every
week, and when I am older, and have money, I will take
you from the poor-house, and Alice too."
Just then, Mrs. Campbell s carriage drove up. She had
been taking her afternoon ride, and now, on her way home,
had stopped for Ella, who in her delight at going with so
handsome a woman, forgot the dreary home which awaited
her sister, and which, but for Mrs. Campbell s fancy, would
have been hers also. "While she was getting ready, Mr.
Knight returned, and driving his old-fashioned yellow wag
on, with its square box-seat up by the side of Mrs. Camp
bell s stylish carriage, he entered the house, saying, i: Come,
gal, you re ready, I hope. The old mare don t want to
stand, and I m in a desput hurry, too. I orto be to hum this
minute, instead of driving over that stony Portupog road.
I hope you don t mean to carry that are thing," he continued,
pointing with his whip towards Alice s cradle, which stood
near Mary s box of clothes.
The tears came into Mary s eyes, and she answered,
Alice has always slept in it, and I didn t know but "
Here she stopped, and running up to Ella, hid her face
40 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
in her lap, and sobbed, " I don t want to go. Oh, I doi. *
want to go, can t I stay with you ? "
Billy s yellow handkerchief was suddenly brought into
requisition, and Mrs. Bender, who, with all her imaginary
aches and pains, was a kind-hearted woman, made vigorous
attacks upon her snuff-box, while Mrs. Campbell patted
Mary s head, saying, " Poor child. I can t take you both, but
you shall see your sister often. 1
Ella was too much pleased with Mrs. Campbell, and the,
thoughts of the fine home to which she was going, to weep
but her chin quivered, when Mary held up the baby for her
to kiss, and said, " Perhaps you will never see little Allie
again."
When all was ready, Mr. Knight walked around his wag
on, and after trying to adjust the numerous articles it con
tained, said, " I don t see how in the world I can carry that
cradle, my wagon is chuck full now. Here is a case of shoes
for the gals to stitch, and a piller case of flour for Miss Smith,
and forty le^en other traps, so I guess you ll have to leave
it. Mebby you can find one there, and if not, why, she ll
soon get used to going without it."
Before Mary could reply, Billy whispered in her ear,
" Never mind, Mary; you know that little cart that I draw
mother s wood in, the cradle will just fit it, and to-morrow
afternoon I ll bring it to you, if it doesn t rain."
Mary knew that he meant what he said, and smiling on
him through her tears, climbed into the rickety wagon,
which was minus a step, and taking Alice in her arms, shu
was soon moving away. In striking contrast to this, Ella,
about five minutes afterwards, was carefully lifted into Mrs.
Campbell s handsome carriage, and reclining upon soft cush
ions, was driven rapidly towards her new home.
Will their paths in life always continue thus different ?
Who can toll ?
I
CHAPTER V.
THE POOR-HOUSE.
How long and tiresome that ride was with no one for a corn
panion except Mr. Knight, who, though a kind-hearted man.
knew nothing about making himself agreeable to little girls
so he remained perfectly taciturn, whipping at every cow or
pig which he passed, and occasionally screaming to his horse,
" Git up, old Charlotte. What are you bout? "
Mary, who had seldom been out of the village, and who
knew but little of the surrounding country, for a time enjoyed
looking about her very much. First they went down the
long hill which leads from the village to the depot. Then
they crossed the winding Chicopee river, and Mary thought
how much she should love to play in that bright green mea
dow and gather the flowers which grew so near to the wa
ter s edge. The causeway was next crossed, and turning
to the right they came upon a road where Mary had neve*
been before, and which grew more rough and stony as they
advanced.
On the top of a steep hill Mary looked back to see if
Chicopee were yet visible, but nothing was to be seen except
the spire of the Unitarian Meeting- House. About a quar
ter of a mile to the west, however, the graveyard was
plainly discernible, and she looked until her eyes were dim
with tears at the spot where she knew her parents and bro
thcr were lying. By this time Alice was asleep, and though
42 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
the little arms which held her ached sadly, there was nc
complaint, but she wished Mr. Knight would speak to hcf
once, if it were only to ask her how she did !
At last, concluding there would be no impropriety in
making the first advances herself, she said timidly, " Is it
such a very bad place at the poor-house ? "
" Why, no, not so dreadful. There s places enough,
sight worse, and then agin there s them, a good deal better
But you needn t be afeard. They ll take good care of you.
" I wasn t thinking of myself," said Mary.
" Who was you thinkiu of, then ? "
" Of Alice ; she s always been sick and is not used to
strangers, and among so many I am afraid she will be fright
ened."
" Oh, she ll soon get used to em. Nothin like habit.
Weakly, is she ? Wall, the poor-house ain t much of a place
to get well in, that s a fact. But she d be better off to die
and go to her mother, and then you could get a good place at
some farmer s."
Mary wondered how he could speak thus carelessly of
what would cause her so much sorrow. Gently lifting the
old faded shawl, she looked down upon Alice as she slept.
There was a smile upon her face. She was dreaming, and
as her lips moved, Mary caught the word, " Ma," which t he
child had applied indiscriminately both to herself and her
mother. Instantly the tears gushed forth, and falling upon
the baby s face awoke her. Her nap was not half out, and
setting up a loud cry, she continued screaming until they
drove up to the very door of the poor-house.
" For the land s sake," paid Mr. Knight, as he helped
Mary from the wagon, " what a racket ; can t you contrive
to stop it ? you ll have Sal Furbush in your hair, for she don t
like a noise."
THE POOR-HOUSE. 43
Mary glanced nervously round in quest of the goblin
Sa!, but slie saw nothing save an idiotic face with bushy
tangled hair, and nose flattened against the window pane.
In terror Mary clung to Mr. Knight, and whispered, as she
pointed towards the figure, which was now laughing hide
ously. " What is it ? Are there many such here ? "
" Don t be afeard," said Mr. Knight, " that s nobody but
foolish Patsy ; she never hurt any body in her life. Come,
now, let me show you to the overseer."
Mary looked towards the woods which skirted the bor
ders of the meadow opposite, and for half a moment felt in
clined to flee thither, and hide herself in the bushes ; but Mr.
Knight s hand was upon her shoulder, and he led her towards
a red-whiskered man, who stood in the door.
" Here, Parker," said he, " I ve brought them children I
was tellin you about. You ve room for em, I s pose."
" Why, ye-es, we can work it so s to make room. Guess
we shall have rain to-morrow."
Mary remembered that Billy would not come if it rained,
and with a sigh she noticed that the clouds were dark and
threatening. They now entered the kitchen, which was a
long, low, narrow room, with a fireplace on the right, and
two windows opposite, looking towards the west. The floor
was painted add very clean, but the walls were unfinished,
and the brown rafters were festooned with cobwebs. In
the middle of the room, the supper table was standing, but
there was nothing homelike in the arrangement of the many
colored dishes and broken knives and forks, neither was there
any thing tempting to one s appetite in the coarse brown
bread and white-looking butter. Mary was very tired with
Holding Alice so long, and sinking into a chair near the win
dow, she would have cried ; but there was a tightness in her
throat, and a pressure about her head and eyes, which kept
44 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
the tears from flowing. She had felt so once before. - Tvvas
when she stood at her mother s grave ; and now as the room
grew dark, and the objects around began to turn in circles,
she pressed her hands tightly to her forehead, and said,
" Oh. I hope I shan t faint."
" To be sure you won t," said a loud, harsh voice, and in
stantly large drops of water were thrown in her face, while
the same voice continued : " You don t have such spells
often, I hope, for Lord knows I don t want any more fitty
ones here."
" No, ma am," said Mary, meekly; and looking up, she
saw before her a tall, square-backed, masculine-looking wo
man, who wore a very short dress, and a very high-crowned
cap, fastened under her chin with bows of sky-blue ribbon.
Mary knew she was indebted to this personage for the
chower-bath, for the water was still trickling from her fingers,
which were now engaged in picking her teeth with a large
pin. There was something exceedingly cross and forbidding
in her looks, and Mary secretly hoped she would not prove
to be Mrs. Parker, the wife of the overseer. She was soon
relieved of her fears by the overseer himself, who came for
ward and said, ; Polly, I don t see any other way but you ll
have to take these children into the room next to yourn.
The baby worries a good deal, and such things trouble my
wife, now she s sick."
The person addressed as <c Polly," gave her shoulders an
angry jerk, and sticking the pin on the waist of her dress, re
plied, " So I s pose it s no matter if I m kept awake all night,
and worried to death. But I guess you d find there d be
queer doins here if I should be taken away. I wish the
British would stay to hum, and not lug their young ones here
for us to take care of."
This was said with a lowering frown, and movement to-
45
wards Mary, who shrank back into the corner and covered
her mouth with her hand, as if that were the cause oJ
offence.
" But you can take an extra nap after dinner," said Mr.
Parker, in a conciliatory manner. <; And then you are so
good at managing children, that I thought they would be bet
ter off near you."
This speech, while it mollified Polly, made Mary shud
der, as she thought of Alice s being " managed " by such a
woman. But she had no time for thought, for Polly, who
was very rapid in her movements, and always in a hurry, said,
" Come, child, I will show you where you are going to
sleep ; " at the same time she caught up Alice, who, not liking
her handling, kicked so vigorously that she was soon drop
ped ; Polly remarking, that <: she was mighty strong in her
legs for a sick baby."
After passing up a dark stairway they came to a door,
which opened under the garret stairs, and Mary was startled
by a voice which seemed to be almost over her head, and
which, between a sneer and a hiss, called out, " See where
the immaculate Miss Grundy comes!"
This was followed by a wild, insane chuckle, which made
Mary spring in terror to Polly s side.
" Oh, who is it ? " said .she. Is it Patsy ? "
" Patsy ! " was the tart reply. " She never is saucy like
that. It s Sal Furbush."
Mary longed to ask who Sal Furbush was ; but as her
guide did not seem at all inclined to be communicative, she
followed on in silence until they came to a longer and lighter
hall, or " spaceway," as it is frequently called in New Eng
land. On each side of this there were doors opening into
small sleeping rooms, and into one of these Polly led her
companion, saying, as she did so, " This is your room, and it s
46 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
a great favor to you to be so near me. But mind, that child
mustn t cry and keep me awake nights, for if she does, may
be you ll have to move into that other space, where we heard
the laugh."
Mary thought she would rather do any thing than that.
She also felt a great curiosity to know who her companion
was, so she at last ventured to ask, " Do you live here, Miss
Polly ? "
" Why, yes, I m staying here for a spell now : kind of
seeing to things. My name isn t Polly. It s Mrs. Mary
Grundy, and somehow folks have got to nicknaming me Pol
ly, but it ll look more mannerly in you to call me Mrs. Grun
dy; but what am I thinking of? The folks must have their
supper. So you d better come down now."
" If you please," said Mary, who knew she could not eat
a mouthful, " If you please, I d rather stay here and rest me
if I can have some milk for Alice by and by."
" Mercy sakes, ain t that child weaned ? " asked Mrs
Grundy.
" Ma am ? " said Mary, not exactly understanding her.
" Ain t Ellis weaned, or must we break into the cream a
dozen times a day for her ? "
" She has never eaten any thing but milk," said Mary,
weeping to think how different Mrs. Grundy s manner
was from her own dear mother s.
" Wall, there s no use blubberin so. If she must have
milk, why she must, and that s the end on t. But what I
v. ant to know is, how folks as poor as yourn, could afford to
buy milk for so big a child."
Mary could have told of many hungry nights which she
and Frank had passed in order that Ella and Alice might be
fed. but she made no remark, and Mrs. Grundy soon left the
MRS. GRUNDY. 47
room saying,, " Come down when you get ready for the juilk.
I s pose skim will do."
Half an hour after Alice began to cry ; and Mary, know
ing she was hungry, laid her upon the bed and started foi
the milk. She trembled as she drew near the garret stairs,
and trod softly that she might not be heard, but as she was
passing the mysterious door, a voice entirely different in its
tone from the one assumed toward^ Mrs. Grundy, called out,
" Come here, little dear, and see your Aunty."
Mary s circle of acquaintances was quite as large as she
cared to have it, and quickening her steps, she was soon in the
kitchen, where she found several old ladies still lingering over
cups of very weak and very red looking tea. As she entered
the room they all suspended their operations, and looking
hard at her, asked if she were the little English girl. On
being told that she was, three of them returned to their cups,
while one shook her head, saying, " Poor child, I pity you."
Mary had heard that remark many times, but she knew
that the words now conveyed other meaning than what refer
red to her face or teeth.
" Where can I find Mrs. Grundy ? " she at last ventured
to ask.
" Where can you find who ?" asked a spiteful looking wo
man. u Did she tell you to call her so ? "
" She told me that was her name, yes, ma am," said
Mary.
" Well, Mrs. Grundy is in the but ry," indicating with
her elbow the direction.
Mary had no trouble in finding " the but ry," but on try
ing the door, she found it fastened inside. In answer to he*
gentle knock a harsh voice replied, u Who s there ? "
" It s I. IVe come after the milk for Alice."
With a jerk Mrs. Grundy opened the door, and putting a
48 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
pint cup two thirds full of blue milk in Mary s hand, she has
tily shut and fastened it again. Quick as her movements
were, Mary caught a smell of strong green tea, and the sight
of a sugar bowl and a slice of white bread. She knew now
why the door was buttoned, but thinking it was none of her
business, she started to return to the kitchen. As she passed
the outer door, an old gray-haired man, with a face perfectly
simple and foolish in its expression, stepped towards her,
stretching out his hands as if to reach her. With a loud cry
she rushed headlong into the kitchen, where one of the wo
men was still sitting.
" What s broke loose now ? " asked the woman, to which
Mary replied, " Look at him ! " at the same time pointing to
the man, who with his hand thrust out was still advancing to
wards her.
" Don t be scared," said the woman. " It s uncle Peter.
Let him touch you and he ll go off;" but Mary didn t choose
to be touched, and retreating towards the chamber door, she
fled rapidly up the stairs.
This time she was not accosted by any one, but as she
passed the dark closet, she was surprised to hear a musical
voice singing the national air of her own country, and she
wondered, too, at the taste of the singer in finishing every
verse with " God save Miss Grundy."
That night Alice, who missed her cradle, was unusually
estless, and Mary, remembering Mrs. Grundy s threat, car
ried her in her arms until after midnight. Then without
undressing she threw herself upon the bed, and. for the first
time in many weeks, dreamed of George and his parting
promise to see her again. The next morning when she awoke
she found Mr. Parker s prediction verified, for the clouds
were pouring rain. " Billy won t come to-day," was her first
thought, and throwing herself upon the floor she burst into
A HARSII WOMAN. 49
tears, wishing as she had once done before that sLe had died
with her mother.
In the midst of her grief the door was pushed hastily
open, and Mrs. Grundj s harsh voice exclaimed, " Wall, so
you are up at last, hey ? I didn t know but you was goin
to take it upon you to sleep over, but that don t answer
here."
" Is it after breakfast time ? " asked Mary.
" After breakfast time," repeated Mrs. Grundy. " No,
but I guess you ll find there s something to do before break
fast, or did you think we s goin to support you in idleness ? "
Here, touched perhaps by the pale, tearful face uplifted
to hers, Mrs. Grundy s voice softened, and in a milder tone
she added, u We won t mind about it, seein it s the first morn
ing, but come, you must be hungry by this time."
Although so poor, Mrs. Howard had been extremely neat
and as she said " cold water cost nothing," she had insisted
upon her children s being very nice and particular in their
morning toilet. Mary remembered this, and now casting a
rueful glance around the room she said, " I wonder where I
am going to wash me."
The loud, scornful laugh which followed this remark
made her look up amazed at Mrs. Grundy, who replied, " In
the back room sink, of course. May-be you expected to have
a china bowl and pitcher in your room, and somebody to emp
ty your slop. I wonder what airs paupers wont take on
themselves next."
" I didn t mean to take airs," said Mary ; " I don t care
where I wash myself, but Alice is siok, and mother had me
bathe her every morning. While we were at Mrs. Bender s,
though, I didn t do it, and I don t think she seems as well."
" Pride and poverty," muttered Mrs. Grundy. u She
won t get many baths here, I can tell you, nor you either,
3
50 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
unless it is a dishwater one. Know how to wash dishej
hey?"
" Yes, ma am," said Mary meekly.
" Then I ll give you a chance to try your hand aftei
breakfast, but cqme, I m in a hurry."
Mary glanced at Alice. She was sleeping sweetly, and
though there seemed to be no reason, she still lingered.
" What are you waiting for ? " asked Mrs. Grundy, and
Mary, with some hesitation, answered, tl I haven t said my
prayers yet."
A change passed suddenly over Mrs. Grundy s face, and
she turned away without a word. When she was gone Mary
fell on her knees, and though the words she uttered were ad
dressed more to her mother than to God, she felt comforted,
and rising up started for the kitchen. It was a motley group
which she found assembled around the breakfast table, and
as she entered the room, the man called Uncle Peter smiled
on her, saying, " Come here, little daughter, and let me touch
you with the tip of my fourth finger."
Shrinking to nearly half her usual size } she managed to
pass him without coming in contact with said finger, which
was merely a stump, the first joint having been amputated.
On reaching the back room she readily found the place where
she with all the rest was to wash. For this she did not care,
as the water was as cold and pure, and seemed as refreshing
as when dipped from her mother s tin wash-basin. But when
she came to the wiping part, and tried in vain to find a clean
corner on the long towel, which hung upon a roller, she felt
that she was indeed a pauper.
" I should think we might have a decent towel," thought
she. " Mother used to say it cost nothing to be clean ;" then
looking round to be sure that no one saw her, she caught up
51
the skirt of her dress and drying her face with it, went back
to the kitchen.
She would greatly have preferred a seat by a pleasant
looking old lady who looked kindly on her, but Mrs. Grundy
bade her sit down by her and help herself. She did not ex
actly fancy the looks of the thick fried pork, swimming in
grease, so she took a potato and a slice of bread, to get
which she reached so far that the lower hook on her dress
which for a day or two had been uncertain whether to come
off or stay on, now decided the matter by dropping on tho
floor. As she was proceeding with her breakfast, Uncle Peter
suddenly dropping his knife and fork, exclaimed, " Little
daughter s teeth are awry, ain t they ? "
Mary had hoped that at the poor-house her mouth would
not be a subject of comment, but she was disappointed, and
bursting into tears would have risen from the table, had not
the kind looking woman said, " Shame on you, Peter, to
plague a little girl."
Uncle Peter, too, who was fond of children, seemed dis
tressed, and passing towards her the bowl of milk which was
standing by him, he said, " Drink it, daughter ; miljj for
babes, and meat for strong men."
There was so much of real kindness in his manner that
Mary s fear of him diminished, and taking the offered milk
she thanked him so kindly that Uncle Peter, who was quite
an orator, considered it his duty to make a speech. Push
ing back his chair, he commenced with a bow which required
BO many changes of his legs that Mary wondered they were
not entirely twisted up.
" Ladies and gentlemen, one and all," said he, " but par
ticularly ladies, what I have to say is this, that henceforth
and for ever I am the champion of this unprotected female,
who from parts unknown has come among us. God blesi
52 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
her. I will also announce formally that I still hold mysclj
in readiness to teach the polite accomplishment of dancing
in my room, No. 41, Pauper s Hotel."
Having finished this speech he resumed his breakfast, af
ter which with another of his wonderful bows he quitted the
room. Mary was about following his example when Mrs.
Grundy said, " Come, catch hold now and see how spry you
can clear the table, and you, Rind," speaking to a simple
looking girl with crooked feet, " do you go to your shoes.
Be quick now, for it s goin on seven o clock."
At this moment Mary caught sight of Mr. Parker, who
was standing just without the door, and his mischievous look
as Mrs. Grundy gave out her orders made Mary a little sus
picious of that lady s real position among them. But she had
no time for thought, for just then through all the closed
doors and the long hall there came to her ears the sound of
a scream. Alice was crying, and instantly dropping the
plate she held in her hand, Mary was hurrying away, when
Mrs. Grundy called her back, saying " Let her cry a spell.
Twill strengthen her lungs."
Mary had more spirit than her face indicated, and in her
mind she was revolving the propriety of obeying, when Mr.
Parker, who was still standing by the door, said, " If that
baby is crying, go to her by all means."
The look of gratitude which Mary s eyes flashed upon
him, more than compensated for the frown which darkened
Mrs. Grundy s brow as she slammed the doors together, mut
tering about " hen-hussies minding their own business."
Mary was not called down to finish the dishes, and when
at last she went to the kitchen for milk, she found them all
washed and put away. Mrs. Grundy was up to her elbows
in cheese curd, and near her, tied into an arm chair, sat Pat-
y, nodding her head and smiling as usual. The pleasant
53
looking woman was mopping the kitchen floor, and Mary, fo*
the first time, noticed that she was very lame.
" Go out doors and come round. Don t you see you ll
track the floor all up ?" said Mrs. Grundy, and the lame wo
man replied, " Never mind, Polly, I can easy wipe up her
tracks, and it s a pity to send her out in the rain."
Mary chose to obey Mrs. Grundy, who wiped the crumbs
of curd and drops of whey from her arms and took the cup,
saying, " More milk ? Seems to me she eats a cart load !
I wonder where the butter s to come from, if we dip into the
cream this way."
Had Mary been a little older, she might have doubted
whether the blue looking stuff Mrs. Grundy poured into her
cup, ever saw any cream, but she was only too thankful to
get it on any terms, and hurried with it back to her room.
About noon the clouds broke away, while here and there a
patch of bright blue sky was to be seen. But the roads were
so muddy that Mary had no hope of Billy s coming, and
this it was, perhaps, which made the dinner dishes so hard
to wash, and which made her cry when told that all the
knives and forks must be scoured, the tea-kettle wiped, and
set with its nose to the north, in what Mrs. Grundy called
the " Pout Hole," and which proved to be a place under the
stairs, where pots, kettles and iron ware generally were kept.
All things have an end, and so did the scouring, in spite
of Mary s fears to the contrary, and then watching a time
when Mrs. Grundy did not see her, she stole away up stairs.
Taking Alice on her lap she sat down by the open window
where the damp air cooled and moistened her flushed face.
The rain was over, and across the meadow the sun was shin
ing through the tall trees, making the drops of water which
hung upon the leaves sparkle and flash in the sunlight like
BO many tiny rainbows. Mary watched them for a time, and
54 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
then looking upward at the thin white clouds which chssed
each other so rapidly across the blue sky, wondered if hci
mother s home were there, and if she ever thought of her
children, so sad and lonely without her.
A movement of Alice aroused her from her reverie, <tnd
looking into the road, she saw directly opposite the house
Billy Bender, and with him, Alice s cradle. In a moment
Mary s arms were thrown about his neck as tightly as if she
thought he had the power and was come to take her away.
" Oh, Billy, Billy," she said, " I was afraid you would
not come, and it made me so unhappy. Can t you take mo
home with you ?"
Billy had expected as much, and had tried hard to make
his mother say that if Mary and Alice were very homesick
he might bring them home. But this was Mrs. Bender s
sick day, and Billy s entreaties only increased the dangerous
symptoms of palsy from which she was now suffering, the
scarlet fever having been given up until another time.
" If the select men pay me well for it," said she, " I will
take them what little time I have to live, but not without."
Billy knew the town could support them much cheaper
where they were, so he gave up his project, and bought Mary
a pound of seed cakes and Alice a stick of candy. Then,
the moment the rain had ceased he got himself in readiness
to start, for he knew how long the day would seem to Mary,
and how much Alice would miss her cradle. Three times
before he got outside the gate his mother called him back
once to find her snuff-box : once to see if there was not more
color in her face than there ought to be, and lastly to in
quire if her mouth hadn t commenced turning a little to
wards the right ear ! After finding her box, assuring her
that her color was natural and her mouth all straight, he at
O
last got started. The road was long and the hills were
A COUNTRY HUO. 55
steep, but pitiently Billy toiled on, thinking how surprised
and pleased Mary would bo; and when he saw how joyfully
she received him, he felt more than paid for his trouble.
Some boys would have rudely shaken her off, ashamed to be
caressed by a little girl, but Billy s heart was full of kindly
sympathy, and he returned her caresses as a brother would
have done.
As he released her, he was startled at hearing some one
call out, " Bravo ! That, I conclude, is a country hug. I
hope she won t try it on me ! "
Turning about he saw before him a white-faced boy,
nearly of his own age, whose dress and appearance indicated
that he belonged to a higher grade, as far as wealth was con
cerned. It was Henry Lincoln, notorious both for pride and
insolence. Billy, who had worked for Mr. Lincoln, had been
insulted by Henry many a time, and now he longed to avenge
it, but native politeness taught him that in the presence of
Mary twould not be proper, so without a word to Henry he
whispered to the little girl, " That fellow lives near here,
and if he ever gives you trouble, just let me know."
" Kissed her then, didn t you ? " sneeringly asked Henry,
retreating at the same time, for there was something in Bil
ly s eye,Hvhich he feared.
i: Come into the house," said Mary, " where he can t sea
us," and leading the way she conducted him up to her own
room, where there was no fear of being interrupted.
Alice was first carefully fixed in her cradle, and then
kneeling down at Billy s side, and laying her arms
across his lap, Mary told him of every thing which had hap
pened, and finished by asking, " how long she must stay
there."
Had Billy s purse been as large as his heart, that ques*
tion would have been easily answered. Now he could only
56 THE .NGLISH ORPHANS.
shake his head in reply, while Mary next asked if he had
seen Ella.
" I have not seen her," returned he, "but I ve heard
that rainy as it was this morning, Mrs. Campbell s maid was
out selecting muslins and jaconets for her, and they say she
is not to wear black, as Mrs. Campbell thinks her too
young."
Mary did not speak for sometime, but her head dropped
on Billy s knee and she seemed to be intently thinking. At
last, brushing aside the hair which had fallen over her fore
head, Billy said, tl What are you thinking about? "
" I was wondering if Ella wouldn t forget me and Allie,
now she is ~ich and going to be a lady."
Billy had thought the same thing, and lifting the little
girl in his lap, he replied, " If she does, I never will ; " and
then he told her again how, when he was older, and had
money, he would take her from the poor-house and send her
to school, and that she should some time be as much of a
lady as Ella.
By this time Mrs. Grundy s work in the kitchen was
done. Patsy had been shaken for stealing a ginger cake,
the lame woman had been scolded because her floor had dried
in streaks, which was nothing remarkable considering how
muddy it was. Uncle Peter had- been driven from the pan
try for asking for milk, and now the lady herself had come
up to change her morning apparel and don the high-crowned
cap with the sky-blue ribbons. Greatly was she surprised
at the sound of voices in the room adjoining, and while Mary
was still in Billy s lap the door opened, and Mrs. Grundy
appeared, with her hands thrown up and the wide border of
her morning cap, which also did night service for its fair
owner, flying straight back.
" Mary Howard ! " said she ; " a man up in this hall
URE. 5 1
where no male is ever permitted to come ! What does it
mean ? I shall be ruined ! "
" No danger, madam, I assure you," said Billy. " I came
to bring Alice s cradle, and did not suppose there was v.uy
thing improper in coming up here."
" It s nobody but Billy Bender," said Mary, frightened
at Mrs. Grundy s wrathful looks.
" And who is Billy Bender ? A beau ? Pears to me you
are beginning young, and getting on fast, too, a settin in hia
lap. S posin I should do so wouldn t it be a town s
talk ? "
Mary tried to get down, but Billy, greatly amused at the
highly scandalized lady s distress, held her tigfitly, and Mrs.
Grundy, slamming the door together, declared "she d
tell Mr. Parker, and that s the end on t."
But no Mr. Parker made his appearance, and as the sun
was getting towards the west, Billy ere long started up, say
ing, he must go now, but would come again next week. Mary
followed him down stairs, and then returning to her room
cried herself into so sound a sleep that Mrs. Grundy was
obliged to scream to her at least a dozen times to come
down and set the supper table, adding as a finale, that " sho
wondered if she thought she was a lady boarder or what."
CHAPTER VI.
SAL FURBUSH.
THE next morning, beween nine and ten, as Mary sat by
Alice s cradle rocking her to sleep, she was sensible of an
unusual commotion in and around the house. First there
was the sound as of some one dancing in the dark passage.
Then there was the same noise in the kitchen below, and a
merry voice was heard singing snatches of wild songs, while
occasionally peals of laughter were heard mingled with Mrs.
Grundy s harsher tones. Mary s curiosity was roused, and
as soon as Alice was fairly asleep, she resolved to go down
and ascertain the cause of the disturbance, which had now
subsided.
As she opened her door, she saw advancing towards her
from the farthest extremity of the iiall, a little, shrivelled
ap woman, with wild flashing eyes, and hair hanging loosely
over her shoulders. She was shaking her fist in a very
threatening manner, and as she drew nearer Mary saw that
her face was going through a great variety of changes, being
at first perfectly hideous in its expression, and then instantly
changing into something equally ridiculous, though not quite
so frightful. Quickly divining that this must be Sal Fur-
bush, Mary sprang back, but had not time to fasten her dooi
NO OTHER HOME. 59
ere the wild woman was there. In a tremor of terror Mary
ran under the bed as the only hiding-place the room afforded,
but her heart almost ceased beating as she saw her pursuer
about to follow her. Springing out -with a bound she would
perhaps have made her egress through the open window, had
not Sally prevented her by seizing her arm, at the same time
saying, " Don t be alarmed, cluckey, I shati t hurt you ; I m
Sal. Don t you know Sal? "
The voice was low and musical, and there was something
in its tones which in a measure quieted Mary s fears, but
she took good care to keep at a respectful distance. After
a while Sally asked, " Have you come here to board ? "
" I have come here to live," answered Mary, " I have no
other home."
" Well, for your sake I hope there ll be an improvement
in the fare, for if there isn t I declare /won t stay much
longer, though to be sure you don t look as if you d been
used to any thing better than skim-milk. What ails your
teeth, child ? "
Involuntarily Mary s hand went up to her mouth, and
Sally, who if she expected an answer, forgot to wait for it,
continued, " Do you know grammar, child ? "
Mary replied that she had studied it a few months in
Worcester, and a few weeks in Chicopee.
" Oh, I am so glad," said Sal, " for now I shall have an
associate. Why, the greatest objection I have to the kind
of people one meets with here, is that they are so horribly
vulgar in their conversation and murder the Queen s English
go dreadfully. But won t you and I have good times saying
the rules in concert ?"
Unfortunately Mary s knowledge of grammar was rather
limited, and as she did not exactly fancy Sal s proposition
60 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
she answered that she had nearly forgotten all she ever kne*
of grammar.
"Oh, that s nothing, child that s nothing, said Sal
It will return to you gradually. Why, things that happened
forty years ago and were forgotten twenty years ago come
back to me every day, but then I always did forget more in
one night than some people, Miss Grrundy, for instance, evci
knew in all their life."
" Have you lived here long ? " asked Mary.
" Yes, a great while," and the expression of Sally s face
grew graver, as she added, " Perhaps you don t know that I
lost little Willie, and then Willie s father died too, and left
me all alone. Their graves are away on the great western
prairies, beneath the buckeye trees, and one night when the
winter wind was howling fearfully, I fancied I heard little
Willie s voice calling to me from out the raging storm. So
I lay down on the turf above my lost darling, and slept so
long, that when I awoke my hair had all turned gray and I
was in Chicopee, where Willie s father used to live. After
a while they brought me here and said I was crazy, but I
wasn t. My head was clear as a bell, and I knew as much as
I ever did, only I couldn t tell it, because, you see, the right
words wouldn t come. But I don t care now I ve found
some one who knows grammar. How many genders are
there, child 1 "
<: Four," answered Mary, who had been studying Smith.
Instantly Sal seized Mary s hands, and nearly wrenching
them off in her joy, capered and danced about the room,
leaping over the cradle, and finally exclaiming, " Capital !
You think just as I do, don t you ? And have the same opin
ion of her? What are the genders, dear? Repeat them "
" Masculine, Feminine, Neuter and Common," said Mary
" 0, get out with your common gender," screamed S-J
GRUNDY GENDER. 6
" My grammar don t read so. It says Masculine, Feminine
Neuter and Grundy gender, to which last but one thing iri
the world belongs, and that is the lady below with the cast*
iron back and India-rubber tongue."
" Do you mean Mrs. Grundy ? " asked Mary, and Sal re
plied, " Mrs. Grundy 1 and who may Mrs. Grundy be ? Oh,
I understand, she s been stuffing you."
" Been what ?" said Mary.
" Excuse me." answered Sal. " That s a slang term I ve
picked up since I ve been here. It s so easy to get contam
inated, when one is constantly associated with silch low
people. I mean that during my temporary seclusion Miss
Grundy has probably given you erroneous impressions which
I take pleasure in correcting. She has no more right to
order us boarders around, and say when we shall breathe and
when we shan t, than I have. She s nothing more nor less
than a town pauper herself, and has to work at that."
"So do we all," interrupted Mary, and Sal continued :
" On that point you are slightly mistaken, my dear. I don t
have to. I didn t come here to work. They tried it
once."
Here pushing her tangled hair back from her brow, she
pointed to a long scar, saying, "Do you see that?" Mary
nodded, and Sal continued : " When I first came here, the
overseer was a bad man, not at all like Mr. Parker. One
day he told me to wash the dinner dishes, and to use more
than a pint of water, too, so I gathered them up and threw
them into the well ; but this method of washing did not suit
the overseer s ideas of housekeeping, so he took a raw hide,
and said he would either " break my will," or " break my
neck," and because he could not break my will, and dared
not break my neck, he contented himself with breaking my
head. Every blow that he struck me was like melted lead
62 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
poured into my brains, -which puffed out like sausages, and
have never recovered their \vonted dimensions. The town
took the matter up, but I don t remember much about it.
for I went to sleep again, and when I woke the overseer was
gone, and Mr. Parker was here in his place. I was chained
like a wild beast under the garret stairs, and Miss Grundy s
broad, stiff back was hung there for a door. Nobody asks
me to work now, but occasionally, just for pastime, I go into
Mrs. Parker s room and read to her, and tell her about my
Willie, who went away."
" How long has Mrs. Parker been sick ?" asked Mary.
" I m no judge of time," answered Sal, " but it seems a
great while, for since her illness Miss Grundy has been at the
helm in the kitchen, and perhaps it is all right that she
should be, for somebody must manage, and, as I had declared
I would not work, twould hardly have been consistent to
change my mind. And then, too, Miss Grundy seems ad
mirably suited for the place. Her fwte is among pots and
kettles, and she will get the most work out of the boarders,
keep them on the least fare, and put more money into Mr.
Parker s pocket at the end of a year, than any one he could
hire, and this is the secret of his bearingso much from her."
" But why does she want to fill his pockets with
money ? "
Sal gave a knowing wink and replied, " You are not old
enough to see into every thing, so I dare say you wouldn t
understand me if I should hint that Mrs. Parker has the con
sumption, and can t live always." Mary s looks plainly told
that this remark had given her no idea whatever, and Sal
continued, " I knew you wouldn t understand, for you haven t
my discernment to begin with, and then 3 r ou were never sent
way to school, were you ? "
" No, ma am, was you ? " asked Mary.
A LESSON IN GRAMMAR. 63
" Say were you? if you please, it is more euphonious.
i r es, I was at school in Leicester two years, and was called
the best grammarian there, but since I ve sojourned with
this kind of people, I ve nearly lost my refinement. To bo
sure I aim at exclusiveness, and now you ve come I shall cut
them all, with the exception of Uncle Peter, who would
be rather genteel if he knew more of grammar."
Just then Alice awoke, and Sally, who had not observed
her before, sprang forward with a scream of joy, and seizing the
child in her arms, threw her up towards the ceiling, catching
her as she came down as easily as she would a feather.
Strange to say Alice neither manifested any fear of the wo
man, nor dislike of the play, but laid her head on Sally s
shoulder as naturally as if it had been her mother.
" Dear little fellow," said Sal, " he looks like Willie,
only not half so handsome."
" She isn t a boy," quickly interrupted Mary. " Her
name is Alice."
* No consequence," said Sally, " he s Willie to me ; "
and ever after, in spite of Mary s remonstrance, she persisted
in speaking of Alice as " he," and " the little boy."
Mary soon found that the poor-house with Sal Furbush
shut up, and the poor-house with Sal at liberty, were quite
different affairs. Now it was no longer lonely, for Sal s fer
tile imagination was constantly suggesting something new,
either by way of pastime or mischief. Towards Miss Grundy,
she and the other paupers evinced a strong dislike, owing, in
a great measure, to the air of superiority which that lady
thought proper to assume, and which was hardly more than
natural considering the position which she occupied. She
was a capital housekeeper, and to one unacquainted with the
circumstances it seemed strange, why a person, apparently
no strong and healthy, should be in the Aims-House. Ui>
64 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
fortunately, however, she was subject to fits, which made
her presence so unpleasant to the people with whom she lived,
that at last, no one was willing to hire her. About that
time, too, she was taken very ill, and as she had no rela
tives, she was removed to the poor-house, where she had re
mained ever since.
"When Mrs. Parker became too feeble to work, Miss
Grundy immediately stepped into her place, filling it so well,
that as Sal had said, Mr. Parker bore a great deal from her,
knowing that no one whom he could hire would do as well, or
save as much as she did. Sal Furbush she could neither man
age nor make work, and she vented her spite towards her by
getting her shut up on the slightest pretexts. Sal knew very
well to whom she was indebted for her " temporary seclu
sions," as she called them, and she exerted herself to repay
the debt with interest. Sometimes on a sultry summer
morning, when the perspiration stood thickly on Miss Grun-
dy s face as she bent ovor a red-hot cook-stove in the kitch
en, Sal with her, feet in the brook, which ran through the
back yard, and a big palm-leaf fan in her hand, would call
out from some shady spot, " Hallo, Miss Grundy, don t you
wish you were a lady boarder, and could be as cool and as
comfortable as I am? ; Occasionally, too, when safely fas
tened in the pantry enjoying her green tea and Boston crack
ers, she would be startled with the words, " That must have
an excellent relish ! " and looking up, she would spy Sal,
cosily seated on the top shelf ; eyeing her movements com
placently. and offering, perhaps, to assist her if she found the
tea too strong !
Miss Grundy wore a wig, and as she seemed disturbed
whenever the fact was mentioned, the walls of the house both
inside and out were frequently ornamented with ludicrous
pictures of heself, in which she was sometimes represented
SAL S GRAMMAR LESSONS. 65
as entirely bald-headed, while with spectacles on the end oi
her nose, she appeared to be peering hither and thither in
quest of her wig. On these occasions Miss Grundy s wrath
knew no bounds, and going to Mr. Parker she would lay the
case before him in so aggravated a form, that at last to get
rid of her, he would promise that, for the next offence, Sal
should be shut up. In this way the poor woman, to use her
own words, " was secluded from the visible world nearly half
the time."
With the other inmates of the house, however, she was a
special favorite, and many were the kind turns which she
had done for the lame woman, whom Miss Grundy took de
light in reminding that " she didn t half earn the salt to her
porridge."
Next to the wig, nothing more annoyed Miss Grundy
than to see Sal, with grammar in hand, perched upon the
window sill or table, and repeating at the top of her voice
the u rules," of which every fourth one seemed to have been
made with direct reference to herself. But it was of no use
for Miss Grundy to complain of this, for as Sal said, " Mr.
Parker merely winked at it as the vagaries of a disordered
mind," and she was free to quote her grammar from morning
till night. Whenever she was crazier than usual, her command
of language was proportionately greater, and her references
to her grammar more frequent, while no one in the house could
venture a remark without being immediately corrected for
some impropriety of speech.
Uncle Peter, who had a high opinion of Sally s abilities,
always did his best to converse as she directed, but in her
"inspire d days" even he became utterly confounded, and once
when in one of her lofty strains, she had labored hard to ini
press upon him the all-important fact that adjectives are fre
quently changed into adverbs by the suffix " ly," the old
66 THE ENGLISH ORPHAK3.
man, quite out of his wits with his efforts to understand and
profit by her teachings, was guilty of a laughable blunder,
" Uncle Peter," said she, " did you notice how unusually
funnily Miss Grundy s wig was arranged at dinner to-day? "
Thinking that he fully understood the reply which he was
expected to make, and anxious to make amends for his for
mer stupidity, Uncle Peter promptly replied, " No, madam,
I did not-/?/ : "
The look of horror which Sally s face assumed, convinced
Uncle Peter that he had failed in his attempts at speaking
grammatically, and with a sudden determination never again
to try, he precipitately left the house, and for the next two
hours amused himself by playing " Bruce s Address " upon
his old cracked fiddle. From that time Sal gave up all
hopes of educating Uncle Peter, and confined herself mostly
to literary efforts, of which we shall speak hereafter.
The night following Sal s first acquaintance with Mary,
Alice cried until nearly day dawn. The milk which Miss
Grundy s stinginess allowed her, was not particularly condu
cive to her health, and besides that, she missed the invigo
rating bath to which she had been accustomed during her
mother s lifetime. Mary had spoken of it two or three times,
but Miss Grundy only jerked her shoulders, saying, " she
guessed she wasn t going to have such a slush around the
house. You can bring her down," said she, " to the sink,
and pump as much water on her as you like ; " so Mary said
no more about it until the night of which we have spoken,
and tbeu she determined on making one more effort. But
her heart almost failed her, when, on entering the kitchen, sho
saw how the chairs and Miss Grundy s shoulders danced
round. She well knew that something was wrong, and attri
buting it to Alice s crying, she awaited in silence for the
storm to burst.
BACHING A LUXURY. 6?
" Rind," said Miss Grundy to the girl with crooked
feet, who was washing the milk-pail, " ain t there nary spare
room in the dark passage ?"
" None but the wool room, as I know on," was Kind s
sullen response.
" Well, wool room tis then, for, as for my being kept
awake night after night, by a good for^nothin young one,
that hain t no business here, any way, I shan t do it. So
(speaking to Mary) you may just pick up your duds and
move this very morning."
" Going to put em in with the wool? " asked Rind, sus
pending operations, and holding up the pail so that the water
ran out of the spout.
" You shet up," said Miss Grundy, " and wait until
you re invited to speak. Goodness alive, look at that slop !
Tip up the pail, quick."
By this time Mary had found courage to say she thought
Alice would be better if she could have her usual bath every
morning. This only increased Miss Grundy s wrath, and
she whirled round so swiftly, that her forehead came in con
tact with the sharp edge of the cellar door, which chanced to
be open.
Good," softly whispered Rind, while the shuffling mo
tion of her club feet showed how pleased she was.
Mary, on the contrary, was really distressed, for she
knew the bumped head would be charged to her, and felt
sure that she was further than ever from the attainment ot
her object. Still, after Miss Grundy s forehead was duly
bathed in cold water, and bound up in a blue cotton hand
kerchief (the lady s favorite color), she again ventured t?
say, " Miss Grundy, if you will only let me wash Alice in
my room, I ll promise she shan t disturb you again."
After a great deal of scolding and fretting about whims,
08 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
ptuck-up notions, and paupers trying to be somebody, Miss
Grundy, who really did not care a copper where Alice was
washed, consented, and Mary ran joyfully up stairs with the
bucket of clear, cold water, which was so soothing in its
effects upon the feeble child, that in a short time she fell
into a deep slumber. Mary gently laid her down, and
then smoothing back the few silken curls which grew around
her forehead, and kissing her white cheek, she returned tc
the kitchen, determined to please Miss Grundy that day, if
possible.
But Miss Grundy was in the worst of humors, and the
moment Mary appeared she called cut, " Go straight back,
and fetch that young one down here. Nobody s a goin to
have you racin up stairs every ten minutes to see whether
or no she sleeps with her eyes open or shet. She can stay
here as well as not, and if she begins to stir, Patsy can jog
the cradle."
Mary cast a fearful glance at Patsy, who nodded and
smiled as if in approbation of Miss Grundy s command.
She dared not disobey, so Alice and her cradle were trans
ferred to the kitchen, which was all day lonp- kept at nearly
boiling heat from the stove room adjoining. Twice Mary
attempted to shut the door between, but Miss Grundy bade
her open it so she could " keep an eye on all that was going
on." The new sights and faces round her, and more than
all, Patsy s strange appearance, frightened Alice, who set up
such loud screams that Miss Grundy shook her lustily, and
then cuffed Patsy, who cried because the baby did, and pull
ing Mary s hair because she " most knew .she felt gritty,
she went back to the cheese-tub, muttering something about
" Cain s being raised the hull time."
At last, wholly exhausted and overcome with the heat,
Alice ceased screaming, and with her eyes partly closed, sh*
JUSTICE IN 4. POOR-HOUSE. 69
lay panting for breath, while Mary, half out of her senses,
tipped over the dishwater, broke the yellow pitcher, and
spilled a pan of morning s milk.
" If there s a stick on the premises, I ll use it, or my
name isn t Grundy," said the enraged woman, at the sam
time starting for a clump of alders which grew near the
brook.
At this stage of affairs, Sal Furbush came dancing in,
curtseying, making faces, and asking Mary if she thought
" the temperature of the kitchen conducive to health."
Mary instinctively drew nearer to her, as to a friend, and
grasping her dress, whispered, " Oh, Sally, Aunt Sally, don t
let her whip me for nothing," at the same time pointing
towards Miss Grundy, who was returning with an alder
switch, stripping off its leaves as she came.
" Whip you ? I guess she won t," said Sal, and planting
herself in the doorway as Miss Grundy came up, she asked,
" Come you with hostile intentions ? "
" Out of my way," said Miss Grundy. " I ll teach that
upstart to break things when she s mad." Pushing Sal aside,
she entered the kitchen.
Mary retreated behind the cupboard door, and Misa
Grundy was about to follow her, when Sal, with a nimble
bound, sprang upon her back, and pulling her almost to the
floor, snatched the whip from her hand, and broke it in
twenty pieces. How the matter would have ended is uncer
tain, for at that moment Mr. Parker himself appeared, and
to him Miss Grundy and Sal detailed their grievances, both
in the same breath.
" I can t get at a word," said he, and turning to tho
pleasant-looking woman, who was quietly paring apples, ha
asked what it meant.
In a plain, straightforward manner, she told all, begin-
70 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
ning from the time when Alice was first brought into the
kitchen, and adding, as an opinion of her own, that the child
was suffering from heat. Mr. Parker was a good-natured,
though rather weak man, and in reality slightly feared Miss
Grundy. On this occasion, however, he did not take sides
with her but said, " It was ridiculous to have such works,
and that if Mary wanted whipping, he would do it himself."
" But Sal Furbush," said Miss Grundy, as she adjusted
her head-gear, which was slightly displaced, " can t she be
shut up ? There s bedlam to pay the whole durin time
when she s loose."
Mr. Parker knew this very well, but before he had time
to answer, Mary looked pleadingly in his face, and said, " If
you please, don t shut her up. She was not to blame, for I
asked her to help me."
" Wall, wall, we ll let her off this time, I guess," said
he ; and as Uncle Peter just then put his head into the win
dow, saying that " the lord of the manor was wanted with
out," Mr. Parker left, glad to get out of the muss so easily.
N6 sooner was he gone, than Sal, catching up the cradle,
started for the stairs, saying, " I won t work, but I can, and
will take care of little Willie, and I choose to do it in a
more congenial atmosphere." Then, as Mary looked a lit
tle startled, she added, " Never you fear, dearie, Sal knows
what she s about, and she won t make the little boy the least
bit of a face."
From that time there was no more trouble with Alice
during the day, for she seemed to cling naturally to Sally,
who hour after hour rocked and took care of her, while
Mary, in the kitchen below, was busy with the thousand
things which Miss Grundy found for her to do.
A DHEAM Ol THE PAST.
CHAPTER VII.
THE LINCOLNS.
MARY had been at the poor-house about three weeks, -when
Miss Grundy one day ordered her to tie on her sun-bonnet,
and run across the meadow and through the woods until she
came to a rye stubble, then follow the footpath along the
fence until she came to another strip of woods, with a brook
running through it. " And just on the fur edge of them
woods," said she, " you ll see the men folks to work ; and do
you tell em to come to their dinner quick."
Mary tied her sun-bonnet and hurried off, glad to escape
for a few moments from the hot kitchen, with its endless
round of washing dishes, scouring knives, wiping door-sills,
and dusting chairs. She had no difficulty in finding the way,
and she almost screamed for joy, when she came suddenly
upon the sparkling brook, which danced so merrily beneath
the shadow of the tall woods.
" What a nice place this would be to sit and read," was
her first exclamation, and then she sighed as she thought
how small were her chances for reading now.
Quickly her thoughts traversed the past, and her tears
mingled with the clear water which flowed at her feet, as she
recalled the time when, blessed with a .father s and mother s
love, she could go to school and learn as other children did.
She was roused from her sad reverie by the sound of voices,
which she supposed proceeded from the men, whose tones,
72 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
she fancied, were softer than usual. " If I can hear them,
they can hear me," thought she, and shouting as loud as she
could, she soon heard Mr. Parker s voice in answer, saying,
he would come directly.
It was a mild September day, and as Mary knew that
Sal would take care of Alice, she determined not to hurry,
but to follow the course of the stream, fancying sho should
find it to be the same which ran through the clothes-yard at
nome. She had not gone far, when she came suddenly upon
a boy and two little girls, who seemed to be playing near the
brook. In the features of the boy she recognized Henry
Lincoln, and remembering what Billy had said of him, she
was about turning away, when the smallest of the girls
espied her, and called out, " Look here, Hose, I reckon
that s Mary Howard. I m going to speak to her."
" Jenny Lincoln, you mustn t do any such thing. Moth
er won t like it," answered the girl called Hose.
But whether " mother would like it," or not, Jenny did
not stop to think, and going towards Mary she said, " Have
you come to play in the woods ? "
" No," was Mary s reply. " I came to call the folks to
dinner."
" Oh, that was you that screamed so loud. I couldn t
think who it was, but it can t be dinner time ?"
" Yes tis ; it s noon."
" "Well we don t have dinner until two, and we can stay
here till that time. Won t you play with us ?"
" No, I can t, I must go back and work," said Mary.
" "Work !" repeated Jenny. " I think it s bad enough to
have to live in that old house without working, but come and
see our fish-pond;" and taking Mary s hand, she led her to
a wide part of the stream where the water had been dam
med up until it was nearly two feet deep and clear as crystal
A CHUBBY COUNTRY GIRL. 73
Looking hi, Mary could see the pebbles on the bottom, while
a fish occasionally darted out and then disappeared.
" I made this almost all myself," said Jenny. " Henry
wouldn t help me because he s so ugly, and Rose was afraid
of blacking her fingers. But I don t care. Mother says I m
a great, great. I ve forgotten the word, but it means dirty
aiid careless, and I guess I do look like a fright, don t I ? ;
Mary now for the first time noticed the appearance of her
companion, and readily guessed that the word which she
could not remember, was " slattern." She was a fat, chub
by little girl, with a round, sunny face and laughing blue
eyes, while her brown hair hung around her forehead in
short, tangled curls. The front breadth of her pink gingham
dress was plastered with mud. One of her shoe-strings was
untied, and the other one gone. The bottom, of one pantalet
was entirely torn off, and the other rolled nearly to the knee
disclosing a pair of ankles of no Liliputian dimensions. The
strings of her white sun-bonnet were twisted into a hard knot,
and the bonnet itself hung down her back, partially hiding
the chasm made by the absence of three or four hooks and
eyes. Altogether she was just the kind of little girl which
one often finds in the country swinging on gates and making
mud pies.
Mary was naturally very neat ; and in reply to Jenny s
question as to whether she looked like a fright, she answered,
" I like your face better than I do your dress, because it is
clean."
" Why, so was my dress this morning," said Jenny, ; but
here can t any body play in the mud and not get dirty.
My pantalet hung by a few threads, and as I wanted a rag
to wash my earthens with, I tore it off. Why don t you
woar pantalets ? "
Mary blushed painfully, as she tried to hide her bare
4
74 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
feet with her dress, but she answered, " When mother died
I had only two pair, and Miss Grundy says I sha nt wear
them every day. It makes too much washing."
" Miss Grundy ! She s a spiteful old thing. She shook
me once because I laughed at that droll picture Sal Furbush
drew of her on the front door. I am afraid of Sal, ain t
ou?"
" I was at first, but she s very kind to me, and I like her
now."
" Well, I always run when I see her. She makes such
faces and shakes her fist so. But if she s kind to you, I ll
like her too. You go away (speaking to Henry), and not
come here to bother us."
Henry gave a contemptuous whistle, and pointing to Ma
ry s feet, said, "Ain t they delicate? Most as small as her
teeth !
The tears came into Mary s eyes, and Jenny, throwing a
stick at her brother, exclaimed, " For shame, Henry Lincoln !
You always was the meanest boy. Her feet ain t any big
ger than mine. See," and she stuck up her little dumpy
foot, about twice as thick as Mary s.
Cracky ! " said Henry, with another whistle. " That
may be, too, and not be so very small, for yours are as big
as stone-boats, any day, and your ankles are just the size of
the piano legs." So saying, he threw a large stone into the
water, spattering both the girls, but wetting Jenny the most.
After this he walked away apparently well pleased with his
performance.
"Isn t he hateful?" said Jenny, wiping the water from
fjer neck and shoulders ; " but grandma says all boys are so
until they do something with the oats, I ve forgot what.
But there s one boy who isn t ugly. Do you know Billy
Bender?
THE ONLY FRIEND. 75
" Billy Bender? Oh, yes," said Mary quickly, " he is all
the friend I ve got in the world except Sal Furbush."
" Well, he worked for my pa last summer, and oh, I liked
him so much. I think he s the bestcst boy in the world.
And isn t his face beautiful ?"
" I never thought of it," said Mary. " What makes you
think him so handsome? "
" Oh, I don t know unless it s "because he makes such
nice popple whistles ! " and as if the argument were conclu
sive, Jenny unrolled her pantalet, and tried to wipe some of
the mud from her dress, at the same time glancing towards
her sister, who at some little distance was reclining against
an old oak tree, and poring intently over " Fairy Tales for
Children."
Seeing that she was not observed, Jenny drew nearer to
Mary and said, " If you ll never tell any body as long as you
live and breathe, I ll tell you something."
Mary gave the required promise, and Jenny continued :
" I shouldn t like to have my mother know it, for she scolds
all the time now about my vulgar tastes, though I m sure
Rose likes the same things that I do, except Billy Bender,
and it s about him I was going to tell you. He was so pleas
ant I couldn t help loving him, if mother did say I mustn t.
He used to talk to me about keeping clean, and once I tried
a whole week, and I only dirtied four dresses and three pair
of pantalets in all that time. Oh, how handsome and funny
his eyes looked when I told him about it. He took me in
his lap, and said that was more than he thought a little girl
ought to dirty. Did you ever see any boy you loved as wel)
as you do Billy Bender?"
Mary hesitated a moment, for much as she liked Billy,
there was another whom she loved better, though he had
never been one half as kind to her as Billv had. A-fter a
76 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
time she answered, " Yes, I like, or I did like George More
land, but I shall never see him again ; " and then she told
Jenny of her home in England, of the long, dreary voyage
to America, and of her father s death ; but when she came to
the sad night when her mother and Franky died, she could
not go on, and laying her face in Jenny s lap, she cried for a
long time. Jenny s tears flowed, too, but she tried to
restrain them, for she saw that Rose had shut her book and
was watching her movements.
Ere long, however, she resumed her reading, and then
Jenny, softly caressing Mary, said, " Don t cry so, for I ll love
you, and we ll have good times together too. We live in Bos
ton every winter, but it will be most six weeks before we go,
and I mean to see you every day."
" In Boston ? " said Mary, inquiringly. " George lives
in Boston."
Jenny was silent a moment, and then suddenly clapping
her hands together, she exclaimed, " I know George More-
land. He lives just opposite our house, and is Ida Selden s
cousin Why he s most as handsome as Billy Bender, only
he teases you more. I ll tell him about you, for mother
says he s got lots of money, and perhaps he ll give you
some."
Mary felt that she wouldn t for the world have George
know she was in the poor-house, and she quickly answered,
: No, no, you mustn t tell him a word about me. I don t
ivant you to. Promise that you won t."
Loth as Jenny was to make such a promise, she finally
did, adding, ll I guess I won t tell Rose either, for she and
Ida are great friends. George says he don t know which he
likes best, though he thinks Rose the handsomest. He likes
handsome girls, and so do I."
Mary knew she had no beauty of which to boast, but Ella
JENNY S KINDNESS. 77
had, so she very naturally mentioned her sister, saying how
much she wished to see her.
l m Why, you ( can sec her at church," answered Jenny.
" Why don t you ever go ? "
" I am going next Sunday, Sally and I," was Mary s
reply. " Billy told me the last time he was here that ho
would come and stay with Alice."
" Oh, I m glad, and I hope they ll put you in my Sabbath
school class, for Ella is in it, but if they do I ll contrive to
have Rose sit off a good ways because, because "
Here Jenny paused, but seeing that Mary was waiting
for her to finish the sentence, she added, " She s proud, and
sometimes laughs at poor girls. 3
" Thank you, Miss Jenny Lincoln," said Rose, coming
forward. " I ll tell mother of this new intimacy, and she ll
put a stop to it, I ll assure you. But come along, I m going
home."
Jenny arose to obey, but whispered to Mary, " You ll
find me most any time in these woods. I d ask you to come
to our house, only mother wouldn t let you sit in the parlor.
I shall see you Sunday, Good-bye."
Mary watched her until she disappeared among the bushes,
and then she too started for home, with a lighter heart than
she had known before for many a day. She had found a
new friend, and though Miss Grundy scolded because she
had been gone so long, and threatened to shut her up in Sal
Furbush s cage, she did not mind it, and actually commenced
humming a tune while Miss Grundy was storming about a
bowl of sour milk which she had found in the cupboard. A
sharp box on her ears brought her song to an end and the
tears into her eyes, but she thought of Jenny, and the fact
that she too knew George made him seem nearer, and when
Miss Grundy did not see her she hastily drew the golden
78 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
locket from her bosom, and glancing at the handsome, bcyish
face it revealed, quickly thrust it back as she heard a quids
step in the passage.
She had no opportunity of seeing Jenny again that week,
for she was kept busy from morning till night, running here
and there, first after eggs, then after water, next for pota
toes, and then after wood. And still Miss Grundy told he*
fifty times a day that " she didn t half pay her way, to say
nothing about the young one."
" Bolt at once," said Sal. " Bolt, and say you didn t come
here to work: that s the way I did."
Mary was willing to do whatever she could, but she often
wished Mrs. Parker were able to be round, for then she was
sure she would not have to work so hard. She had several
times been sent of errands to Mrs. Parker s room, and that
lady had always spoken kindly to her, asking her if she was
tired, or what made her look so pale. It was through Mrs.
Parker s influence, too, that she had obtained permission to
attend church the following Sabbath. Mrs. Parker was a
professor of religion, and before her illness, some of the fam
ily had attended church every Sunday. But since she had
been sick, her husband had thought it hardly worth while to
harness up his horses, though he said any one might go who
chose to walk. Few, however, were able to walk ; so they
remained at home, and Sunday was usually the noisiest day
in the week. Sal Furbush generally took the lead, and
mounting the kitchen table, sung camp-meeting hymns as
loud as she could scream. Uncle Peter fiddled, Patsy nod
ded and laughed, the girl with crooked feet by way of increas
ing the bedlam would sometimes draw a file across the
Btove-pipe, while Miss Grundy scolded, and declared " she
could not and would not have such a noise."
u Shut your head, madam, and there ll be less," was Sal s
A. FEMALE PREACHER. 79
ready rejoinder, as at the end of a verse she paused for
breath.
The first Sabbath Mary looked on in perfect amazement,
but the next one she spent in her own room, and after a deal
of trouble, succeeded in coaxing Sal to stay there too, listen
ing while she read to her from her little Bible. But the
reading was perplexing business, for Sal constantly correct
ed her pronunciation, or stopped her while she expounded
Scripture, and at last in a fit of impatience Mary tossed the
book into the crazy creature s lap, asking her to read her
self.
This was exactly what Sal wanted, and taking the foot
of Mary s bed for her rostrum, she read and preached so
furiously, that Mary felt almost glad when Miss Grundy
came up to stop the racket, and locked Sal in her own
room.
80 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS
CHAPTER VIII.
AT CH UR C H .
THE Sabbath following Mary s first acquaintance with
Jenny was the one on which she was to go J .o church. Billy
Bender promised that if his mother were ~uot suffering from
any new disease, he would come to stay with Alice, and in
case he failed, the pleasant-looking woman was to take his
place. Mary would have preferred going alone, but Sally
begged so hard, and promised so fairly " not to make a speck
of a face at the preacher, provided he used good grammar,
that Mary finally asked Mr. Parker to let her go.
He consented willingly, saying he hoped the house would
be peaceable for once. And now, it was hard telling which
looked forward to the next Sunday with the most impa
tience, Mary or Sal, the latter of whom was anxious to see
the fashions, as she fancied her wardrobe was getting out of
date. To Mary s happiness there was one drawback. A few
weeks before her mother s death she had given to Ella her
straw hat, which she had outgrown, and now the only bonnet
she possessed was the veritable blue one of which George
Moreland had made fun, and which by this time was nearly
worn out. Mrs. Campbell, who tried to do right and thought
that she did, had noticed Mary s absence from church, and
once on speaking of the subject before Hannah, the latter
Buggcstcd that probably she had no bonnet, saying that the
THE ODIOUS BONNET. 8i
one which she wore at her mother s funeral was borrowed
Mrs. Campbell immediately looked over her things, and so
lecting a straw which she herself had worn three years be
fore, she tied a black ribbon across it, and sent it as a pres
ent to Mary.
The bonnet had been rather large for Mrs. Campbell,
and was of course a world too big for Mary, whose face looked
in i t, as Sal expressed it, " like a yellow pippin stuck into
the far end of a firkin. 1 Miss G run dy, however, said " it
was plenty good enough for a pauper, ; reminding Mary that
" beggars shouldn t be choosers."
" So it is good enough for paupers like you," returned
Sal, " but people who understand grammar always have a
keen sense of the ridiculous."
Mary made no remark whatever, but she secretly won
dered if Ella wore such a hat. Still her desire to see her
sister and to visit her mother s grave, prevailed over all other
feelings, and on Sunday morning it was a very happy child
which at about nine o clock bounded down the stairway, tidi
ly dressed in a ten cent black lawn and a pair of clean white
pantalets.
There was another circumstance, too, aside from the pros
pect of seeing Ella, which made her eyes sparkle until they
were almost black. The night before, in looking over the ar
ticles of dress which she would need, she discovered that there
was not a decent pair of stockings in her wardrobe. Mrs.
Grundy, to whom she mentioned the fact, replied with a vio
lent shoulder jerk, " For the land s sake ! ain t you big enough
v o go to mcetin barefoot, or did you think we kept silk stock-
n s for our quality to wear? "
Before the kitchen looking-glass, Sal was practising a
courtesy which she intended making to any one who chanced
to notice her next day ; but after overhearing Miss Grundy s
4*
82 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
remark, she suddenly brought her exercises to a close and left
the kitchen. Arrived at her room, she commenced tumbling
over a basket containing her wearing apparel, selecting from
it a pair of fine cotton stockings which she had long preserv
ed, because they were the last thing Willie s father ever gave
her. " They are not much too large for her now," thought
she, lt but I guess I ll take a small seam clear through them."
This being done, she waited until all around the house waa
still, and then creeping steathily to Mary s room, she pinned
the stockings to the pantalets, hanging the whole before the
curtainless window, where the little girl could see them the
moment she opened her eyes ! Mary well knew to whom
she was indebted for this unexpected pleasure, and in her ac
customed prayer that morning she remembered the poor old
crazy woman, asking that the light of reason might again
dawn upon her darkened mind.
On descending to the kitchen, Mary found Sal waiting
for her, and, as she had expected, rigged out in a somewhat
fantastic style. Her dress, which was an old plum-colored
silk, was altogether too short-waisted and too narrow for the
prevailing fashion. A gauze handkerchief was thrown across
her neck, and fastened to her belt in front by a large yellow
bow. Her bonnet, which was really a decent one, was almost
entirely covered by a thick green veil, and notwithstanding
the sun was shining brightly, she carried in her hand a large
blue cotton umbrella, for fear it would rain !
" Come, child," said she, the moment Mary appeared,
" put on your tea-kettle (referring to the bonnet which Mary
held in her hand), and let us start."
There was no looking-glass in Mary s room, and she stepped
before the one in the kitchen while she adjusted her hat, but
her courage almost failed her as she saw the queer-looking
image reflected by the mirror. She was unusually thin, and
THE WALK TO CHURCH. 83
it seemed to her that her teeth were never so prominent
before. Her eyes, always large, now looked unnaturally so,
and as she placed what Sal had termed a " tea-kettle / upon
her head, she half determined not to go. But Sal caught
her hand, saying, k Come, child, it s time we were off.
They ll all know it s Mrs. Campbell s old bonnet, and will
laugh at her for giving it to you."
Billy had not come, but the pleasant-looking woman had
succeeded in making friends with Alice, and as Mary passed
out of the yard she saw her little sister spatting the window
sill, and apparently well pleased with her new nurse.
Scarcely were they out of sight of the house, when Sal,
seating herself upon a large stone, commenced divesting her
feet of her shoes and stockings.
" What are you doing ? " asked Mary, in great surprise.
" I guess I know better than to wear out my kid slippers
when I ve got no Willie s father to buy me any more," an
swered Sal. " I m going barefoot until I reach the river
bridge, and then I shall put them on again."
The shoes and stockings being carefully rolled up in a
paper which Sal produced from her pocket, they walked
briskly forward, and reached the village some time before
the first bell rang for church.
" Come down this street, please," said Mary to her com
panion, who with slippers readjusted and umbrella hoisted
was mincing along, courtesying to every one she met, and
asking them how they did " Come down this street ; I
want to see my old home."
Sal readily complied, saying as they drew near the low
brown house, in which a strange family were now living,
" There is nothing very elegant in the architecture of this
dwelling."
Mary made no reply. With her head resting upon the
84 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
garden fence, and one Land clasped around a shrub whicli
Franky had set out, she was sobbing as though her heart
would break. Yery gently Sal laid her hand on Mary s
shoulder, and led her away, saying, " What would I not
have given for such a command of tears when Willie s father
died. But I could not weep ; and my tears all turned to
burning coals, which set my brain on fire."
The next time Mary raised her head they were opposite
Mrs. Bender s, where Sal declared it her intention to stop.
As they were passing up to the side door, Billy, who heard
their footsteps, came out, and shaking hands with Mary, and
trying hard to keep from laughing at the wonderful courtesy,
which Sal Furbush made him. On entering the house they
found Mrs. Bender flat on her back, the pillow pulled out
from under her head, and the bed-clothes tucked closely up
under her chin.
: Mother was so sick I couldn t come," said Billy to
Mary, while Sal, walking up to the bedside, asked, " Is your
sickness unto death, my good woman ? "
" Oh, I am afeard not." was the feeble response. " Folks
with my difficulty suffer for years."
Mary looked inquiringly at Billy, and a smile but little
according with his mother s seeming distress parted his lips as
he whispered, " She was reading yesterday about a woman
that had been bed-ridden with a spinal difficulty, and now she
declares that she too has got a spine in her back, though I
fancy she would be in a pretty predicament without one
But where did you get that fright of a bonnet ? " he con
tinued. It s like looking down a narrow lane to see your
face."
Mary knew that Billy was very observing of dress, and
she blushed painfully as she replied, that Mrs. Campbell
gave it to her.
THE TWO SISTERS IN CHURCH. 85
" Well, she ought to be ashamed," said he, " with all hei
money to give you a corn-basket of a thing like that. Ella
doesn t wear such a one, I can tell you."
Just then the first bell rang, and Sal, who had mischie
vously recommended a mustard poultice, as being the most
likely to draw Mrs. Bender s spine to a head, started to go
saying, li she wanted to be there in season, so as to see the
folks come in."
Accordingly they again set forward, attracting more at
tention, and causing more remarks, than any two who had
passed through Chicopee for a long time. On reaching the
church, Sal requested the sexton to give her a seat which
would command a view of the greater part of the congrega
tion, and he accordingly led them to the farthest extremity
of one of the side galleries. Mary had been there at church
before, but as she had always sat near the door, she did not
know in what part of the building Mrs. Campbell s pew was
located. As she leaned over the railing, however, she con
cluded that the large square one with crimson velvet cushions
must be hers. Erelong the bell began to toll, and soon a
lady dressed in deep mourning appeared, and passing up the
middle aisle, entered the richly cushioned pew. She was ac
companied by a little girl, tastefully dressed in a frock of light-
blue silk tissue. A handsome French straw hat was set jaun
tily on one side of her head, and her long curls hung over her
white neck and shoulders. Mary knew that this was Ella,
and involuntarily starting up, she leaned forward far enough
to bring her bonnet directly in sight of some thoughtless
girls, who immediately commenced tittering, and pointing her
out to those near them.
Blushing scarlet, the poor girl sank back into the scat,
saying half aloud, " 0, 1 wish I hadn t come."
"What s the mafer?" said Sal. "Has somebody
86 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
laughed at you ? I ll warrant there has ;" and leaning over the
railing herself, she shook her fist threateningly at the girls,
whose eyes were still directed that way.
Mary felt instinctively that her companion was attracting
more attention than her bonnet ; and twitching her dress,
bade her sit down. Sal obeyed ; but she had no opportu
nity that morning of deciding whether the sermon were gram
matical or not, for she was constantly on the look out, and
whenever she saw any one scrutinizing Mary or herself more
closely than they ought, a shake of her fist and a horrid face
warned them to desist. Twice during church time Mary
thought, nay felt sure that she caught her sister s eye, but it
was quickly withdrawn, as if unwilling to be recognized.
"When church was out. Sal insisted upon going down im
mediately ; so they descended together to the porch below,
reaching it just as Mrs. Campbell appeared in the doorway.
Had she chosen, Mary could have touched the lady s dress
as she passed ; but she rather shrank from feeing seen, and
would probably not have been observed at all, had not Sal
planted herself directly in front of Mrs. Campbell, saying
ioudly enough for all near her to hear, " Madam, do you not
recognize your munificent gift of charity in yonder amazing
bormet ? " at the same time pointing towards Mary, who ner
vously grasped the strings of her hat, as if to remove the
offensive article.
Mrs. Campbell haughtily pushed Sal aside, and advancing
towards the child, said, " I am glad to see you at church
Mary, and hope you will now come regularly. You can ac
company Ella home after the Sabbath school, if you like."
The words and manner were so cold and formal, that
Mary was obliged to force down her tears before she replied,
that she was going to her mother s grave, and wanted Ella to
go with her.
THE MEETING. 87
" It is pretty warm to walk so far, but if Ella wishes it,
Ek* 1ms my permission. Only tell her not to get red and heat
ed," said Mrs. Campbell ; and gathering up the folds of her
rich eilk, the texture of which Sal Furbush had been exam
ining, and comparing with her own plum-color, she walked
away.
Scarcely was she gone, when Jenny Lincoln came tripping
up, and seizing both Mary s hands, exclaimed, " I am real
glad you are here. I thought you hadn t come, until I heard
them talking about a crazy woman. But let s go to my
class, and you ll have a chance to see Ella while the scholars
are getting their seats."
Mary accompanied her young friend to a pew, at the door
of which she met her sister face to face. There was a sud
den exclamation of joy on Mary s part, and an attempt to
throw her arms around Ella s neck, but the little girl drew
back, and merely offering her hand, said, " Oh. it s you, isn t
it ? I didn t know you, you looked so queer."
l - Heavens ! what a head-dress ! Big as our carriage
top any day ! " was the next exclamation which reached
Mary s ear, as Rose Lincoln brushed past. Glancing from
her sister to Rose, Mary half determined to tear the bonnet
from her head and trample it under her feet, but Jenny softly
squeezed her hand, and whispered, " Don t mind what Rose
s>iys ; I love you, and so does Billy Bender. I saw him in
the village yesterday, and asked him if he didn t, and he
said he did."
It required more than Billy Bender s love to soothe Mary
then. Her sister s cool reception, so different from what she
had anticipated, had stung her heart ; and sitting down near
the door, she burst into a passionate fit of tears. Jenny, who
was really distressed, occasionally pressed her hand in token
of sympathy, at the same time offering her cloves, peanuts and
88 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
sugar-plums. There was a brighter flush, too, than usual, on
Ella s cheek, for she knew that she had done wrong, and she
so jumbled together the words of her lesson, tha.t the teaclio*
made her repeat it twice, asking her what was the matter.
By the time Sabbath school was over, Mary had dried hei
tears; and determining to make one more advance towards her
sister, she said, " Won t you go to mother s grave with me ?
I want to tell you about little Allie. I have taught her to
call your name most as plain as /can."
Ella looked down at her embroidered pantalets, and
hanging her head on one side, said, " Oh, it s so dusty. I m
afraid I ll get all dirt, and hot, too. Mamma doesn t like to
have me get hot."
" Why not?" asked Jenny, who always wished to knew
the reason of things.
" Cause it makes folks skin rough, and break out," was
Ella s reply.
" Oh, pshaw !" returned Jenny, with a vain attempt U)
turn up her little bit of a nose. " I play every day till I aui
most roasted, and my skin ain t half as rough as yours. But
say, will you go with Mary ? for if you don t I shall ! "
I guess I won t," said Ella, and then, anxious to makj
Mary feel a little comfortable, she added, " Mamma sajj
Mary s corning to see me before long, and then we ll have A
real good time. I ve lots of pretty things two silk dresses. ,
and I wear French gaiters like these every day."
Glancing first at Mary, and then at Ella, Jenny replied,
" Pho. that s nothing ; Mary knows more than you do, any
\vay. Why, she can say every speck of the multiplication
table, and you only know the 10 s ! "
When Ella was angry, or felt annoyed, she generally
cried ; and now declaring that she knew more than the 10 s,
she began to cry ; and announcing her intention of nevor
SAL S DEMEANOR IN CHURCH. 80
speaking to Jenny again ct as long as she lived and breathed,*
she walked away, while Mary and Jenny proceeded to
gether towards the burying ground. With a bitter cry
Mary threw herself upon her mother s grave, and wept for a
long, Icng time.
" It would not be so bad," said Mary, " if there was any
body left, but I am all alone in the world. Ella does not
love me nobody loves me."
It was in vain that Jenny told her of Billy Bender s love,
of her own, and George Moreland s too. Mary only wept
the more, wishing that she had died, and Allie too. At
last remembering that she had left Sal Furbush behind her,
and knowing that it was time for her to go, she arose, and
leaning on Jenny, whose arm was passed lovingly about her,
she started to return.
Afternoon service had commenced ere they reached the
church, and as Mary had no desire of again subjecting her
bonnet to the ridicule of Rose Lincoln, and as Jenny had
much rather stay out doors in the shade, they sat down upon
the steps, wondering were Sal Furbush had taken herself.
" I mean to look in and see if she is here," said Jenny, and
advancing on tiptoe to the open door, she cast her eye over
the people within ; then clapping her hand over her mouth to
keep back a laugh, she returned to Mary, saying, " Oh, if it
isn t the funniest thing in the world. There sits Sal in Mrs.
Campbell s pew, fanning herself with that great palm-leaf,
and shaking her fist at Ella every time she stirs ! "
It seems that Sal had amused herself during the inter
mission by examining and trying the different pews, and tak
ing a fancy to Mrs. Campbell s, she had snugly ensconced
herself in one corner of it, greatly to the fear and mortifica
tion of Ella, who chanced to be the only tfne of the family
present. When service was out, Sal gathered up her urn
90 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
brella and courtesying her way through the crowd, soon
found Mary and started for home, declaring the clergyman
to be " a well-read grammarian 3 only a trifle too emphatic in
his delivery."
As they were descending the long hill which led to the
river bridge, Mr. Lincoln s carriage passed them, and Jenny,
who was inside, seized the reins, saying, " Please, pa> stop
and let them ride there s nobody but Hose and me in here,
and it is so hot and so far."
Mr. Lincoln might possibly have complied with his
daughter s request, had not Rose chirrupped to the spirited
horses, and said, " Don t, father, for mercy s sake ! ask those
paupers to ride."
So the carriage dashed on, but Mary forgot the long walk
by remembering the glance of affection which Jenny gave
her as she looked back from the window. Sal seemed un
usually silent, and even forgot to take off her shoes and
stockings when she reached the river bridge. Mary saw
there was something weighing upon her mind, but she for
bore asking any questions, knowing that Sal would in her
own good time make her thoughts known. They had nearly
reached home, when Sal suddenly turned aside, and seating
herself upon a rock under a white beech-tree, said, " Miss
Howard, I ve been thinking what a splendid minister was
spoiled when they put dresses on me ! Oh how hard I had
to hold myself to-day to keep from extemporizing to the con
gregation. I reckon there wouldn t have been quite so many
nodding as there were."
In the excitement of the moment Sal arose, and throw
ing out her eyes, gesticulated in a manner rather alarming
to Mary, who had never before seen so wild a look in tho
crazy woman s eyes. Soon, however, her mood changed, and
resuming her seat, she continued in a milder tone, " Did you
ever hear that I was an authoress ? "
A MANUSCRIPT.
91
" An authoress ! " repeated Mary " an authoress ! Why
no ; arc you ? "
" To be sure I am," answerd Sal. " What s to hinder?
Haven t I told you repeatedly, that I once possessed an un
usually large amount of judgment ; and this, added to my
knowledge of grammar, and uncommon powers of imagina
tion, enabled me to produce a work which, but for an unac
countable freak of the publisher, would have rendered my
name immortal. 1
" I don t understand," said Mary, and Sally continued :
" You see, I wrote about six hundred pages of foolscap, which
the publisher to whom it was sent for examination was impo
lite enough to return, together with a note, containing, as I
suppose, his reasons for rejection ; but if he thinks I read it,
he s mistaken. I merely glanced at the words, Dear Ma
d am \Ye regret and then threw it aside. It was a ter
rible disappointment, and came near turning my brain ; but
there are other publishing houses in the world, and one of
these days I shall astonish mankind. But come, we must
hasten on, or the gormandizers will eat up those custard pies
which I found in the cellar with the brass-kettle covered
over them."
Accordingly they started for home, but found, as Sal had
predicted, that supper was over and the pies all gone. By a
little dexterous management, however, she managed to find
half of one, which Miss Grundy had tucked away under an
empty candle-box for her own future eating.
92 THE ENGLISH
CHAPTER IX.
THE NEW BONNET.
THE next morning, for a wonder, Jenny Lincoln was up be
fore the sun, and in the large dark closet which adjoined her
sleeping room, she rummaged through band-boxes and on the
top shelves until she found and brought to light a straw hat)
which was new the fall before, but whic4i her mother had
decided unfit to appear again in the city. Jenny had heard
the unkind remarks which Mary s odd-looking bonnet elicited,
and she now determined to give her this one, though she did
not dare to do so without her mother s consent. So after break
fast, when her mother was seated at her work in the parlor,
Jenny drew near, making known her request, and asking
permission to carry the bonnet to Mary herself.
" Mercy on me ! " said Mrs. Lincoln. " what won t you
think of next, and where* did you get such vulgar taste. It
must have been from your father, for I am sure you never
took it from me. I dare say, now, you had rather play with
that town pauper than with the richest child in Boston."
For a moment Jenny was silent, and then as a new idea
came into her head, she said, " Ma, if you should die, and pa
should die, and every body should die, and we hadn t any
money, wouldn t I have to be a town pauper? "
" What absurd questions you ask," said Mrs. Lincoln,
overturning a work-box to find a spool of cotton, which lay
directly on top, " Do what you please with the bonnet,
A BARGAIN. 93
which I fancy you ll find as much too small for Mary as the
one she now has is too large."
Jenny felt fearful of this, but " where there s a will
there s a way 5" and after considering a moment, she went in
quest of her sister, who had one just like it. Rose did no
care a fig for the bonnet, and after a while she agreed to part
with it on condition that Jenny would give her a coral brace
let with gold clasps, which she had long coveted. This fan
ciful little ornament was a birth-day present from Billy,
and at first Jenny thought that nothing would tempt her to
part with it, but as Hose was decided, she finally yielded the
point, brushing away a tear as she placed the bracelet in
her sister s hand. Then putting the bonnet in a basket, and
covering it with a newspaper, she started for the poor-house.
" Good morning. Miss Grundy," said she, as she appeared
in the doorway. " May I see Mary, just a little minute ?
I ve got something for her."
Miss Grundy was crosser than usual this morning on ac
count of a sudden illness which had come upon Patsy, so she
jerked her shoulders, and without turning her head, replied,
It s Monday mornin , and Mary ain t goin to be hindered
by big bugs nor nobody else. Here tis goin on nine o clock,
and them dishes not done yet ! If you want to see her, you
can go into the back room where she is."
Nothing daunted by this ungracious reception, Jenny ad
vanced towards the " back room," where she found Mary at the
" sink," her arms immersed in dish-water, and a formidable pile
of plates, platters and bowls all ready to be wiped, standing
near her. Throwing aside her bonnet and seizing the coarse
dish-towel, Jenny exclaimed, " I m going to wipe dishes
Mary, I know how, and when they are done, if Miss Grundy
won t let you go up stairs a minute, I ll ask Mr. Parker. T
saw him under the woodshed grinding an axe."
94 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
It was a rare thing to see Jenny Lincoln in the kitchcc
at the poor-house, and now the fact that she was there, and
wiping dishes too, circulated rapidly, bringing to the spot the
sour-faced woman, the pleasant-looking woman, the girl with
the crooked feet, and half a dozen others, each of whom com-
mented upon the phenomenon after her own fashion.
" Do see the little thing," said one; "handles the wipin
rag just like any body ! "
" And look there," cried a second ; u setting them up in
the cupboard ! Did you ever ! " While a third remarked
that she wore silk stockings, wondering whether they were
bought on purpose for her, or had been cut over from a pair
of her mother s.
Thus noticed and flattered Jenny worked away, assisting
in scouring knives and washing spiders, until her dress was
splashed with dish-water, and her white apron crocked by the
kettles.
" Won t your marm scold you for getting so dirty ? "
asked the girl with the crooked feet,
" I s pose so," said Jenny, carelessly ; " but then she scolds
most all the time, so I don t mind it ! "
The dishes being done, and Miss Grundy making no ob
jections, Mary accompanied Jenny up stairs, where the lat
ter, opening her basket, held to view a neat-looking straw hat,
far prettier than the one which Mrs. Campbell had presented.
" See," said she, placing it upon Mary s head ; " this is
for you. I wanted to give you mine, but twasn t big enough,
so Rose let you have hers. It s real becoming, too."
The tears which fell from Mary s eyes were caused not
less by Jenny s kindness, than by the thought that tho
haughty Hose Lincoln had given her a bonnet ! She did
not know of the sacrifice which the noble-hearted Jenny had
made to obtain it, and it was well she did not, for it would
have spoiled all the happiness she experienced in wearing it
PATSY S SICKNESS. 95
I
" Thank you, Jenny, and Rose too," said she. " I am so
glad, for I love to go to church, and I surely would never
Lave gone again and wore that other bonnet."
" I wouldn t either," returned Jenny. " I think it was
ridiculous for Mrs. Campbell to give you such an old dud
of a thing, and I know mother thinks so too, for she laughed
hard for her, when I described it, though she said nothing
except that beggars shouldn t be choosers. I wonder what
that means. Do you know ? "
Mary felt that she was beginning to knfaw, but she did
not care to enlighten Jenny, who soon sprang up, saying she
must go home, or her mother would be sending Henry after
her. " And I don t want him to come here," said she, " for
I know you don t like him, and there don t hardly any body,
he s so sttfck up and kind of I don t know what."
In passing through the hall, the girls met Miss G-rundy,
who had just come from Patsy s room. As soon as she saw
Mary, she said, " Clap on your bonnet quick, and run as fast
as ever you can to Miss Thornfield s. Dr. Gilbert has gone
there, and do you tell him to come here right away, for Patsy
is dreadful sick, and has fits all the time."
There was a tremor in her voice, and she seemed much
excited, which surprised the girls, who fancied she would not
care eyeu if Patsy died. Mrs. Thornfield s was soon reached,
the message given, and then they hurried back.
" Is Patsy worse ? " asked Mary, as she saw the bedroom
door open, and two or three women standing near the bed.
Miss Grundy did not answer, and when next her face waa
visible, the girls saw that her eyes were red, as if she had
been weeping.
" Funny, isn t it ? " said Jenny, as she started for home.
;< I did nt suppose any thing would make her cry, and I
guess now the tears are sort of sour ! "
96 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
Dr. Gilbert came, but his skill could not save the pool
idiot girl, and at about four that afternoon she died. Around
the bed of death there were 110 tears or lamentations, for
those who stood by and watched the lamp of life as it went
out, felt that the spirit which was leaving them would be
happier far in another world, for never in this had a ray of
reason shone upon poor Patsy s darkened mind. We have
said there were no tears, and yet, although the waters came
not to the surface, there was one heart which wept, as with
unflinching nerve the cold, stern woman arrayed the dead
girl for the grave.
That night Mary was aroused from sleep, by some one
whispering her name in her ear, and starting up, she saw Sally
bending over her.
" Come with me," said she softly, " and I ll show you the
queerest sight you ever saw."
Trembling in every joint, Mary arose and followed Sal,
who led her towards the room where Patsy lay. As she
drew near the door they paused, and by the light of the au
tumn moon, which streamed through the curtained window
Mary saw Miss Grundy kneeling by the cold body, and sob
bing bitterly. Once she spoke, and Mary caught the words,
" My child, my poor child."
Wonderingly she looked up to Sally for an explanation ;
but the crazy woman only replied, as they returned to their
rooms, " Yes, there s been queer doings some time or other,
it s very evident ; but I know one thing, I ll never draw her
profile again, and I ll call her Mrs. Grundy after this I "
It was hardly worth while, as the neighbors thought, to
be at all the trouble and expense of carrying a foolish girl with
out friends or relatives to the grave-yard, so they buried her
beneath the shadow of a wide-spreading maple, in a little
inclosure where several other unfortunate ones lay sleeping
GO AND SIN NO MORE. 97
At the funeral many wondered at the ghastly whiteness of
Miss Grundy s face, and why she grasped at the coffin lid,
as if to keep from falling, when with others she gazed upon
the pale face which, in its dreamless slumber, looked calm and
placid as that of a child.
There were but few who knew of Miss Grundy s sin, and
her secret was buried in Patsy s grave, where often a moth
er s form was bending and a mother s tears were shed, when
the world was dark and still, and there was no eye to see,
that of Him who said, "Go and sin no more."
CHAPTER X
WINTER AT THE POOR-HOUSE.
afternoon about the middle of October, Mary sat unaei
an apple-tree in the orchard, weeping bitterly. It was in
vain that Alice, who was with her, and who by this time was
able to stand alone, climbed up to her side, patting her
checks, and trying various ways to win her attention. She
still wept on, unmindful of the sound of rapid footsteps upon
the grass, nor until twice repeated did she hear the words,
" Why, Mary, what is the matter ? What s happened ? "
then looking up she saw Billy Bender, who raised her in his
arms, and insisted upon knowing what was the matter.
Laying her head on his shoulder, she sobbed out, " She s
gone, she s gone, and there s nobody left but Sally. Oh dear,
oh dear! "
" Gone ! Who s gone ? " asked Billy.
" Jenny," was Mary s reply. " She s gone to Boston,
and won t come back till next May ; and I loved her so
much."
" Oh, yes, I know," returned Billy. " I met them all
on their way to the depot ; but I wouldn t feel so badly.
Jenny will come again, and besides that, I ve got some real
good news to tell you.
" About Ella ? " said Mary.
" No, not about Ella, but about myself; I m coming here
to live with you."
A NEW ARRANGEMENT. 99
* Coming here to live ! " repeated Mary with astonish
ment. " What for ? Are your folks all dead ? "
Billy smiled and answered, " Not quite so bad as that. I
went, to school here two years ago, and I know I learned more
than I ever did at home in two seasons. The boys, when
Henry Lincoln is away, don t act half as badly as they do in
the village ; and then they usually have a lady teacher, be
cause it s cheaper I suppose, for they don t pay them half as
much as they do gentlemen, and I think they are a great
deal the best. Any way, I can learn the most when I go to
a woman."
" But what makes you come here, and what will your
mother do ? " asked Mary.
" She s got a sister come from the West to stay with
her, and as I shall go home every Saturday night, she ll get
along well enough. I heard Mr. Parker in the store one day
inquiring for a boy to do chores. So after consulting mother,
I offered my services, and was accepted. Won t we have real
nice times going to school together, and then I ve brought a
plaything for you. Are you afraid of dogs ? "
So saying he gave a whistle, and a large Newfoundland dog
came bounding through the orchard. At first Mary drew
back in alarm, for the dog, though young, was unusually large ;
but her fears soon vanished when she saw how affectionate
he was, licking her own and Alice s hands, and bounding
playfully upon his master s shoulders.
" He is a nice fellow," said she, stroking his shaggy sides.
What do you call him ? "
" Tasso," answered Billy; and then seeing Mr. Parkei
ut a distance, and wishing to speak to him, he walked away.
Three weeks from that time the winter school com
menced ; and Billy took up his abode at the poor-house, greatly
to the satisfaction of Sally and Mary, and greatly to the an-
100 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
9
noyance of Miss Grundy, who, since Patsy s death, was
Grosser and more fault-finding than ever.
" Smart idea ! " said she, " to have that great lummux
around to be waited on ! " and when she saw how happy his
presence seemed to make Mary, she vented her displeasure
npon her in various ways, conjuring up all sorts of reasons
why she should stay out of school as often as possible, and
wondering " what the world was a coming to, when young
ones hardly out of the cradle begun to court ! It wasn t so
in her younger days, goodness knew ! "
" I wouldn t venture a great many remarks about nry
younger days, if I were you, Mrs. Grundy," said Sal, who
had adhered to her resolution of always addressing her old
enemy as Mrs., though she whispered it to Mary as her opin
ion that the woman didn t fancy her new title.
Much as Mary had learned to prize Sally s friendship;
before winter was over she had cause to value it still more
highly. Wretched and destitute as the poor crazed creature
now was, she showed plainly that at some period or other of
her life, she had had rare advantages for education, which
she now brought into use for Mary s benefit. When Mary
first commenced attending school, Miss Grundy insisted that
she should knit every evening, and thus she found no oppor
tunity for studying at home. One evening when, as usual, a
part of the family were assembled around a blazing fire in
the kitchen, Sal Furbush suddenly exclaimed, " Mary, why
don t you bring your books home at night, just as Mr. Ben
der does."
She had conceived a great respect for Billy, and always
called him Mr. Mary cast a rueful glance at the coarse
sock, which certainly was not growing fast, and replied, " I
should like to, but I have to knit all the time."
" Fudge on your everlasting knitting," said Sal, snatch
A PROBLEM IN ARITHMETIC. 1 01
ing the sock from Mary s bands and making the needles fly
nimbly. " I m going to be very magnanimous, and every
time you ll bring your books home I ll knit for you I beg
Mrs. Grundy, that you ll not throw the fire all over the floor, 1
she added, as that lady gave the forestick a violent kick.
" The Lord save us ! " was Miss Grundy s exclamation
when after supper the next evening she saw the three-legged
stand loaded down with Billy s and Mary s school books.
But as no one made her any reply, she quietly resumed
her work, appropriating to her own use the only tallow can
dle there was burning, and leaving Billy and Mary to see as
best they could by the firelight. For some time Mary pored
over her lesson in Colburn, but coming to the question, " 24
is of how many times 10?" she stopped, unable to pro
ceed farther. Again and again she read it over, without
gathering a single idea, and was on the point of asking Billy
to assist her, when Sal, who had been watching her, said,
" Let me take your book, child."
Mary did so, and then, as if conscious for the first time
of Miss Grundy s monopoly of the candle, Sal seized a large
newspaper lying near, and twisting it up, said, " Let there
be light;" then thrusting one end of it into the flames and
drawing it out again, added, " and there is light."
After tumbling over the leaves awhile, she continued,
No, they didn t study this when I was young ; but tell me
what tis that troubles you."
Mary pointed to the problem, and after looking at it at
tentively a moment, Sal said, " The answer to it is 4; and if
you will give me some little inkling of the manner in whicb
you are taught to explain them at school, perhaps I can tell
you about that."
" It begins in this way," said Mary. " If 24 is of
102 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
Borne number, I of tliat number must be something or other
I don t know what."
" One third of 24 of course," said Sal.
" Oh, yes, that s it," exclaimed Mary, who began to un
derstand it herself. " Now, I guess I know. You find what
one third of 24 is, and if that is one fifth, Jive fifths would
be five times that, and then see how many times 10 will go
in it."
" Exactly so," said Sal. " You ll make an arithmetic
yet, and have it out just about the time I do my grammar.
But," she added in another tone, " I ve concluded to leave
out the Grundy gender ! "
Each night after this Mary brought home her books, and
the rapid improvement which she made in her studies was as
much owing to Sally s useful hints and assistance as to her
own untiring perseverance. One day when she returned
from school Sally saw there was something the matter, for
her eyes were red and her cheeks flushed as if with weep
ing. On inquiring of Billy, she learned that some of the
girls had been teasing Mary about her teeth, calling them
" tushes," &c.
As it happened one of the paupers was sick, and Dr. Gil
bert was at that time in the house. To him Sal immediately
went, and after laying the case before him, asked him to ex
tract the offending teeth. Sally was quite a favorite with
the doctor, who readily consented, on condition that Mary was
willing, which he much doubted, as such teeth came hard.
" Willing or not, she shall have them out. It s all that
makes her so homely," said Sal; and going in quest of Mary,
she led her to the doctor, who asked to look in her mouth.
There was a fierce struggle, a scream, and then one of the
teeth was lying upon the floor.
" Stand still," said Sal, more sternly than she had cyei
A CONTRAST. 103
oefore spoken to Mary, who, Half frightened out of her wits
Btood still while the other one was extracted.
" There," said Sal, when the operation was finished, " you
look a hundred per cent, better."
For a time Mary cried and spit, hardly knowing whether
she relished the joke or not ; but when Billy praised her im
proved looks, telling her that " her mouth was real pretty,"
and when she herself dried her eyes enough to see that it
was a great improvement, she felt better, and wondered why
she had never thought to have them out before.
Rapidly and pleasantly to Mary that winter passed away,
for the presence of Billy was in itself a sufficient reason why
she should be happy. He was so affectionate and brother-
like in his deportment towards her, that she began question
ing whether she did not love him as well, if not better, than
ehe did her sister Ella, whom she seldom saw, though she
heard that she had a governesss from Worcester, and was
taking music lessons on a grand piano which had been bought
a year before. Occasionally Billy called at Mrs. Campbell s,
but Ella seemed shy and unwilling to speak of her sister.
" Why is there this difference ? " he thought more than
once, as he contrasted the situation of the two girls, the
one petted, caressed, and surrounded by every luxury, and
the other forlorn, desolate, and the inmate of a poor-house ;
and then he built castles of a future, when, by the labor of
his own head or hands, Mary, too, should be rich and happy
CHAPTER XL
ALICE.
As spring advanced, Alice began to droop, and Sally s quick
eye detected in her infallible signs of decay. But she
would not tell it to Mary, whose life now seemed a compara
tively happy one. Mr. and Mrs. Parker were kind to her,
the pleasant-looking woman and the girl with crooked feet
were kind to her. Uncle Peter petted her, and even Misa
Grundy had more than once admitted that " she was about
as good as young ones would average." Billy, too, had pro
mised to remain and work for Mr. Parker during the sum
mer, intending with the money thus earned to go the next
fall and winter to the Academy in Wilbraham. Jenny was
coming back ere long, and Mary s step was light and buoy
ant as she tripped singing about the house, unmindful of
Miss Grundy s oft-expressed wish that " she would stop that
clack," or of the anxious, pitying eyes Sal Furbush bent
upon her, as day after day the faithful old creature rocked
and tended little Alice.
" No," said she, " I cannot tell her. She ll have tears
enough to shed by and by, but I ll double my diligence, and
watch little Willie more closely." So night after night,
when Mary was sleeping the deep sleep of childhood, Sally
would steal noiselessly to her room, and bending over the lit
tle wasting figure at her side, would wipe the cold sweat
from her face, and whisper in the unconscious baby s ear
ANXIOUS FEELINGS. 105
messages of love for " the other little Willie, now waiting
for her in Heaven."
At last Mary could no longer be deceived, and one day
when Alice lay gasping in Sally s lap she said, " Aunt Sally
isn t Alice growing worse ? She doesn t play now, nor try
to walk."
Sally laid her hand on Mary s face and replied, " Poor
child, you ll soon be all alone, for Willie s going to find hia
mother."
There was no outcry, no sudden gush of tears, but ner
vously clasping her hands upon her heart, as if the shock
had entered there, Mary sat down upon her bed, and burying
her face in the pillow, sat there for a long time. But she
said nothing, and a careless observer might have thought
that she cared nothing, as it became each day more and more
evident that Alice was dying. But these knew not of the
long nights when with untiring love she sat by her sister s
cradle, listening to her irregular breathing, pressing her clam
my hands, and praying to be forgiven if ever, in thought or
deed, she had wronged the little one now leaving her.
And all this time there came no kind word or message
of love from Ella, who knew that Alice was dying, for Billy
had told her so. " Oh, if she would only come and see her,",
said Mary, " it wouldn t seem half so bad."
" Write to her," said Sal ; ; peradventure that may bring
her."
Mary had not thought of this before, and now tearing a
leaf from her writing-book, and taking her pen, she wrote
hurriedly, " Ella, dear Ella, won t you come and see little
!Alicc once before she dies ? You used to love her, and you
would now, if you could see how white and beautiful she looks
Oh, do come. Mrs. Campbell will let you, I know."
This note, which was blurred and blotted with tear/s^
106 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
was carried by Billy, who was going to the village, ani deli?
ered to Mrs. Campbell herself. Perhaps the proud woman
remembered the time when her own darling died, or it may
be that conscience upbraided her for caring so much for one
orphan and utterly neglecting the other two. Be that as it
may, her tears fell upon the paper and mingled with Mary s
as she replied, "Ella shall come this afternoon."
But before afternoon a drizzling shower came on, and
Mary watched and wept in vain, for Ella did not come. The
next morning was bright and beautiful as April mornings
often are, and at as early an hour as was consistent with Mrs.
Campbell s habits, her carriage was before the door, and her
self and Ella seated within it. The little lady was not in
the best of humors, for she and her maid had quarrelled about
her dress ; Ella insisting upon a light-blue merino, and the
maid proposing a plain delaine, which Ella declared she would
not wear. Mrs. Campbell, to whom the matter was referred,
decided upon the delaine, consequently Ella cried and pout
ed, saying she wouldn t go, wondering what Alice wanted to
be sick for, or any way why they should send for her.
Meantime in and around the poor-house there was for
once perfect silence. Sal Furbush had been invisible for
hours, the girl with crooked feet trod softly as she passed
up and down the stairs, Uncle Peter s fiddle was unstrung,
and, securely locked in his fiddle box, was stowed away at
the bottom of his old red chest, and twice that morning
when no one saw her, Miss Grundyhad stolen out to Patsy s
grave. Mary was not called to wash the dishes, but up in
her own room she sat with her head resting upon the window
sill, while the sweet, fresh air of the morning swept over her
face, lifting the hair from her flushed brow. Billy Bender
was standing near her, his arm thrown around her. and his
lips occasionally pressing her forehead
A VISIT TO THE PEAD. 107
Suddenly there was the sound of carriage wheels, and he
whispered in her ear, " Ella is coming."
Hastily running down the stairs, Mary met her sister in
the doorway, and throwing her arms around her neck, burst
into tears. Ella would gladly have shaken her off, for she
felt that her curls were in danger of being mussed, and she
had besides hardly recovered from her pet. But Mary firmly
held her hand, and led her on through the long hall, into a
room which they usually denominated " the best room."
There, upon the table, lay a little stiffened form. The
blue eyes were closed, and the long eyelashes rested upon
the marble cheek, and in the waxen hands, folded so care
fully over the other, there was a single snow-drop. No one
knew who placed it there, or whence it came. Gently Mary
laid back the thin muslin covering, saying as she did so, "Al-
lie is dead. I ve got no sister left but you ! " and again her
arms closed convulsively about Ella s neck.
" You kind of choke me ! " said Ella, trying to get free,
and it was not until Mrs. Campbell, thoroughly ashamed of
her want of feeling, took her hand and placed it on Alice s
cold cheek, asking her if she were not sorry her little sister
was dead, that she manifested any emotion whatever.
Then, as if something of her better nature were roused, her
lip trembled for a moment, and she burst into a violent fit
of weeping.
" It is hardly natural that she should feel it as deeply as
Mary," said Mrs. Campbell to Billy Bender, who was pres
ent.
He made no reply, but he never forgot that scene ; and
when years after he met With Ella on terms of perfect equal
ity, when he saw her petted, flattered, and admired, ho
turned away from the fawning multitude, remembering onlj
108 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
the April morning when she stood by the dead body of her
sister.
During all this time no trace of Sal Furbush had been
seen, and at last a strict search was instituted, but- to no
effect, until Billy, who chanced to be passing the dark closet
under the garret stairs, heard her whispering to herself
u Yes, little Willie s dead, and Sally s got three in Heaven
now."
Entering the place, he found her crouched in one corner,
her hair hanging down her back, and her eyes flashing with
unusual brightness.
" Why, Sally," said he, " what are you here for ? "
" To save the credit of the house," was her ready reply.
" When the other Willie died, they chained me in this dun
geon, and thinking they might do so again, I concluded to
come here quietly, wishing to save all trouble and confusion,
for the utmost decorum should be preserved in the house of
death."
" Poor woman," said Billy kindly, " no one wishes you
to stay here. Come with me," and he took her hand to
lead her forth.
But she resisted him, saying, that " fasting and solitude
were nature s great restoratives."
" She has showed her good sense for once," said Miss
Grundy, on hearing of Sally s whereabouts, " but ain t the
critter hungry ? " and owing to some newly touched chord of
kindness, a slice of toast and a cup of hot tea erelong found
entrance into the darksome cell.
Strange to say, too, the hand which brought it was not
repulsed, though very demurely and in seeming earnestness
was the question asked, " Mrs. Grundy, haven t you met with
a change ? "
The next day was the funeral. At first there was some
THE GRAVE OF ALICE. 105
talk of burying the child in the same inclosure with Patsy ;
but Mary plead so earnestly to have her laid by her mother,
that her request was granted, and that night when the young
spring moon came out, it looked quietly down upon the grave
of little Alice, who by her mother s side was sweetly sleeping
CHAPTER XII.
A NEW FRIEND.
THREE: ^ veks had passed away since Alice s death, and affairs
at the |X*)r-hous6 were beginning to glide on as usual. Sal
Furbusb. having satisfied her own ideas of propriety by re
maining Deluded for two or three days, had once more ap
peared in society; but now that Alice was no longer there to
be watched, time hung wearily upon her hands, and she was
again seized with her old desire for authorship. Accord
ingly, a grammar was commenced, which she said would
contain Nine Hundred and Ninety Nine rules for speaking
the English language correctly !
Mary, who had resumed her post as dish washer in the
kitchen, was almost daily expecting Jenny ; and one day
when Billy came in to dinner, he gave her the joyful intelli
gence that Jenny had returned, and had been in the field to
see him, bidding him tell Mary to meet her that afternoon
in the woods by the brook.
" Oh, I do hope Miss Grundy will let me go," said Mary,
" and I guess she will, for since Allie died, she hasn t been
near so cross."
" If she don t, I will," answered Mr. Parker, who
chanced to be standing near, and who had learned to regard
the little orphan girl with more than usual interest.
But Miss Grundy made no objections, and when the last
dishcloth was wrung dry, and the last iron spoon put in its
AN IMPROVEMENT. Ill
place, Mary bounded joyfully away to the woods, where she
found Jenny, who embraced her in a manner which showed
that she had not been forgotten.
" Oh," said she, " I ve got so much to tell you, and so
much to hear, though I know all about dear little Allie j
death, didn t you feel dreadfully ? "
Mary s tears were a sufficient answer, and Jenny, as if
suddenly discovering something new, exclaimed, " Why.
what have you been doing ? Who pulled your teeth ? "
Mary explained the circumstance of the tooth-pulling,
and Jenny continued : " You look a great deal better, and if
your cheeks were only a little fatter and your skin not quite
so yellow, you d be real handsome ; but no matter about
that. I saw George Moreland in Boston, and I wanted to
tell him about you, but I d promised not to ; and then at
first I felt afraid of him, for you can t think what a great
big fellow he s got to be. Why, he s awful tall ! and hand
some, too. Rose likes him, and so do lots of the girls, but
I don t believe he cares a bit for any of them except his
cousin Ida, and I guess he does like her ; any way, he
looks at her as though he did."
Mary wondered how he looked at her, and would per
haps have asked, had she not been prevented by the sudden
appearance of Henry Lincoln, who directly in front of her
leaped across the brook. He was evidently not much im-
proved in his manners, for the moment he was safely landed
on terra firnia, he approached her, and seizing her round the
waist, exclaimed, " Hallo, little pauper ! You re glad to see
me back, I dare say."
Then drawing her head over so that he could look into
her face, he continued, " Had your tusks out, haven t you?
Well, it s quite an improvement, so much so that I ll ven
ture to kiss you."
112 THE ENGLISH ORPHAN3.
Mary struggled, and Jenny scolded, while Henry said
" Don t kick and flounce so, my little beauty. If there s
any thing I hate, it s seeing girls make believe they re mod
est. That clodhopper Bill kisses you every day, I ll war
rant."
Here Jenny s wrath exploded; and going up to her
brother, she attempted to pull him away, until bethinking
her of the brook, she commenced sprinkling him with water,
but observing that more of it fell upon Mary than her
brother, she desisted, while Henry, having accomplished his
purpose, began spitting and making wry faces, assuring
Mary that " she needn t be afraid of his ever troubling her
again, for her lips were musty, and tasted of the poor-
house ! "
Meanwhile Tasso, who had become a great favorite with
Mary, a.nd who, on this occasion, had accompanied her to
the woods, was standing on the other side of the brook, eye
ing Henry s movements, and apparently trying to make up
his mind whether his interference was necessary or not. A
low growl showed that he was evidently deciding the matter,
when Henry desisted, and walked leisurely off.
Erelong, however, he returned, and called out, " See,
girls, I ve got an elegant necklace for you."
Looking up, they saw him advancing towards them, with
a small water snake, which he held in his hand ; arid, readily
divining his purpose, they started and ran, while he pursued
them, threatening to wind the snake around the neck of the
first one he caught. Jenny, who was too chubby to be very
swift-footed, took refuge behind a clump of alder bushes ;
but Mary kept on, and just as she reached a point where the
brook turned, Henry overtook her, and would perhaps have
carried his threat into execution, had not help arrived from
tu unexpected quarter. Tasso, who had watched, and felt
A FAITHFUL FRIEND.
sure that this time all was not right, suddenly pouncea npon
Henry, throwing him down, and then planting himself upon
his prostrate form, in such a manner that he dared not move.
" Oh, good, good," said Jenny, coming out from her con
cealment ; " make Tasso keep him there ever so long ; and.
she continued, patting the dog, " if you won t hurt him much,
you may shake him just a little."
<; No, no," said Henry, writhing with fear, " call him off,
do call him off. Oh, mercy ! " he added, as Tasso, who did
not particularly care to have the case reasoned, showed two
rows of very white teeth.
Mary could not help laughing at the figure which Henry
cut ; but thinking him sufficiently punished, she called off
the dog, who obeyed rather unwillingly, and ever after man
ifested his dislike to Henry by growling angrily whenever he
appeared.
One morning about two weeks afterwards, Mary was in
the meadow gathering cowslips for dinner, when she heard
some one calling her name ; and looking up, she saw Jenny
hurrying towards her, her suribonnet hanging down her back
as usual, and her cheeks flushed with violent exercise. As
soon as she came up, she began with, " Oh my, ain t I hot
and tired, and I can t stay a minute either, for I run away.
But I had such good news to tell you, that I would come.
You are going to have a great deal better home than this.
You ktfow where Rice Corner is, the district over east ? "
Mary replied that she did, and Jenny continued : " We
il went over there yesterday to see Mrs. Mason. She s a
real nice lady, who used to live in Boston, and be intimato
with ma, until three or four years ago, when Mr. Mason died.
We didn t go there any more then, and I asked Rose what
the reason was, and she said Mrs. Mason was poor now, and
ma had cut her ; and when I asked her what she cut her
114 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
with, slie only laughed, and said she believed I didn t know
any thing. But since then I ve learned what it means."
" What does it ? " asked Mary, and Jenny replied : <: If
a person dies and leaves no money, no matter how good his
folks are, or how much you like them, you mustn t know
them when you meet them in the street, or you must cross
over the other side if } r ou see them corning ; and then when
ladies call and speak about them, you must draw a great long
breath, and wonder how the poor thing will get along, she
was so dreadful extravagant. I positively heard mother
say those very words about Mrs. Mason; and what is so funny,,
the washwoman the same day spoke of her, and cried when she
told how kind she was, and how she would go without things
herself for the sake of giving to the poor. It s queer, isn t
it?"
Ah, Jenny, Jenny, you ve much of life yet to learn !
After a moment s pause, Jenny proceeded : " This Mrs
Mason came into the country, and bought the prettiest little
cottage you ever saw. She has lots of nice fruit, and for all
mother pretends in Boston that she don t visit her, just as
soon as the fruit is ripe, she always goes there. Pa says it s
real mean, and he should think Mrs. Mason would see
through it."
" Did you go there for fruit yesterday ? " asked Mary.
" Oh, no," returned Jenny. " Mother said she was tired
to death with staying at home. Besides that, she* heard
something in Boston about a large estate in England, -which
possibly would fall to Mrs. Mason, and she thought it would
be real kind to go and tell her. Mrs. Mason has poor
health, and while we were there, she asked mother if she
knew of any good little girl she could get to come and live
with her ; one, she said, * who could be quiet when her head
ached, and who would read to her and wait on her at othei
A NEW FRIEND. 115
times. Mother said she did not know of any ; but when
Mrs. Masoa went out to get tea, I followed and 1 5ld her of
you, and the tears came into her eyes when I said your folks
were all dead, and you were alone and sorry. She said right
off that she would come round and see you soon, and if sho
liked you, you should live with her. But I must run back,
for I suppose you know mother brought our governess with
us, and it s time I was turning my toes out and my elbows
in. Ugh ! how I do hate such works. If I ever have a
house, there shan t be a fashionable thing about it. I ll
have it full of cats, dogs, and poor children, with a swing
and a l teater in every room, and Billy Bender shall live
with me, and drive the horses ! "
So saying, she ran off; and Mary, having gathered her
cowslips, sat down to think of Mrs. Mason, and wonder if
she should ever see her. Since Alice s death she had been
in the daily habit of learning a short lesson, which she re
cited to Sally, and this afternoon, when the dishes were all
washed, she had as usual stolen away to her books. She
had not been long occupied, ere Kind called her, saying Mr.
Knight, who, it will be remembered, had brought her to the
poor-house, was down stairs and wanted to see her, and that
there was a lady with him, too.
Mary readily guessed that the lady must be Mrs. Mason
and carefully brushing her hair, and tyicg on a clean apron,
she descended to the kitchen; where she was met by Mr.
Knight, who called out, " Hallo, my child, how do you do ?
Pears to me you ve grown handsome. It agrees with you
to live here, I reckon, but I ll venture you ll be glad enough
to leave, and go and live with her, won t you ? " pointing
towards a lady, who was just coming from Mrs. Parker s
room, and towards whom Mary s heart instantly warmed.
" You see," continued Mr. Knight, " one of the Lincoln
116 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
girls has taken & mighty shine to you, and it s queer, too
for they re dreadful stuck-up folks."
" If you please, sir," said Mary, interrupting him, " Jen
ny isn t a bit stuck up."
" Umph ! " returned Mr. Knight. " She don t belong
to the Lincoln race then, I guess. I know them, root and
branch. Lincoln s wife used to work in the factory at
Southbridge, but she s forgot all about that, and holds her
head dreadful high whenever she sees me. But that s nei
ther here nor there. This woman wants you to live with
her. Miss Mason, this is Mary. Mary, this is Miss
Mason."
The introduction being thus happily over, Mrs. Mason
proceeded to ask Mary a variety of questions, and ended by
saying she thought she would take her, although she would
rather not have her come for a few days, as she was going
to be absent. Miss G-rundy was now interrogated concerning
her knowledge of work, and with quite a consequential air,
she replied, " Perhaps, ma am, it looks too much like prais
ing myself, considerin that I ve had the managin of her
mostly, but I must confess that she s lived with me so long,
and got my ways so well, that she s as pleasant a man
nered, good-tempered child, and will scour as bright a knife
as you could wish to see ! r
Mary saw that Mrs. Mason could hardly repress a smile
as she replied, " I am glad about the temper and manners,
but the scouring of knives is of little consequence, for
Judith always does that."
Sal Furbush, who had courtesied herself into the room,
now asked to say a word concerning Mary. " She is," said
she, " the very apple of my eye, and can parse a sentence
containing three double relatives, two subjunctive moods,
and four nominatives absolute, perfectly easily."
A GRAMMATICAL LADY. 117
" I see you are a favorite here," said Mrs. Mason, laying
her hand gently on Mary s head, " and I think that in time
you will be quite as much of one with me, so one week from
Saturday you may expect me."
There was something so very affectionate in Mrs. Ma
son s manner of speaking, that Mary could not keep hel
tears back; and when Sally, chancing to be in a poetic
mood, said to her, " Maiden, wherefore weepest thou ? "
she replied, "I can t help it. She speaks so kind, and
makes me think of mother."
" Speaks so kindly, you mean," returned Sal, while Mrs.
Mason, brushing a tear from her own eye, whispered to the
little girl, " I will be a mother to you, my child ; " then, as
Mr. Knight had finished discussing the weather with Mr.
Parker, she stepped into his buggy, and was driven away.
" That s what I call a thoroughly grammatical lady,"
said Sal, looking after her until a turn in the road hid her
from view, " and I shall try to be resigned, though the vital
spark leaves this house when Mary goes."
Not long after, Rind asked Miss Grundy if "William
Bender was going away.
" Not as I know on," answered Miss Grundy. " What
made you think of that ? "
" Cause," returned Rind, " I heard Sal Furbush having
over a mess of stuff about the spark s leaving when Mary
did, and I thought mebby he was going, as you say he s her
spark ! "
The next afternoon Jenny, managing to elude the watch
ful eyes of her mother and governess, came over to the
poor-house.
" I m so glad you are going," said she, when she heard
of Mrs. Mason s visit. "I shall be lonesome without you,
but you ll have such a happy home, and when you get there,
118 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
mayn t I tell George Moreland about you the next time I
see him ? "
" I d rather you wouldn t," said Mary, " for I don t be
lieve he remembers me at all,"
" Perhaps not," returned Jenny, " and I guess you
wouldn t know him ; for besides being so tall, he has begun
to shave, and Ida thinks he s trying to raise whiskers ! "
That night, when Mary was alone, she drew from ita
hiding-place the golden locket, but the charm was broken,
and the pleasure she had before experienced in looking at it,
now faded away with Jenny s picture of a whiskered young
man, six feet high ! Yery rapidly indeed did Mary s last
week at the poor-house pass away, and for some reason or
other, every thing went on, as Rind said, " wrong end up."
Miss Grundy was Grosser than usual, though all observed
that her voice grew milder in its tone whenever she ad
dressed Mary, and once she went so far as to say, by way of
a general remark, that she " never yet treated any body, par
ticularly a child, badly, without feeling sorry for it."
Sal Furbush was uncommonly wild, dancing on her toes,
making faces, repeating her nine hundred and ninety-nine
rules of grammar, and quoting Scripture, especially the pas
sage, " The Lord gave, and the Lord taketh away, &c."
Uncle Peter, too, labored assiduously at " Delia s Dirge,"
which he intended playing as Mary was leaving the yard.
Saturday came at last, and long before the sun peeped
over the eastern hills, Mary was up and dressed. Just aa
she was ready to leave her room, she heard Sally singing in
a low tone, " Oh, there ll be mourning, mourning, mourn
ing, mourning, Oh, there ll be mourning when Mary s gone
away."
Hastily opening her own door, she knocked at Sal s, and
was bidden to enter. She found her friend seated in the
LAST MEAL AT THE POOR-HOUSE. 119
middle of the floor, while scattered around her were the en
tire contents of the old barrel and box which contained hci
wearing apparel.
" Good morning, little deary," said she, " I am looking
over my somewhat limited wardrobe, in quest of something
wherewith to make your young heart happy, but my search
is vain. I can find nothing except the original MS. of my
first novel. I do not need it now, for I shall make enough
out of my grammar. So take it, and when you are rich and
influential, you ll have no trouble in getting it published,
none at all."
So saying, she thrust into Mary s hand a large package,
carefully wrapped in half a dozen newspapers, and the whole
enveloped in a snuff-colored silk handkerchief, which " Wil
lie s father used to wear." Here Kind came up the stairs,
saying breakfast was ready, and after putting her present
aside, Mary descended to the kitchen, where she found the
table arranged with more than usual care. An old red
waiter, which was only used on special occasions, was placed
near Miss Grundy, and on it stood the phenomenon of a
hissing coffee-pot : and what was stranger still, in the place
of the tin basin from which Mary had recently been accus
tomed to eat her bread and milk, there was now a cup and
saucer, which surely must have been intended for her. Her
wonder was at its height when Miss Grundy entered from
the back room, bearing a plate filled with snowy white bis
cuit, which she placed upon the table with an air of " There !
what do you think of that ? " then "seating herself, she
skimmed all the cream from the bowl of milk, and pre
paring a delicious cup of coffee, passed it to Mary, before
helping the rest.
" Is the Millennium about to be ushered in ? " asked Sal,
in amazement ; while Uncle Peter, reverently rising, said,
120 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
f Fellow-citizens, and ladies, for these extras let us thank
the Lord, remembering to ask a continuation of the same !
" Do let your victuals stop your mouth," said Mis*
Grundy, " and don t act as though we never had coffee and
biscuit for breakfast before."
" My memory has failed wonderfully, if we ever did,"
was Uncle Peter s reply.
Breakfast being over, Mary as usual commenced clearing
the table, but Miss Grundy bade her " sit down and rest
her," and Mary obeyed, wondering what she had done to tire
herself. About 9 o clock, Mr. Knight drove up alone, Mrs.
Mason being sick with nervous headache. " I should have
been here sooner," said he, " but the roads is awful rough,
and old Charlotte has got a stub or somethin in hen foot-
But where s the gal ? Ain t she ready ? "
He was answered by Mary herself, who made her ap
pearance, followed by Billy bearing the box. And now com
menced the leave-takings, Miss Grundy s turn coming first.
" May I kiss you, Miss Grundy ? " said Mary, while Sal
exclaimed aside, " What ! kiss those sole-leather lips ? " at
the same time indicating by a guttural sound the probable
effect such a process would have upon her stomach !
Miss Grundy bent down and received the child s kiss,
and then darting off into the pantry, went to skimming pans
of milk already skimmed ! Rind and the pleasant-looking
woman cried outright, and Uncle Peter, between times, kept
ejaculating, " Oh, Lord ! oh, massy sake ! oh, for land ! "
while he industriously plied his fiddle bow ill the execution
of "Delia s Dirge," which really sounded unearthly, and
dirgelike enough. Billy knew it would be lonely without
Mary, but he was glad to have her go to a better home, so
lie tried to be cheerful, telling her he would take good care
GOOD BYE. 121
of Tasso, and that whenever she chose she must claim her
oroperty.
Aside from him, Sally was the only composed one. It
is true, her eyes were very bright, and there was a compres
sion about her mouth seldom seen, except just before one of
her frenzied attacks. Occasionally, too, she pressed her
hands upon her head, and walking to the sink, bathed it in
water, as if to cool its inward heat ; but she said nothing
until Mary was about stepping into the buggy, when she
whispered in her ear, " If that novel should have an unpre
cedented run, and of course it will, you would not inind
sharing the profits with me, would you ? "
6
THE ENGLISH ORPHANS
CHAPTER XIII.
A NEW HOME IN RICE CORNER.
VERY different this time was Mary s ride with Mr. Knight
from what it had been some months before, and after brush
ing away a few natural tears, and sending back a few heart-
sighs to the loved ones left behind, her spirits rallied, and
by the time they reached the borders of Rice Corner, there
was such a look of quiet happiness on her face that even
Mr. Knight noticed it.
" I ll be hanged if I know what to make of it," said he.
" When you rid with me afore, I thought you was about as
ugly favored a child as I ever see, and now you look full as
well as they ll average. What you been doin ? "
" Perhaps it s because I ve had my teeth out," suggested
Mary, and Mr. Knight, with another scrutinizing look in her
face, replied, " Wall, I guess tis that. Teeth is good in
their place, but when they git to achin , why, yank em out."
So saying, he again relapsed into silence, afid commenced
whipping at the thistle tops and dandelions. As they rode
on, Mary fancied that the country looked pleasanter and the
houses better, than in the region of the poor-house ; and
when a sudden turn of the road brought into view a beauti
ful blue sheet of water, embosomed by bright green hills,
her delight knew.no bounds. Springing up and pointing
towards it, she exclaimed, " Oh, please stop a moment and
look Isn t it lovely ! What is it ? "
COME IX. 123
" That ? Oh, that s nothing but < Pordunk Pond, or as
folks most generally call em, seein there s two, North and
South Pond."
" But it s big enough to be a lake, isn t it ?" asked Mary.
" Why, yes," returned her companion. " It s better than
five miles long, and a mile or so wide, and in York State
I s pose they d call it a lake, but here in old Massachusetts
we stick to fust principles, and call all things by their right
names."
" How far is the pond from Mrs. Mason s ? " asked
Mary, casting longing glances towards the distant sandy
beach, and the graceful trees which drooped over the water s
edge.
" It s farther back than tis there, cause it s up hill all
the way," said Mr. Knight, " but here we be at Miss Ma
son s, this house right here," and he pointed to a neat,
handsome cottage, almost hidden from view by the dense
foliage which surrounded it.
There was a long lawn in front, and into the carriage
road on the right of it Mr. Knight turned, and driving up
to a side door, said to Mary, " Come, jump down, for my
foot is so lame I don t believe I ll get out. But there s your
chest. You can t lift that. Hallo, Judith, come ere."
In answer to this call, a fat, pleasant-looking colored
woman appeared in the doorway, and as if fresh from the
regions of cookdom, wiped the drops -of perspiration from her
round jolly face.
" Here, Judith," said Mr. Knight, " help this gal lift
her traps out."
Judith complied, and then bidding old Charlotte to "get
up," Mr. Knight drove away, leaving Mary standing by tho
kitchen door
" Come in and sit down," said Judith, pushing a ohaii
124 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
towards Mary with her foot. " It s as hot here as an oven, but
I had crambry sass and ginger snaps, and massy knows what
to make this morning, and I got belated ; but set down and
make yourself to home."
Mary took the proffered scat, and then Judith left the
room for a few moments, saying when she returned, that as
Mrs. Mason was still suffering from a headache, she could
not see Mary until after dinner. " And," continued Judith,
" she told me to entertain you, but I don t know what to
gay, nor do first. Harry died just a week to a day before
re was to be married, and so I never had any little girls to
.alk to. Can t you think of something to talk about ?
What have you been used to doing ? "
"Washing dishes," was Mary s reply, after glancing
about the room, and making sure that on this occasion there
were none to wash.
" Wall," answered Judith, " I guess you won t have that
to do here ; for one night when some of the neighbors were
in, I heard Miss Mason tell em that she got you to read to
her and wait on her. And then she said something about
your not having an equal chance with your sister. You
hain t but one, now t other s dead, have you ? "
Mary replied in the negative, and Judith continued :
"Wall, now, you ve got over the first on t, I reckon you se
glad the baby s dead, for she must have been kind of a both
er, wasn t she ? "
Instantly Mary s thoughts flew back to an empty cradle,
and again a little golden head was pillowed upon her breast,
as often in times past it had been, and as it would never bo
again. Covering jier face with her hands, she sobbed, " Oh,
Allie, Allie ! I wish she hadn t died."
Judith looked on in amazement, and for want of some
thing better to do, placed a fresh stick of wood in the stove.
MARY S NEW ilOME 125
muttering to herself, " Now I never ! 1 might of knew I
didn t know what to say. What a pity Harry died. I ll
give her that big ginger snap the minute it s baked. See if
I don t."
Accordingly, when the snap was done, Judith placed ii
in Mary s hands, bidding her eat it quick, and then go up
and see the nice chamber Mrs. Mason had arranged for her.
" If you please," said Mary, rapidly shifting the hot
cake from one hand to the other, " if you please, I had
rather go up now, and eat the cake when it is cool."
" Come, then," said Judith ; and leading the way, she
conducted Mary up the staircase, and through a light, airy
hall to the door of a small room, which she opened, saying,
" Look, ain t it pretty ? "
But Mary s heart was too full to speak, and for several
minutes she stood silent. With the exception of her moth
er s pleasant parlor in Old England, she had never before
seen any thing which seemed to her so cosy and cheerful as
did that little room, with its single bed, snowy counterpane,
muslin curtains, clean matting, convenient toilet table, and
what to her was fairer than all the rest, upon the mantel
piece there stood two small vases, filled with sweet spring
flowers, whose fragrance filled the apartment with delicious
perfume. All this was so different from the bare walls, un
covered floors, and rickety furniture of the poor-house, that
Mary trembled lest it should prove a dream, from which ere
long she would awake.
" Oh, why is Mrs. Mason so kind to me ? " was her men
tal exclamation ; and as some of our readers may ask the
same question, we will explain to them that Mrs. Mason was
one of the few who "do to others as they would others
Bhould do to them."
Years before our story opens, she, too, was a lonelj
126 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
orphan, weeping in a dreary garret, as ofttimes Mary Lad
wept in the poor-house, and it was the memory of those dark
hours, which so warmed her heart towards the little girl she
had taken under her charge. From Jenny we have learned
something of Ifer history. Once a happy, loving wife, sur
rounded by wealth and friends, she had thought the world
all bright and beautiful. But a change came over the spirit
of her dream. Her noble husband died, and the day suc
ceeding his burial, she was told that their fortune, too, was
gone. One* by one, as misfortune came upon her, did her
fashionable friends desert her, until she was left alone, with
none to lean upon except the God of the widow and father
less, and in Him she found a strong help for her dark hour
of need. Bravely she withstood the storm, and when it was
over, retired with the small remnant of her once large for
tune to the obscure neighborhood of Rice Corner, where
with careful economy she managed to live comfortably, be
sides saving a portion for the poor and destitute. She had
taken a particular fancy to Mary, and in giving her a home,
she had thought more of the good she could do the child,
than of any benefit she would receive from her services as
waiting maid. She had fully intended to go for Mary her
self; but as we already know, was prevented by a severe
headache, and it was not until three o clock in the afternoon,
that she was even able to see her at all. Then, calling
Judith, she bade her bring the little girl to her room, and
leave them alone.
Judith obeyed, charging Mary to " tread on tiptoe, and
keep as still as a mouse, for Miss Mason s head ached fit to
Bplit."
This caution was unnecessary ; for Mary had been so
much accustomed to sick persons that she knew intuitively
just what to do, and when to do it, and her step was so
THE FIRST TEA. 127
light, her voice so low, and the hand which bathed the
aching head so soft and gentle in its touch, that Mrs. Mason
involuntarily drew her to her bosom, and kissing her lips,
called her her child, and said she should never leave her ;
then laying back in her easy chair, she remained perfectly
still, while Mary alternately fixed her hair, and smoothed
her forehead until she fell into a quiet slumber, from which
she did not awake until Judith rang the bell for supper,
which was neatly laid out in a little dining parlor, opening
into the flower garden. There was something so very social
and cheering in the appearance of the room, and the arrange
ment of the table, with its glossy white cloth, and dishes of
the same hue, that Mary felt almost as much like weeping
as she did on the night of her arrival at the poor-house.
But Mrs. Mason seemed to know exactly how to entertain
her; and by the time that first tea was over, there was
hardly a happier child in the world than was Mary.
As soon as Mrs. Mason arose from the table, she, too,
sprang up, and taking hold of the dishes, removed them to
the kitchen in a much shorter space of time than was usually
occupied by Judith. " Git away now," said that lady as she
saw Mary making preparations to wash the cups and saucers.
" I never want any body putterin round under my feet. I
always wash and wipe and scour my own things, and then
I know they are done."
Accordingly, she returned to Mrs. Mason, who, wishing
to retire early, soon dismissed her to her own room, where
she for some time amused herself with watching the daylight
as it gradually disappeared from the hills which lay beyond
the pond. Then when it all was gone, and the stars began to
come out, she turned her eyes towards one, which had always
seemed to her to be her mother s soul, looking down upon her
from the windows of heaven. Now, to-night there shone
128 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
beside it a smaller, feebler one, and in the fleecy cloud which
floated around it, she fancied she could define the face of her
baby sister. Involuntarily stretching out her hands, sho
cried, " Oh, mother, Allie, I am so happy now;" and to the
child s imagination the stars smiled lovingly upon her, while
the evening wind, as it gently moved the boughs of the tall
elm trees, seemed like the rustle of angels wings. Who
shall say the mother s spirit was not there to rejoice with
her daughter over the glad future opening so brightly before
her?
CHAPTER XIV.
VISITORS.
THE Tuesday following Mary s arrival at Mrs. Mason s^
there was a social gathering at the house of Mr. Knight.
This gathering could hardly be called a tea party, but came
more directly under the head of an " afternoon s visit," for
by two o clock every guest had arrived, and the "north
room " was filled with ladies, whose tongues, like their
hands, were in full play. Leathern reticules, delicate em
broidery, and gold thimbles were not then in vogue in Rice
Corner; but on the contrary, some of Mrs. Knight s visitors
brought with them large, old-fashioned work-bags, from
which the ends of the polished knitting-needles were dis
cernible ; while another apologized for the magnitude of her
work, saying that " her man had fretted about his trousers
until she herself began to think it was time to finish them ;
and so when she found Miss Mason wasn t to be there, she
had just brought them along."
In spite of her uniform kindness, Mrs. Mason was re
garded by some of her neighbors as a bugbear } and this allu-
ion to her immediately turned the conversation in that
direction.
" Now, do tell," said Widow Perkins, vigorously rapping
her snuff-box and passing it around. " Now, do tell if it s
tm that Miss Mason has took a girl from the town-house ? "
0*
ISO THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
On being assured that such was the fact, she continued
" Now I will give up. Plagued as she is for things, what
could have possessed her ? "
" I was not aware that she was very much troubled to
live," said Mrs. Knight, whose way of thinking, and manner
of expressing herself, was entirely unlike Mrs. Perkins.
" Wall, she is," was Mrs. Perkins s reply ; and then hitch
ing her chair closer to the group near her, and sinking her
voice to a whisper, she added, " You mustn t speak of it on
any account, for I wouldn t have it go from me, but my
Sally Ann was over there t other day, and neither Miss Ma
son nor Judy was to home. Sally Ann has a sight of
curiosity, I don t know nothing under the sun where she
gets it, for I hain t a mite, Wall, as I was tellin you,
there was nobody to home, and Sally Ann she slips down
cellar and peeks into the pork barrel, and as true as you
live, there warn t a piece there. Now, when country folks
get out of salt pork, they are what I call middlin poor."
And Mrs. Perkins finished her speech with the largest
pinch of maccaboy she could possibly hold between her
thumb and forefinger.
" Miss Perkins," said an old lady who was famous for
occasionally rubbing the widow down, " Miss Perkins, that s
just as folks think. It s no worse to be out of pork than
tis to eat codfish the whole durin time."
This was a home thrust, for Mrs. Perkins, who always
kept one or two boarders, and among them the school-teacher
was notorious for feeding them on codfish.
Bridling up in a twinkling, her little gray eyes flashed
fire as she replied, " I s pose it s me you mean, Miss Bates ;
but I guess I ve a right to eat what Pm a mind to. I only
osk a dollar and ninepence a week for boarding the school*
marm "
THE SCHOOL TEACHER S BOARD. 13
" And makes money at that," whispered a rosy-cheeked,
girlish-looking woman, who the summer before had been the
" school-marm," and who now bore the name of a thrifty
young farmer.
Mrs. Perkins, however, did not notice this interruption,
but proceeded with, " Yes, a dollar and ninepence is all 1
ever ask, and if I kept them so dreadful slim, I guess the
committee man wouldn t always come to me the first one."
" Mrs. Perkins, here s the pint," said Mrs. Bates, drop
ping a stitch in her zeal to explain matters ; " you see the
cheaper they get the Bchool-ma am boarded, the further the
money goes, and the longer school they have. Don t you
understand it ? "
Mrs. Knight, fancying that affairs were assuming alto
gether too formidable an aspect, adroitly turned the conver
sation upon the heroine of our story, saying how glad she
was that Mary had at last found so good a home.
" So am I," said Mrs. Bates ; " for we all know that Mrs.
Mason will take just as good care of her, as though she were
her own ; and she s had a mighty hard time of it, knocked
around there at the poor-house under Polly Grundy s
thumb."
" They do say," said Mrs. Perkins, whose anger had
somewhat cooled, " They do say that Miss Grundy is mow
ing a wide swath over there, and really expects to have Mr.
Parker, if his wife happens to die."
In her girlhood Mrs. Perkins had herself fancied Mr.
Parker, and now in her widowhood, she felt an unusual in
terest in the failing health of his wife. No one replied to
her remark, and Mrs. Bates continued : "It really used to
make my heart ache to see the little forlorn thing sit there
in the gallery, fixed up so old arid fussy, and then to see her
sister prinked out like a milliners show window, a puckerin
132 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
and twistin , and if she happens to catch her sister s eye, 1
have actually seen her turn up her nose at her, so " and
Mrs. Bates s nasal organ went up towards her eyebrows in
imitation of the look which Ella sometimes gave Mary.
" It s wicked in me, perhaps," said Mrs. Bates, " but pride
must have a fall, and I do hope I shall live to see the day
when Ella Campbell won t be half as well off as her sister."
" I think Mrs. Campbell is answerable for some of Ella s
conduct," said Mrs. Knight, " for I believe she suffered her
to visit the poor-house but once while Mary was there."
" I guess she ll come oftener now she s living with a city
bug." rejoined Mrs. Perkins.
Just then there was the sound of carriage wheels, and a
woman near the door exclaimed, " If you ll believe it there
she is now, going right straight into Mrs. Mason s yard."
"Well, if that don t beat me," said Mrs. Perkins.
<: Seems to me I d have waited a little longer for look s sake.
Can you see what she s got on from here?" and the lady
made a rush for the window to ascertain if possible that im
portant fact.
Meantime the carriage steps were let down and Mrs.
Campbell alighted. As Mrs. Knight s guests had surmised,
she was far more ready to visit Mary now than heretofore.
Ella, too, had been duly informed by her waiting-maid that
she needn t mind denying that she had a sister to the Boston
girls who were spending a summer in Chicopee.
" To be sure," said Sarah, " she ll never be a fine lady
like you and live in the city; but then Mrs. Mason is a very
respectable woman, and will no doubt put her to a trade,
which is better than being a town pauper 5 so you mustn t
fuel above her any more, for it s wicked, and Mrs. Campbell
wouldn t like it, for you know she and I are trying to bring
you up in the fear of the Lord."
THE TWO SISTERS AGAIN. 132
Accordingly Ella was prepared to greet her sister more
cordially than she had done before in a long time, and Mary
that day took her first lesson in learning that too often friends
come and go with prosperity. But she did not think of i<
then. She only knew that her sister s arm was around hei
neck, and her sister s kiss upon her check. With a .cry of
joy, she exclaimed, Ci Oh, Ella, I knew you d be glad to find
ine so happy."
But Ella wasn t particularly glad. She was too thor
oughly heartless to care for any one except herself, and her
reception of her sister was more the result of Sarah s lesson,
and of a wish expressed by Mrs. Campbell, that she would
" try and behave as well as she could towards Mary." Mrs.
Campbell, too, kissed the little girl, and expressed her plea
sure at finding her so pleasantly situated; and then dropping
languidly upon the sofa, asked for Mrs. Mason, who soon
appeared, and received her visitor with her accustomed po
liteness.
" And so you, too, have cared for the orphan," said Mrs.
Campbell. " Well, you will find it a task to rear her as she
should be reared, but a consciousness of doing r ght makes
every thing seem easy. My dear, (speaking to Ella,) run
out and play awhile with your sister, I wish to see Mrs.
Mason alone."
" You may go into the garden," said Mrs. Mason to
Mary, who arose to obey ; but Ella hung back, saying ^he
" didn t want to go, the garden was all nasty, and she should
dirty her clothes."
" But, my child," said Mrs. Campbell, " I wish to have
you go, and you love to obey me, do you not ? "
Still Ella hesitated, and when Mary took hold of her
hand, she jerked it away, saying, " Let me be."
At last she was persuaded to leave the room, but OD
134 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
reaching the hall she stopped, and to Mary s amazement ap
plied her ear to the keyhole.
" I guess I know how to cheat her," said she in a whis.
per. " I ve been sent off before, but I listened and heard
her talk about me."
" Talk about you ! " repeated Mary. " What did she
say?"
" Oh, set me up, as Sarah says," returned Ella; and
Mary, who had never had the advantage of a waiting maid,
and who consequently was not so well posted on " slang
terms," asked what " setting up " meant.
" Why," returned Ella, " she tells them how handsome
and smart I am, and repeats some cunning thing I ve said or
done ; and sometimes she tells it, right before me, and that s
why I didn t want to come out."
This time, however, Mrs. Campbell s conversation related
m^re particularly to Mary.
" My dear Mrs. Mason," she began, " you do not know
how great a load you have removed from my mind by taking
Mary from the poor-house."
u I can readily understand," said Mrs. Mason, why
you should feel more than a passing interest in the sister of
your adopted daughter, and I assure you I shall endeavor to
treat her just as I would wish a child of mine treated, were
it thrown upon the wide world."
" Of course you will," returned Mrs. Campbell, " and I
only wish you had it in your power to do more for her, and
in this perhaps I am selfish, I felt badly about her being
in the poor-house, but truth compels me to say, that it was
more on Ella s account than her own. I shall give Ella
every advantage which money can purchase, and I air excus
able I think for saying that she is admirably fitted to adorn
any station in life ; therefore it cannot but be exceedingly
THE TWO OPINIONS. 135
mortifying to her to know that one sister died a pauper and
the other was one for a length of time. This, however, can*
not be helped, and now, as I said before I only wish it were
in your power to do more for Mary. I, of course, know that
you are poor, but I do not think less of you for that -"
Mrs. Mason s body became slightly more erect, but she
made no reply, and Mrs. Campbell continued.
" Still I hope you will make every exertion in your
power to educate and polish Mary as much as possible, so
that if by chance Ella in after years should come in contact
with her, she would not feel, ahem, would not, would
not be ;:
" Ashamed to own her sister, I suppose you would say,"
interrupted Mrs. Mason. " Ashamed to acknowledge that
the same blood flowed in her veins, that the same roof once
sheltered them, and that the same mother bent lovingly over
their pillows, calling them her children."
" Why, not exactly that," said Mrs. Campbell, fidgeting
in her chair and growing very red. " I think there is a dif
fer en 3e between feeling mortified and ashamed. Now you
must know that Ella would not be particularly pleased to
have a homely, stupid, rawboned country girl pointed out as
her sister to a circle of fashionable acquaintances in Boston,
where I intend taking her as soon as her education is finished ;
and I think it well enough for Mary to understand, that with
the best you can do for her there will still be a great differ
ence between her own and her sister s position."
" Excuse me, madam," again interrupted Mrs. MasDn, " a
stupid, awkward country girl Mary is not, and never will bo.
In point of intellect she is far superior to her sister, and
possesses more graceful and lady-like manners. Instead of
Ella s being ashamed of her, I fancy it will be just the re
verse, unless your daughter s foolish vanity and utter selfish
f36 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS
ness is soon checked. Pardon me for being thus plain, but
in the short time Mary has been with me, I have learned to
love her, and my heart already warms towards her as towards
a daughter, and I cannot calmly hear her spoken of so con
temptuously."
During this conversation, Ella had remained listening at
the keyhole, and as the voices grew louder and more earnest,
Mary, too, distinguished what they said. She was too young
to appreciate it fully, but she understood enough to wound
her deeply ; and as she just then heard Ella say there was a
carriage coming, she sprang up the stairs, and entering her
own room, threw herself upon the bed and burst into tears.
Erelong a little chubby face looked in at the door, and
a voice which went to Mary s heart, exclaimed, " Why-ee,
Mary, crying the first time I come to see you ! "
It was Jenny, and in a moment the girls were in each
other s arms.
" Hose has gone to the garden with Ella," said Jenny,
" but she told me where to find you, and I came right up
here. Oh, what a nice little room, so different from mine,
with my things scattered every where. But what is the
matter V Don t you like to live with Mrs. Mason ? "
" Yes, very much," answered Mary. " It isn t that," and
then she told what she had overheard.
" It s perfectly ridiculous and out of character for Mrs.
Campbell to talk so," said Jenny, looking very wise. " And
it s all false, too. You are not stupid, nor awkward, nor
very homely either ; Billy Bender says so, and he knows. I
saw him this morning, and he talked ever so much about you.
Next fall he s going to Wilbraharn to study Latin and Chi
nese too. I believe, I don t know though. Henry laughs and
Bays, a plough-jogger study Latin ! But I guess Billy will
some day be a bigger man than Henry, don t you? "
137
Mary was sure of it ; and then Jenny proceeded to open
her budget of news concerning the inmates of the poor-house
" Sal Furbush," said she, " is raving crazy now you are gone ,
and they had to shut her up, but yesterday she broke away
and came over to our house. Tasso was with her, and growled
so at Henry that he ran up garret, and then, like a great
hateful, threw bricks at the dog. I told Sally I was coming
to see you, and she said, Ask her if she has taken the first
step towards the publication of my novel. Tell her, too,
that the Glory of Israel has departed, and that I would drown
myself if it were not for my clothes, which I fear Mrs.
Grundy would wear out ! "
Here Rose called to her sister to come down, and accord
ingly the two girls descended together to the parlor, where
they found Mrs. Lincoln. She was riding out, she said, and
had just stopped a moment to inquire after Mrs. Mason s
health and to ask for a very few flowers, they did look so
tempting ! She was of course perfectly delighted to meet
Mrs. Campbell, and Mrs. Campbell was perfectly delighted
to meet her ; and drawing their chairs together, they con
versed for a long time about Mrs. So and So, who either had
come, or was coming from Boston to spend the summer.
" I am so glad," said Mrs. Lincoln, " for we need some
thing to keep us alive. I don t see, Mrs. Campbell, how you
manage to live here through the winter, no society nor any
thing. "
Here Mrs. Mason ventured to ask if there were not some
very pleasant and intelligent ladies in the village.
" Oh, ye-es," said Mrs. Lincoln, with a peculiar twist to
her mouth, which Jenny said she always used when she waa
" putting on." " They are well enough, but they are not
the kind of folks we would recognize at home. At least
they don t belong to our set, speaking to Mrs. Campbell,
138 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
who replied, " Oh, certainly not." It was plain even to a
casual observer that Mrs. Lincoln s was the ruling spirit to
which Mrs. Campbell readily yielded, thinking that so per
fect a model of gentility could not err. Mr. Knight possibly
might have enlightened her a little with regard to her
friend s pedigree, but he was not present, and for half an
hour more the two ladies talked together of their city ac
quaintances, without once seeeming to remember that Mrs.
Mason, too, had formerly known them all intimately. At
last Mrs. Lincoln arose, saying she must go, as she had al
ready stopped much longer than she intended, " but when I
get with you," said she, turning to Mrs. Campbell, " I
never know when to leave."
Mrs. Mason invited her to remain to tea, saying it was
nearly ready. Mrs. Campbell, who had also arisen, waited
for Mrs. Lincoln to decide, which she soon did by reseating
herself and saying, laughingly, " I don t know but I ll stay
for a taste of those delicious looking strawberries I saw your
servant carry past the window."
Erelong the little tea-bell rang, and Mrs. Lincoln, who
had not before spoken to Mary, now turned haughtily to
wards her, requesting her to watch while they were at sup
per and see if the coachman did not drive oil with the horses
as he sometimes did. Mary could not trust herself to reply
for she had agreed to sit next Jenny at table, and had in
her own mind decided to give her little friend her share of
berries. She glanced once at Mrs. Mason, who apparently
did not notice her, and then gulping down her tears, took her
elation by the window, where she could see the coachman
who, instead of meditating a drive around the neighborhood,
was fast asleep upon the box. Jenny did not miss her com
panion until she was sitting down to the table, and then no
ticing an empty plate between herself and her mother, wh?
A TEA PARTY. 139
managed to take up as much room as possible, she rather
impolitely called out, " Here, mother, sit along and make
room for Mary. That s her place. Why, where is she?
Mrs. Mason, may I call her 1 "
Mrs. Mason, who had seen and heard more than Mary fan
cied, and who in seating her guests had contrived to bring
Mary s plate next to Mrs. Lincoln, nodded, and Jenny spring
ing up ran to the parlor, where Mary stood counting flies,
looking up at the ceiling, and trying various other ways to
keep from crying. Seizing both her hands Jenny almost
dragged her into the dining-room, where she found it rather
difficult squeezing in between her mother and Rose, whose
elbows took up much more room than was necessary. A
timely pinch, however, duly administered, sent the young
lady along an inch or so, and Jenny and Mary were at last
fairly seated.
Mrs. Lincoln reddened, Mrs. Campbell looked con
cerned, Mrs. Mason amused, Rose angry, Mary morti
fied, while Ella, who was not quick enough to understand, did
not look at all except at her strawberries, which disappeared
rapidly. Then in order to attract attention, she scraped her
saucer as loudly as possible ; but for once Mrs. Mason was
very obtuse, not even taking the hint when Mrs. Campbell
removed a portion of her own fruit to the plate of the pout
ing child, bidding her " eat something besides berries."
After a time Mrs. Lincoln thought proper to break the
silence which she had preserved, and taking up her fork,
said, " You have been buying some new silver, haven t you ? "
" They were a present to me from my friend, Miss Mar
tha Selden," was Mrs. Mason s reply.
" Possible ! " said Mrs. Campbell.
" Indeed ! " said Mrs. Lincoln, and again closely exam
ining the fork, she continued, " Aunt Martha is really get
140 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
ting liberal in her old age. But then I suppose she thinks
Ida is provided for, and there ll be no particular need of her
money in that quarter."
"Provided for? How? " asked Mrs. Mason, and Mrs
Lincoln answered, " Why didn t you know that Mr. Selden a
orphan nephew. George Moreland, had come over from Eng
land to live with him ? He is heir to a large fortune, and
it is said that both Mr. Selden and Aunt Martha are strain
ing every nerve to eventually bring about a match between
George and Ida."
There was no reason why Mary should blush at the
mention of George Moreland, still she did do so, while Jenny
slyly stepped upon her toes. But her embarrassment was un
observed, for what did she, a pauper girl, know or care about
one whose future destiny, and wife too, were even then the
subject of more than one scheming mother s speculations.
Mrs. Mason smiled, and said she thought it very much like
child s play, for if she remembered rightly Ida couldn t be
more than thirteen or fourteen.
" About that," returned Mrs. Lincoln ; " but the young
man is older, eighteen or nineteen, I think."
" No, mother," interrupted Jenny, who was as good at
keeping ages as some old women, "he isn t but seventeen."
; Really," rejoined Mrs. Campbell, " I wouldn t wonder
if our little Jenny had some designs on him herself, she is
so anxious to make him out young."
" Oh, fy," returned Jenny. " He can t begin with Billy
Bender ! "
Mrs. Lincoln frowned, and turning to her daughter, said,
" I have repeatedly requested, and now I command you not
to bring up Billy Bender in comparison with every thing
tad every body."
" And pray, who is Billy Bender ? " asked Mrs. Mason
UNPLEASANT REMINISCENCES. 141
and Mrs. Lincoln replied, " Why, lie s a great rough, over
grown country boy, who used to work for Mr. Lincoln, and
now he s on the town farm, I believe."
" But he s working there," said Jenny, " and he s going
to get money enough to go to school next fall at Wilbraham ;
and I heard father say he deserved a great deal of credit for
it, and that men that made themselves, or else men that
didn t, I ve forgot which, were always the smartest."
Here the older portion of the company laughed, and
Mrs. Lincoln, bidding her daughter not to try to tell any
thing unless she could get it straight, again resumed the
subject of the silver forks, saying to Mrs. Mason, " I should
think you d be so glad. For my part I m perfectly wedded
to a silver fork, and positively I could not eat without one."
" But, mother," interrupted Jenny, " Grandma Rowland
hasn t any, and I don t believe she ever had, for once when
we were there and you carried yours to eat with, don t you
remember she showed you a little two-tined one, and asked
if the victuals didn t taste just as good when you lived at
home and worked in the, that great big noisy building, I
forget the name of it ? "
It was fortunate for Jenny s after happiness that Mrs.
Campbell was just then listening intently for something
which Ella was whispering in her ear, consequently she did
not hear the remark, which possibly might have enlightened
her a little with regard to her friend s early days. Tea be
ing over, the ladies announced their intention of leaving, and
Mrs. Mason, recollecting Mrs. Lincoln s request for flowers,
invited them into the garden, where she bade them help
themselves. It required, however, almost a martyr s patience
for her to stand quietly by, while her choicest flowers were
torn from their stalks, and it was with a sigh of relief that
142 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
she finally listened to the roll of the wheels which bore hei
guests away.
Could she have listened to their remarks, as on a piece
of wide road t/heir carriages kept side by side for a mile or
more, she would probably have felt amply repaid for her
flowers and trouble too.
" Dear me," said Mrs. Campbell, " I never could live in
such a lonely out of the way place."
" Nor I either," returned Mrs. Lincoln, "but I think
Mrs. Mason appears more at home here than in the city. I
suppose you know she was a poor girl when Mr. Mason
married her, and such people almost always show their
breeding. Still she is a good sort of a woman, and it is
well enough to have some such nice place to visit and get
fruit. Weren t those delicious berries, and ain t these splen
did rosebuds ? "
" I guess, though," said Jenny, glancing- at her mother s
huge bouquet, " Mrs. Mason didn t expect you to gather
quite so many. And Rose, too, trampled down a beautiful
lily without ever apologizing."
" And what if I did? " retorted Rose. " She and that
girl have nothing to do but fix it up."
This allusion to Mary, reminded Mrs. Campbell of her
conversation with Mrs. Mason, and laughingly she repeated
it. " I never knew before," said she, " that Mrs. Mason had
so much spirit. Why. she really seemed quite angry, and
tried hard to make Mary out beautiful, and graceful, and
all that."
" And," chimed in Ella, who was angry at Mrs. Mason for
defending her sister, and angry at her sister for being de
fended, " don t you think she said that Mary ought to be
ashamed of me."
" Is it possible she was so impudent ! " said Mrs. Lincoln ;
A SENSIBLE WOMAN. { 143
" I wisli I had been present, I would have spoken my mind
freely, but so much one gets for patronizing such cieatures."
Here the road became narrow, and as the western sky
showed indications of a storm, the coachmen were told to
drive home as soon as possible.
Mrs. Campbell s advice with regard to Mary, made no
difference whatever with Mrs. Mason s plans. She had
always intended doing for her whatever she could, and
knowing that a good education was of far more value than
money, she determined to give her every advantage which
lay in her power. There was that summer a most excellent
school in Rice Corner, and as Mrs. Mason had fortunately no
prejudices against a district school, where so many of our
best and greatest men have been educated, she resolved to
send her little protege, as soon as her wardrobe should be in
a suitable condition. Accordingly in a few days Mary
became a regular attendant at the old brown school-house,
where for a time we will leave her, and, passing silently over
a period of several years, again in another chapter open the
scene in the metropolis of the u Old Bay State."
CHAPTER XV.
THE THREE YOUNG MEN.
IT was beginning to be daylight in the city of Boston ; and
as the gray east gradually brightened and grew red in the
coming of day. a young man looked out upon the busy world
around him, with that feeling of utter loneliness which one
so often feels in a great city where all is new and strange to
him. Scarcely four weeks had passed since the notes of a
tolling bell had fallen sadly upon his ear, and he had looked
into a grave where they laid his mother to her last dream
less rest. A prevailing fever had effected what the fancied
ailments of years had failed to do. and Billy Bender was
now an orphan, and alone in the wide world. He knew that
he had his own fortune to make, and after settling his moth
er s affairs and finding there was nothing left for him, he
had come to the city, and on the morning which we have
mentioned went forth alone to look for employment, with no
other recommendation than the frank, honest expression of
his handsome face. It was rather discouraging, wearisome
work, and Billy s heart began to misgive him as one after
another refused his request.
" It was foolish in me to attempt it," thought he, as he
stopped once more in front of a large wholesale establish
ment on M street.
A KIND RECEPTION. 145
Just then his eye caught the sign on which was lettered,
u R. 3 Seldcn & Co." The name sounded familiar, and
something whispered to him to enter. He did so, and meet
ing in the doorway a tall, elegant-looking young man. he asked
for Mr. Selden.
" My uncle," returned the gentleman, who was none other
than George Moreland, " has not yet come down, but perhaps
I can answer your purpose just as well. Do you wish to
purchase goods ? "
Billy, thinking that every one must know his poverty,
fancied there was something satirical in the question, but he
was mistaken ; the manner was natural to the speaker, who,
as Billy made no direct reply, again asked, "What would
you like, sir ? "
" Something to do, for I have neither money nor home,"
was Billy s prompt answer.
" Will you give me your name? " asked George.
Billy complied, and when he spoke of his native town,
George repeated it after him. saying, I have some acquaint
ances who spend the summer in Chicopee ; but you probably
have never known them.
Immediately Billy thought of the Lincolns, and now
knew why the name of Selden seemed so familiar. He had
heard Jenny speak of Ida, and felt certain that R. J. Selden
was her father.
For a moment George regarded him intently, and then
said, We seldom employ strangers without a recommenda
tion ; still I do not believe you need any. My uncle is want
ing a young man, but the work may hardly suit you," he
added, naming the duties he would be expected to perform,
which certainly were rather menial. Still, as the wages
were liberal, and he would have considerable leisure, Billy,
for want of a better, accepted the situation, and was imme-
7
146 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
diately introduced to his business. For some time he only
saw George at, a distance, but was told by one of the clerka
that he was just graduated at Yale, and was now a junior
partner in his uncle s establishment. " We all like him very
much," said the clerk, "he is so pleasant and kind, though a
little proud, I guess."
This was all that Billy knew of him until he had been in
Mr. Selden s employment nearly three weeks ; then, as he
was one day poring over a volume of Horace which he had
brought with him, George, who chanced to pass by, looked
over his shoulder, exclaiming, Why, Bender, can you read
Latin ? Really this is a novelty. Are you fond of books ? "
" Yes, very," said Billy, : though I have but a few of my
own."
" Fortunately then I can accommodate you," returned
George, " for I have a tolerably good library, to which you
can at any time have access. Suppose you come round to
my uncle s to-night. Never mind about thanking me." he
added, as he saw Billy about to speak ; " I hate to be
thanked, so to-night at eight o clock I shall expect you."
Accordingly that evening Billy started for Mr. Selden s.
George, who wished to save him from any embarrassment,
answered his ring himself, and immediately conducted him
to his room, where for an hour or so they discussed their
favorite books and authors. At last, George, astonished at
Billy s general knowledge of men and things, exclaimed,
Why, Bender. I do believe you are almost as good a scholar
as I, who have been through college. Pray how does it hap
pen ? "
In a few words Billy explained that he had been in the
habit of working summers, and going to school at Wilbrabam
winters ; and then, as it was nearly ten, he hastily gathered
up the books which George had kindly loaned him, and took
CROSS-EXAMINATION. 147
his leave. As lie was descending the broad stairway he met
a young girl fashionably dressed, who stared at him in some
surprise and then passed on, wondering no doubt how one of
his evident caste came to be in the front part of the house.
In the upper hall she encountered George, and asked of him
who the stranger was.
" His name is Bender, and he came from Chicopee," an
swered George.
" Bender from Chicopee," repeated Ida. " Why I won
der if it isn t the Billy Bender about whom Jenny Lincoln
has gone almost mad."
" I think not," returned her cousin, " for Mrs. Lincoln
would hardly suffer her daughter to mention a poor boy s
name, much less to go mad about him."
" But," answered Ida, " he worked on Mr. Lincoln s farm
when Jenny was, a little girl ; and now that she is older she
talks of him nearly all the time, and Rose says it would not
surprise her if she should some day run off with him."
" Possibly it is the same," returned George. " Any waty,
he is very fine-looking, and a fine fellow too, besides being an
excellent scholar."
The next day, when Billy chanced to be alone, George ap
proached him, and after making some casual remarks about
the books he had borrowed, &c. 5 he said, " Did you ever see
Jenny Lincoln in Chicopee ? "
" Oh, yes," answered Billy, brightening up, for Jenny had
always been and still was a great favorite with him ; " Oh, yes,
I know Jenny very well. I worked for her father some years
ago, and became greatly interested in her."
" Indeed ? Then you must know Henry Lincoln ? "
u Yes, I know him," said Billy; while George continued,
\ And think but little of him of course ? "
On this subject Billy was noncommittal. He had no
148 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
cause foV liking Henry, but would not say so to a compara
tive stranger, and at last he succeeded in changing the con
versation. George was about moving away, when observing
a little old-fashioned looking book lying upon one of the
boxes, he took it up and turning to the fly-leaf read the name
of " Frank Ho ward."
" Frank Howard ! Frank Howard !" he repeated; " where
have I heard that name ? Who is he, Bender ? "
" He was a little English boy I once loved very much ;
but he is dead now," answered Billy ; and George, with a sud
denly awakened curiosity, said, " Tell me about him and his
family, will you? "
Without dreaming that George had ever seen them, Billy
told the story of Frank s sickness and death, of the noble
conduct of his little sister, who, when there was no other al
ternative, went cheerfully to the poor-house, winning by her
gentle ways the love of those unused to love, and taming
the wild mood of a maniac until she was harmless as a child.
As he proceeded with his story, George became each moment
more and more interested, and when at last there was a pause,
he asked, " And is Mary in the poor-house now ? "
" I have not mentioned her name, and pray how came you
to know it? " said Billy in some surprise.
In a few words George related the particulars of his ac
quaintance with the Howards, and then again asked where
both Mary and Ella were.
Billy replied that for a few years back Mary had lived with
a Mrs. Mason, while Ella, at the time of her mother s death
had been adopted by Mrs. Campbell. " But," said he, " I
never think of Ella in connection with Mary, they are so
unlike ; Ella is proud and vain and silly, and treats her sis
ter with the utmost rudeness, though Mary is far more agree
able and intelligent, and as I think the best looking.
14S
" She must have changed very much," answered George,
" for if I remember rightly, she was not remarkable for per
sonai beauty."
" She hasn t a silly, doll baby s face, but there isn t a
finer looking girl in Chicopee, no, nor in Boston either," re-
turned Billy, with so much warmth and earnestness that
George laughed aloud, saying. " Why, really, Bender, you are
more eloquent on the subject of female beauty than I sup
posed you to be ; but go on ; tell me more of her. Is sho
at all refined or polished ? "
" I dare say she would not meet with your ideas of a
lady," answered Billy ; " but she does mine exactly, for she
possesses more natural refinement and delicacy than two
thirds of the city belles."
" Really, I am getting quite interested in her," said
George. "How is her education ? "
" Good, very good," returned Billy, adding that she was
now teaching in Rice Corner, hoping to earn money enough
to attend some seminary in the fall."
" Teaching ! " repeated George ; li why she can t be over
sixteen."
He was going to say more, when some one slapped him
rudely on the shoulder, calling out, " How are you, old fel
ler, and what is there in Boston to interest such a scape
grace as I am ? "
Looking up, Billy saw before him Henry Lincoln, exqui
sitely dressed, but bearing in his appearance evident marks
of dissipation.
"Why, Henry," exclaimed George, "how came you
here ? I supposed you were drawing lampblack caricatures
of some one of the tutors in old Yale. What s the mat-
ter ? What have you been doing ? "
" Why you see," answered Henry, drawing his cigar
150 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
from his mouth and squirting, by accident of course, a quan
tity of spittle over Billy s nicely blacked shoes ; lt Why
you see one of the sophs got his arm broken in a row, and
as I am so tender-hearted and couldn t bear to hear him
groan, to say nothing of his swearing, the faculty kindly ad
vised me to leave, and sent on before me a recommendation
to the old man. But, egad I fixed em. I told em he was
in Boston, whereas he s in Chicopee, so I just took the lett ei
from the omce myself. It reads beautifully. Do you un
derstand 1 "
All this time, in spite of the tobacco juice, Henry had
apparently taken no notice of Billy, whom George now in
troduced, saying, he believed they were old acquaintances.
With the coolest effrontery Henry took from his pocket a
quizzing glass and applying it to his eye, said, " I ve abso
lutely studied until I m near-sighted, but I don t think I
ever met this chap before."
" Perhaps, sir," said Billy haughtily, " it may refresh
your memory a little to know that I was once the owner of
Tasso ! "
" Blast the brute," muttered Henry, meaning Billy quite
as much as the dog ; then turning to George, he asked. " how
long the old folks had been in Chicopee."
" Several weeks, I think," answered G-eorge ; and then,
either because he wanted to hear what Henry would say, or
because of a re-awakened interest in Mary Howard, he con
tinued, " By the way, Henry, when you came so unceremoni
ously upon us, we were speaking of a young girl in Chicopee,
whom you have perhaps ferreted out ere this, as Bender says
she is fine looking."
Henry stroked his whiskers, which had received far more
cultivation than his brains, stuck his hat on one side, and
answered, " Why, yes, I suppose that in my way I am some*
A SACRED NAME. 151
tLing of a b hoy with the fair sex, but really I do not now think
of more than one handsome girl in Chicopee, and that is Ella
Campbell, but she is young yet, not as old as Jenny alto
gether too small fry for Henry Lincoln, Esq. But who is
the girl?"
Billy frowned, for he held Mary s name as too sacred to be
breathed by a young man of Henry Lincoln s character, while
George replied, " Her name is Mary Howard."
" What, the pauper ? " asked Henry, looking significantly
at Billy, who replied, " The same, sir."
" Whew-ew," whistled Henry, prolonging the diphthong
to an unusual length. " Why, she s got two teeth at least a
foot long, and her face looks as though she had just been in
the vinegar barrel, and didn t like the taste of it."
"But without joking, though, how does she look?
asked George ; while Billy made a movement as if he would
help the insolent puppy to find his level.
" Well, now, old boy," returned Henry, " I ll tell you
honestly, that the last time I saw her, I was surprised to
find how much she was improved. She has swallowed those
abominable teeth, or done something with them, and is
really quite decent looking. In short," he continued, with a
malicious leer at Billy, which made the blood tingle to his
finger s end, " In short, she ll do very well for a city buck
like me to play the mischief with for a summer or so, and
then cast off like an old coat."
There was a look in Billy s eye as Henry finished this
speech, which decided that young man to make no further
remarks concerning Mary, and swaggering towards the door
he added, " Well, Morcland, when will you come round and
take a horn of brandy ? Let me know, and I ll have in some
of the bloods."
" Thank you," said George, " I never use the article."
152 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
" 1 beg your pardon," returned Henry, in a tone of mocfc
humility. " I remember now that you ve taken to carrying
a Prayer Book as big as an old woman s moulding board,
and manage to come out behind in the service about three or
four lines so as to be distinctly heard ; but I suppose you
think it pleases the old gent your uncle, and that furthers
your cause with the daughter. By the way, present my com
pliments to Miss Selden, and ask her if she has any word to
send to Chicopee, for I ll have to go there by and by, though
I hate to mightily, for it ll be just like the old man to put
me through in the hay field; and if there s any thing I
abominate, it s work."
So saying, he took his leave. Just then there was a call
for Mr. Moreland, who also departed, leaving Billy alone.
" It is very strange that she never told me she knew
him," thought he ; and then taking from his pocket a neatly
folded letter, he again read it through. But there was
nothing in it about George, except the simple words, " I am
glad you have found a friend in Mr. Moreland. I am sure
I should like him, just because he is kind to you."
" Yes, she s forgotten him," said Billy, and that belief
gave him secret satisfaction. He had known Mary long,
and the interest he had felt in her when a homely, neglected
child, had not in the least decreased as the lapse of time
gradually ripened her into a fine, intelligent-looking girl.
He was to her a brother still, but she to him was dearer far
than a sister ; and though in his letters he always addressed
her as such, in his heart he claimed her as something near
er, and yet he had never breathed in her ear a word of love,
or hinted that it was for her sake he toiled both early and
late, hoarding up his earnings with almost a miser s care,
that she might be educated.
Regularly each week she wrote to him, and it was the
DREAMS OF A BRIGHT FUTURE. 153
receipt of these letters, and the thoughts of her that kept
his heart so brave and cheerful, as, alone and unappreciated,
except by George, he worked on, dreaming of a bright
future, when the one great object of his life should be real
ized.
CHAPTER XVI.
1 THE SCHOOL-MISTRESS.
IN the old. brown school-house, overshadowed by apple-trees,
and sheltered on the west by a long steep hill, where tho
acorns and wild grapes grew, Mary Howard taught her little
flock of twenty-five, coaxing some, urging others, and teach
ing them all by her kind words and winsome ways to love
her as they had never before loved an instructor.
When first she was proposed as a teacher in Rice Corner,
Widow Perkins, and a few others who had no children to
send, held up their hands in amazement, wondering " what
the world was comin to, and if the committee man, Mr.
Knight, s posed they was goin to be rid over rough-shod by
a town pauper ; but she couldn t get a stifficut, for the
Orthodox minister wouldn t give her one; and if he did, the
Unitarian minister wouldn t ! "
Accordingly, when it was known that the ordeal had
been passed, and that Mary had in her possession a piece of
paper about three inches square, authorizing her to teach a
common district school, this worthy conclave concluded that
" either every body had lost their senses, or else Miss Ma
son, who was present at the examination, had sat by and
whispered in her ear the answers to all hlird questions."
" In all my born days I never seen any thing like it," said
the widow, as she distributed her green tea, sweetened with
PRICE OF BOARD DISCUSSED. 155
brown sugar, to a party of ladies, which she was entertain*
ing. " But you ll see, she won t keep her time more n half
out. Sally Ann, pass them nutcakes. Nobody s goin to
send their children to a pauper. There s Miss Bradley says
she ll take her n out the first time they get licked, Have
some more sass, Miss Dodge. I want it eat up, for I be
lieve it s a workin , but I telled her that warn t the trouble ;
Mary s too softly to hurt a miskeeter. And so young too.
It s government she ll lack in. If any body ll have a piece
:>f this dried apple pie, I ll cut it."
Of course, nobody wanted a piece, and one of the ladies,
continuing the conversation, said she supposed Mary would
of course board with Mrs. Mason. The tea-pot lid, which
chanced to be off, went on with a jerk, and with the air of a
much injured woman the widow replied : " Wall, I can tell
her this much, it s no desirable job to board the school-
marm, though any body can see that s all made her so
anxious for Mary to have the school. She s short on t, and
wants a little money. Do any on you know, how much she
charges ? "
Nobody knew, but a good many " guessed she didn t
charge any thing," and the widow, rising from the table and
telling Sally Ann to " rense the sass dishes, and pour it in
the vinegar bottle," led her guests back to the best room,
saying, " a dollar and ninepence (her usual price) was next
to nothing, but she d warrant Miss Mason had more n that "
Fortunately, Mary knew nothing of Mrs. Perkins s dis
pleasure, and never dreamed that any feeling existed towards
her, save that of perfect friendship. Since we last saw her,
she had grown into a fine, healthy-looking girl. Her faco
and figure were round and full, and her complexion, though
still rather pale, was clear as marble, contrasting well with
her dark brown hair and eyes, which no longer seemed tin*
156 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
naturally large. Still she was not beautiful, it is true, and
yet Billy was not far from right when he called her th
finest looking girl in Chicopee ; and it was for this reason,
perhaps, that Mrs. Campbell watched her with so much
jealousy.
Every possible pains had been taken with Ella s educa
tion. The best teachers had been hired to instruct her, and
she was now at a fashionable seminary, but still she did not
possess one half the ease and gracefulness of manner, which
seemed natural to her sister. Since the day of that memo
rable visit, the two girls had seen but little of each other
Ella would not forgive Mrs. Mason for praising Mary, noi
forgive Mary for being praised ; and as Mrs. Campbell, too
pretended to feel insulted, the intercourse between the fami
lies gradually ceased ; and oftentimes when Ella met her
sister, she merely acknowledged her presence by a nod, or a
simple " how d ye do ? "
When she heard that Mary was to be a teacher, she- said
" she was glad, for it was more respectable than going into
a factory, or working out." Mrs. Campbell, too, felt in
duty bound to express her pleasure, adding, that " she hoped
Mary would give satisfaction, but twas extremely doubtful,
she was so young, and possessed of so little dignity ! "
Unfortunately, Widow Perkins s red cottage stood direct
ly opposite the school-house ; and as the widow belonged to
that stirring few who always " wash the breakfast dishes,
and make the beds before any one is up in the house," she
had ample leisure to watch and report the proceedings of
the new teacher. * Now Mrs. Perkins s clock was like its
mistress, always half an hour in advance of the true time,
and Mary had scarcely taught a week ere Mr. Knight, " the
committee man," was duly hailed in the street, and told
that the " school-marm wanted lookin to, for she didn t bo-
A QtLLL VERSUS A STEEL PEN. 157
gin no mornin till half-past nine, nor no afternoon till half-
past one ! Besides that," she added, " I think she gives em
too long a play spell. Any ways, seem s ef some on em waa
out o door the hull time."
Mr. Knight had too much good sense to heed the widow s
complaints, and he merely replied, " I m glad on t. Five
hours is enough to keep little shavers cramped up in the
house, glad on t."
The widow, thus foiled in her attempts at making dis
turbance, finally gave up the strife, contenting herself with
quizzing the older girls, and asking them if Mary could do
all the hard sums in Arithmetic, or whether she took them
home for Mrs. Mason to solve ! Old leathern-bound J)aboll,
too, was brought to light, and its most difficult problems
selected and sent to Mary, who, being an excellent mathe
matician, worked them all out to the widow s astonishment.
But when it was known that quill pens had been discarded,
and steel ones substituted in their place, Mrs. Perkins again
looked askance, declaring that Mary couldn t make a quill
pen, and by way of testing the matter, Sally Ann was sent
across the road with a huge bunch of goose quills, which
" Miss Howard " was politely requested " to fix, as ma
wanted to write some letters."
Mary candidly confessed her ignorance, saying she had
never made a pen in her life ; and the next Sabbath the
widow s leghorn was missed from its accustomed pew in the
Unitarian church, and upon inquiry, it was ascertained that
" she couldn t in conscience hear a man preach who would
give a stifficut to a girl that didn t know how to make a
pen ! "
In spite, however, of these little annoyances, Mary waa
contented and happy. She knew that her pupils loved ^er,
and that the greater part of the district were satisfied, sc
!58 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
she greeted the widow with her pleasantcst smile, and bj
always being particularly polite to Sally Ann, finally over
came their prejudices to a considerable extent.
One afternoon about the middle of July, as Mrs. Per-
kins was seated by her front window engaged in " stitching
shoes," a very common employment in some parts of New
England, her attention was suddenly diverted by a tallj
stylish-looking young man, who, driving his handsome horse
and buggy under the shadow of the apple-trees, alighted and
entered into conversation with a group of little girls who
were taking their usual recess. Mrs. Perkins s curiosity was
roused, and Sally Ann was called to see who the stranger
was. But for a wonder, Sally Ann didn t know, though she
" guessed the hoss was one of the East Chicopee livery."
" He s talkin to Liddy Knight," said she, at the same
time holding back the curtain, and stepping aside so as not
to be visible herself.
" Try if you can hear what he s sayin," whispered Mrs.
Perkins ; but a class of boys in the school-house just then
struck into the multiplication table, thus effectually drown
ing any thing which Sally Ann might otherwise have heard.
" I know them children will split their throats. Can t
they hold up a minute," exclaimed Mrs. Perkins, greatly
annoyed at being thus prevented from overhearing a conver
sation, the nature of which she could not even guess.
But as some other Widow Perkins may read this story,
we will for her benefit repeat what the young man was say
ing to Lydia Knight, who being nearest to him was the first
one addressed.
" You have a nice place for your school-house and play-
grounds."
" Yes, sir," answered Lydia, twirling her sunbonnet and
taking up a small round stone between her naked toes.
THE SCHOOL TEACHER. 159
" Do you like to go to school ? "
" Yes, sir."
" Have you a good teacher ? "
" Yes, sir."
" What is her name ? "
Miss Howard, Mary Howard, and she lives with Miss
Mason."
" Mary Howard, that s a pretty name, is she pietty
too ? "
" Not so dreadful," chimed in Susan Bradley. " She
licked brother Tim to-day, and I don t think she s much
pretty."
This speech quickly called out the opinion of the other
girls as follows :
" He ought to be licked, for he stole a knife and then
lied about it; and Miss Howard is real pretty, and you
needn t say she ain t, Susan Bradley."
" Yes, indeed, she s pretty," rejoined a second. " Such
handsome eyes, and little white hands."
" What color are her eyes ? " asked the stranger, to
which two replied, " blue," and three more said " black ; "
while Lydia Knight, who was the oldest of the group, finally
settled the question by saying, that " they sometimes looked
blue ; but if she was real pleased, or sorry either, they
turned black ! "
The stranger smiled and said, " Tell me more about her.
Does she ever scold, or has she too pretty a mouth for
that?"
" No, she never scolds," said Delia Frost, " and she s got
the nicest, whitest teeth, and I guess she knows it, too for
ehe shows them a great deal."
" She s real white, too," rejoined Lydia Knight, " though
pa says she used, to be yaller as saffron."
60 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
Here there was a gentle rap upon the window, and the
girls starting off, exclaimed, " There, we must go in."
" May I go too ? " asked the stranger, following them tc
the door.
The girls looked at each other, then at him, then at each
other again, and at last Lydia said, " I don t care, but I
guess Miss Howard will be ashamed, for twas Suke Brad-
ley s turn to sweep the school-house this noon-time, and she
wouldn t do it, cause Tim got licked."
" Never mind the school-house," returned the stranger,
" but introduce me as Mr. Stuart."
Lydia had never introduced any body in her life, and
following her companions to her seat, she left Mr. Stuart
standing in the doorway. With her usual politeness, Mary
came forward and received the stranger, who gave his name
as Mr. Stuart, saying, " he felt much interested in common
schools, and therefore had ventured to call."
Offering the seat of honor, viz., the splint-bottomed
chair, Mary resumed her usual duties, occasionally casting a
look of curiosity at the stranger, whose eyes seemed con
stantly upon her. It was rather warm that day, and when
Mary returned from her dinner, Widow Perkins was greatly
shocked at seeing her attired in a light pink muslin dress,
the short sleeves of which showed to good advantage hei
round white arms. A narrow velvet ribbon confined by a
small brooch, and a black silk apron, completed her toilet,
with the exception of a tiny locket, which was suspended
from her neck by a slender gold chain. This last ornament,
immediately riveted Mr. Stuart s attention, and from some
strange cause sent the color quickly to his face. After a
time, as if to ascertain whether it were really a locket, or a
watch, he asked " if Miss Howard could tell him the hour."
" Certainly, sir," said she, and stepping to the desk and
WOMAN S CURIOSITY. 16i
consulting a silver time-piece about the size of a dining-
plate, she told him that it was half-past three.
He nodded, and seemed very much interested in two lit
tie boys who sat near him, engaged in the laudable employ
ment of seeing which could snap spittle the farthest and tho
best.
Just then there was a movement at the door, and a new
visitor appeared in the person of Mrs. Perkins, who, with her
large feather fan and flounced gingham dress, entered smil
ing and bowing, and saying " she had been trying all sum
mer to visit the school."
Mr. Stuart immediately arose and offered his chair, but
there was something in his manner which led Mary to sup
pose that an introduction was not at all desired, so she omit
ted it, greatly to the chagrin of the widow, who, declining
the proffered seat, squeezed herself between Lydia Knight
and another girl, upsetting the inkstand of the one, and
causing the other to make a curious character out of the let
ter " X " she chanced to be writing.
" Liddy, Liddy," she whispered, " who is that man ? "
But Lydia was too much engrossed with her spoiled
apron to answer this question, and she replied with, " Harm,
may I g wout ; I ve spilt the ink all over my apron."
Permission, of course, was granted, and as the girl who
sat next knew nothing of the stranger, Mrs. Perkins began
to think she might just as well have staid at home and fin
ished her shoes. " But," thought she, " may-be I shall find
out after school."
Fortune, however, was against the widow, for scarcely
was her feather fan in full play, when Sally Ann came under
the window, and punching her back with a long stick, told
her in a loud whisper, that " she must come right home, foi
Uncle Jim and Aunt Dolly had just come from the cars."
162 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
Accordingly, Mrs. Perkins, smoothing down her gingham
flounces, and drawing on her cotton gloves, arose to go, ask
ing Mary as she passed, "if that was an acquaintance of
hers."
Mary shook her head, and the widow, more puzzled than
ever, took her leave.
When school was out, Mr. Stuart, who seemed in no
haste whatever, entered into a lively discussion with Mary
concerning schools and books, adroitly managing to draw her
out upon all the leading topics of the day. At last the con
versation turned upon flowers ; and when Mary chanced to
mention Mrs. Mason s beautiful garden, he instantly ex
pressed a great desire to see it, and finally offered to accom
pany Mary home, provided she had no objections. She
could not, of course, say no, and the Widow Perkins, who,
besides attending to " Uncle Jim" and " Annt Dolly," still
found time to watch the school-house, came very near letting
her buttermilk biscuit burn to a cinder, when she saw the
young man walking down the road with Mary. Arrived at
Mrs. Mason s, the stranger managed to make himself so
agreeable, that Mrs. Mason invited him to stay to tea, an
invitation which he readily accepted. Whoever he was, he
seemed to understand exactly how to find out whatever he
wished to know ; and before tea was over, he had learned of
Mary s intention to attend the academy in Wilbrahain, the
next autumn.
" Excuse me for making a suggestion," said he, " but
why not go to Mt. Holyoke ? Do you not think the system
of education there a most excellent one ? "
Mary glanced at Mrs. Mason, who replied, that " she
believed they did not care to take a pupil at South Hadley
for a less period than a year ; and as Mary was entirely do
SOME THINGS FAIRER THAN FLOWERS. .63
pendent upon herself, she could not at present afford that
length of time."
" That does make a difference," returned Mr. Stuart
" but I hope she will not give up Mt. Holyoke entirely, as 1
should prefer it to Wilbraham.
Tea being over, Mr. Stuart arose to go ; and Mary, as
she accompanied him to the door, could not forbear asking
how he liked Mrs. Mason s garden, which he had forgotten
even to look at !
Blushing deeply, he replied, " I suppose Miss Howard
has learned ere this, that there are in the world things fairer
and more attractive than flowers, but I will look at them
when I come again;" then politely bidding her good night,
he walked away, leaving Mary and Mrs. Mason to wonder,
the one what he came there for, and the other whether he
would -ever come again. The widow, too, wondered and
fidgeted, as the sun went down behind the long hill, and still
under the apple-tree the gray pony stood.
" It beats all nater what s kept him so long," said she,
when he at last appeared, and, unfastening his horse, drove
off at a furious rate ; " but if I live I ll know all about it
to-morrow ; " and with this consolatory remark she returned
to the best room, and for the remainder of the evening de
voted herself to the entertainment of Uncle Jim and his
wife Aunt Dolly.
That evening, Mr. Knight, who had been to the Post
Office, called at Mrs. Mason s, bringing with him a letter
which bore the Boston postmark. Passing it to Mary, he
winked at Mrs. Mason, saying, " I kinder guess how all this
writin works will end ; but hain t there been a young chap
to see the school ? "
" Yes; how did you know it," returned Mrs. Mason, while
164 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
Mary blushed more deeply than she did when Billy s letter
was handed her.
" Why, you see," answered Mr. Knight, " I was about at
the foot of the Blanchard hill, when I see a buggy comin
like Jehu. Just as it got agin me it kinder slackened, and
the fore wheel ran off smack and scissors."
" Was he hurt ? " quickly asked Mary.
" Not a bit on t," said Mr. Knight, " but he was scared
some, I guess. I got out and helped him, and when he
heard I s from Rice Corner, he said he d been into school.
Then he asked forty- leven questions about you, and jest aa
I was settin you up high, who should come a canterin up
with their long-tailed gowns, and hats like men, but Ella
Campbell, and a great white-eyed pucker that came home
with her from school. Either Ella s horse was scary, or she
did it a purpose, for the minit she got near, it began to rare,
and she would have fell off, if that man hadn t catched it by
the bit, and held her on with t other hand. I allus was the
most sanguinary of men, (Mr. Knight was never so far
wrong in his life,) and I was buildin castles about him, and
our little school-marm, when Ella came along,, and I gin it
up, for I see that he was took, and she did look handsome
with her curls a flyin . Wall, as I wasn t of no more use, I
whipped up old Charlotte and come on."
"When did Ella return?" asked Mary, who had not
before heard of her sister s arrival.
" I don t know," said Mr. Knight. " The first I see of
her she was cuttin through the streets on the dead run ; but
I mustn t stay here, gabbiii , so good night, Miss Mason,
good night, Mary, hope you ve got good news in that are
letter."
The moment he was gone, Mary ran up to her room, to
read her letter, from which w j give the following extract :
MARY IN A QUANDARY. 165
" You must have forgotten George Moreland, or you would
have mentioned him to me. I like him very much indeed,
and yet I could not help feeling a little jealous, when he
manifested so much interest in you. Sometimes, Mary, 1
think that for a brother I am getting too selfish, and do nofc
wish any one to like you except myself, but I surely need
not feel so towards George, the best friend I have in Bos
ton. He is very kind, lending me books, and has even
offered to use his influence in getting me a situation in one
of the best law offices in the city."
After reading this letter, Mary sat for a long time,
thinking of George Moreland, of the time when she first
knew him, of all that William Bender had been to her
since, and wondering, as girls sometimes will, which she
liked the best. Billy, unquestionably, had the strongest
claim to her love, but could he have known how much satis
faction she felt in thinking that George still remembered
and felt interested in her, he would have had some reason
for fearing, as he occasionally did, that she would never be
to him aught save a sister.
CHAPTER XVII.
JEALOUSY.
THE day following Mr. Stuart s visit was Saturday, and aa
there was no school, Mary decided to call upon her sister,
whom she had not seen for some months. Mrs. Mason, who
had some shopping to do in the village, offered to accompany
her, and about two in the afternoon, they set forward in Mr.
Knight s covered buggy. The roads were smooth and dry,
and in a short time they reached the bridge near the depot.
A train of cars bound for Boston was just going out, and
from one of the windows Mr. Stuart was looking, and wav
ing his hand towards Mary, who bowed in token of recog
nition.
The sight and sound of the cars made " old Charlotte,"
whom Mrs. Mason was driving, prick up her ears, and feet
too, and in a few moments she carried her load to the vil
lage. Leaving Mrs. Mason at the store, Mary proceeded at
once to Mrs. Campbell s. She rang the door-bell a little
timidly, for the last time she saw her sister, she had been
treated with so much coldness, that she now felt some anxiety
with regard to the reception she was likely to meet.
" Is Miss Campbell at home ? " she asked of the girl
who answered her ring.
" Yes, she s at home," replied the girl, " but is busy
dressing for company."
A SISTER S RECEPTION. 167
" Tell her lier sister is here, if you please. I won t de
tain her long," said Mary, trying hard to shake off tho
tremor which always came upon her, when she found herself
in Mrs. Campbell s richly furnished house.
Conducting Mary into the parlor, the girl departed with
her message to Ella, who, together with the young lady
whom Mr. Knight had styled a " white-eyed pucker," but
whose real name was Eliza Porter, was dressing in the
chamber above. The door of the room was open, and from
her position, Mary could hear distinctly every word which
was uttered.
" Miss Ella," said the girl, " your sister is in the parlor,
and wants to see you."
" My sister," repeated Ella, " oh, forlorn ! What brought
her here to-day? Why didn t you tell her I wasn t at
home ? "
" I never told a lie in my life," answered the honest ser
vant girl, while Miss Porter in unfeigned surprise said,
" Your sister ! I didn t know you had one. Why doesn t
she live at home? "
Concealment was no longer possible, and in a half vexed,
half laughing tone, Ella replied, " Why, I thought you
knew that I was an orphan whom Mrs. Campbell adopted
years ago."
" You an orphan ! " returned Miss Porter. " Well, if I
ever ! Who adopted your sister ? "
" A poor woman in the country," was Ella s answer.
Miss Porter, who was a notorious flatterer, replied, " I
must see her, for if she is any thing like you, I shall love
her instantly."
" Oh, she isn t like me," said Ella, with a curl of her
lip. " She s smart enough, I suppose, but she hasn t a bit
of polish or refinement. She doesn t come here often, and
168 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
when she does, I am always in a fidget, for fear some of th
city girls will call, and she ll do something outre"
" I guess, then, I won t go down, at least not till I m
dressed," answered Miss Porter; and Ella, throwing on a
dressing-gown, descended to the parlor, where she met hci
Bister with the ends of her fingers, and a simple, "Ah,
Mary, how d ye do ? Are you well ? "
After several commonplace remarks, Ella at last asked,
" How did you know I was at home ? "
" Mr. Knight told me," said Mary.
" Mr. Knight," repeated Ella ; " and pray, who is he ?
I don t believe he s on my list of acquaintances."
" Do you remember the man who carried me to the
poor-house?" asked Mary.
" Hush sh ! " said Ella, glancing nervously towards the
door. " There is a young lady up stairs, and it isn t necessary
for her to know you ve been a pauper."
By this time Miss Porter was dressed. She was very
fond of display, and wishing to astonish the " country girl "
with her silks and satins, came rustling into the parlor.
" My sister," said Ella carelessly.
Miss Porter nodded, and then throwing herself languid
ly upon the sofa, looked down the street, as if expecting
some one. At last, supporting herself on her elbow, she
lisped out, " I don t believe that he th coming, for here tith
after four ! "
" Tisn t likely he ll stay in the graveyard all night,"
returned Ella. " I wish we d asked him whose graves he
was going to visit, don t you ? " Then, by way of saying
something more to Mary, she continued, " Oh, you ought to
know what an adventure I had yesterday. It was a most
miraculous escape, for I should certainly have been killed,
if the most magnificent-looking gentleman you ever saw r
A- BEAUTIFUL STRANGER. 169
hadn t caught me just in time to keep Beauty from throw
ing me. You ought to see his eyes, they were perfectly
splendid !
Mary replied, that she herself thought he had rather
handsome eyes.
" You! where did you ever see him?" asked Ella.
" Ho visited my school yesterday afternoon."
" Oh, no, that can t be the one, * returned Ella, while
Miss Porter, too, said, "Certainly not; our cavalier never
thaw the inthide of a district school-houth, I know."
" I am quite sure he saw one yesterday," said Mary, re
lating the circumstance of Mr. Knight s meeting l;im at the
spot where Ella came so near getting a fall.
" Did he go home with you ? " asked Ella, in a tone
plainly indicating that a negative answer was expected.
Mary understood the drift of her sister s questioning,
and promptly replied, " Yes, he went home with me, and
staid to tea."
Ella s countenance lowered, while Miss Porter ex
claimed, " I declare, we may as well give up all hope, for
your sister, it seems, has the first claim."
" Pshaw ! " said Ella, contemptuously, while Miss Por
ter, again turning to Mary, asked, " Did you learn his
name ? If you did, you are more fortunate than we were ;
and he came all the way home with us, too, leading Ella s
pony; and besides that, we met him in the street this
morning."
" His name," returned Mary, " is Stuart, and he lives in
Boston, I believe."
"Stuart, Stuart, " repeated Ella; "I never heard
Lizzie Upton, or the Lincolns, mention the Stuarts, but per
haps they have recently removed to the city. Any way.
this young man is somebody, I know."
8
170 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS
Here Miss Porter, again looking down the road, ex
claimed, " There, he s coming, I do believe."
Both girls rushed to the window, but Mr. Stuart was not
there ; and when they were reseated, Mary very gravely re
marked, that he was probably ere this in Worcester, as she
saw him in the eastern train.
" Why, really," said Ella, " you seem to be well posted
in his affairs. Perhaps you can tell us whose graves he
wished to find. He said he had some friends buried here,
and inquired for the sexton."
Mary knew nothing about it, and Ella, as if thinking
uloud, continued, " It must be that he got belated, and went
from the graveyard, across the fields, to the depot ;
but, oh horror ! " she added, " there comes Lizzie Upton and
the rest of the Boston girls. Mary, I guess you ll have to
go, or rather, I guess you ll have to excuse me, for I must
run up and dress. By the way, wouldn t you like some
flowers ? If you would just go into the kitchen, and ask
Bridget to show you the garden."
Mary had flowers enough at home, and so, in spite of
Ella s manoeuvre, she went out at the front door, meeting
" Lizzie Upton, and the rest of the Boston girls," face to
face. Miss Porter, who acted the part of hostess while
Ella was dressing, was quickly interrogated by Lizzie
Upton, as to who the young lady was they met in the yard.
" That s Ella Campbell s sister," said Miss Porter
Then lowering her voice to a whisper, she continued, " Don t
you believe, Ella isn t Mrs. Campbell s own daughter, but
an adopted one ! "
" I know that," answered Lizzie ; " but this sister, where
does she live ? "
" Oh, in a kind of a neathenish, out-of-the-way place,
and teaches school for a living."
A FALSEHOOD. 17 i
" Well," returned Lizzie, u she is a much finer looking
girl than Ella."
" How can you say so," exclaimed three or four girls in
a breath, and Lizzie replied, " Perhaps she hasn t so much
of what is called beauty in her face, but she has a great deal
more intellect."
Here the door-bell again rang ; and Ella, having made a
hasty toilet, came tripping down the stairs in time to wel
come Hose Lincoln, whom she embraced as warmly as if a
little eternity, instead of three days, had elapsed since they
met.
" I had perfectly despaired of your coming," said she.
" Oh, how sweet you do look ! But where s Jenny ? "
Rose s lip curled scornfully, as she replied, " Why, she
met Mary Howard in the store, and I couldn t drag her
away."
" And who is Mary Howard ? " asked Lizzie Upton.
Rose glanced at Ella, who said, " Why, she s the girl
you met going out of the yard."
" Oh, yes, I -know, your sister," returned Lizzie.
" Isn t she to be here ? I have noticed her in church, and
should like to get acquainted with her. She has a fine eye
and forehead."
Ella dared not tell Lizzie, that Mary was neither pol
ished nor refined, so she answered, that " she could not stay
this afternoon, as Mrs. Mason, the lady with whom she lived,
was in a hurry to go home."
Miss Porter looked up quickly from her embroidery, and
winked slily at Ella in commendation of her falsehood.
Jenn} now came bounding in, her cheeks glowing, and her
eyes sparkling like diamonds.
" I m late, I know," said she, " but I met Mary in the
store, and I never know when to leave her. I tried to make
172 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
her come -with me, telling her that as you were her sister
twas no matter if she wern t invited ; but she said that
Mrs. Mason had accepted an invitation to take tea with
Mrs. Johnson, and she was going there too."
Instantly Lizzie Upton s eyes were fixed upon Ella, who
colored scarlet ; and quickly changing the conversation, she
commenced talking about her adventure of the evening be
fore, and again the " magnificent-looking stranger, with his
perfectly splendid eyes," was duly described.
" Oh, yes," -said Jenny, who generally managed to talk
all the time, whether she was heard or not. " Yes, Mary
told me about him. He was in her school yesterday, and if
I were going to describe George Moreland, I could not
do it more accurately than she did, in describing Mr.
Stuart. You never saw George, did you ? "
" No," said Ella pettishly, " but seems to me Mary is
dreadful anxious to have folks know that Mr. Stuart visited
her school."
" No, she isn t," answered Jenny. " I told her that I
rode past her school-house yesterday, and should have called,
had I not seen a big man s head protruding above the win
dow sill. Of course, I asked who he was, and she told me
about him, and how he saved you from a broken neck."
Ella s temper, never the best, was fast giving way, and
by the time the company were all gone, she was fairly in a
fit of the pouts. Running up stairs, and throwing herself
upon the bed, she burst into tears, wishing herself dead, and
saying she knew no one would care if she were, for every
body liked Mary better than they did her.
Miss Porter, who stood by, terribly distressed of course,
rightly guessed that the every body, on this occasion, re
ferred merely to Mr. Stuart and Lizzie Upton. Ella was
always jealous of any commendation bestowed upon Mary
JEALOUSY. 173
seeming to consider it as so much taken from herself, and
consequently, could not bear that Lizzie should even think
well of her. The fact, too, that Mr. Stuart had not only
visited her school, but also walked home with her, was a
sufficient reason why she should be thoroughly angry. Miss
Porter knew that the surest method of coaxing her out of
her pouting fit, was to flatter her, and accordingly she re
peated at least a dozen complimentary speeches, some of
which she had really heard, while others were manufactured
for the occasion. In this way the cloud was gradually lifted
from her face, and erelong she was laughing merrily at the
idea, that a girl " so wholly unattractive as Mary, should
ever have made her jealous ! "
CHAPTER XVIII.
A NE W F LAN.
THE summer was drawing to a close, and with it Mary s
school. She had succeeded in giving satisfaction to the en
tire district with the exception of Mrs. Bradley, who " didn t
know why Tim should be licked and thrashed round just be
cause his folks wasn t wuth quite so much as some others,"
this being, in her estimation, the only reason why the notori
ous Timothy was never much beloved by his teachers. Mr.
Knight, with whom Mary was a great favorite, offered her
the school for the coming winter, but she had decided upon
attending school herself, and after modestly declining his
offer, told him of her intention.
" But where s the money coming from ? " said he.
Mary laughingly asked him how many bags of shoes ho
supposed she had stitched during the last two years.
" More n two hundred, I ll bet," said he.
" Not quite as many as that," answered Mary; " but still
I have managed to earn my clothes, and thirty dollars be
sides ; and this, together with my school wages, will pay for
one term, and part of another."
; Well, go ahead," returned Mr. Knight. " I d help you
if I could Go ahead, and who knows but you ll one day bo
the President s wife."
Like the majority of New England farmers, Mr. Knight
THE WIDOW FOILED. 175
was far from being wealth^. From sunrise until sundown
he worked upon the old homestead where his father had
dwelt. Spring after spring, he ploughed and planted the
sandy soil. Autumn after autumn he gathered in the slen
der harvest, and still said-he would not exchange his home
among the hills for all the broad acres of his brother, who,
at the far West, counted his dollars by the thousands. He
would gladly have helped Mary, but around his fireside were
six children dependent upon him for food, clothing, and edu
cation, and he could only wish his young friend success in
whatever she undertook.
When Widow Perkins heard that Mary was going away
to school, she forgot to put any yeast in the bread which she
was making, and bidding Sally Ann " watch it until it riz,"
she posted off to Mrs. Mason s to inquire the particulars,
reckoning up as she went along how much fourteen weeks
wages would come to at nine shillings (a dollar and a half
New England currency) per week.
" Tain t no great," said she, as simultaneously with her
arrival at Mrs. Mason s door, she arrived at the sum of
twenty-one dollars. " Tain t no great, and I wouldn t won
der if Miss Mason fixed over some of her old gowns for
-her."
But with all her quizzing, and " pumping," as Judith
called it. she was unable to ascertain any thing of impor
tance, and mentally styling Mrs. Mason, Mary, Judith and
all, " great gumpheads," she returned home, and relieved
Sally Ann from her watch over unleavened bread. Both
Mrs. Mason and Mary laughed heartily at the widow s curi
osity, though, as Mary said, ; It was no laughing matter
where the money was to come from which she needed for her
books and clothing."
Every thing which Mrs. Mason could do for her she did,
176 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
and even Judith, who was never famous for generosity,
brought in one Saturday morning a half-worn merino, which
she thought "mebby could be turned and sponged, and made
into somethin decent," adding, in an undertone, that " she d
had it out airin on the clothes hoss for more n two hours ! "
Sally Furbush, too, brought over the old purple silk
which " Willie s father had given her." She was getting on
finely with her grammar, she said, and in a few days she
should write to Harper, so that he might have time to en
gage the extra help he would necessarily need, in bringing out
a work of that kind !
<; I should dedicate it to Mrs. Grundy," said she, " just
to show her how forgiving I can be, but here is a difficulty.
A person, on seeing the name, Mrs. Polly Grundy, would
naturally be led to inquire for * Mr. Polly Grundy, and this
inquiry carried out, might cause the lady some little embar
rassment, so I ve concluded to have the dedication read
thus : To Willie s father, who sleeps on the western prai
rie, this useful work is tremblingly, tearfully, yet joyfully
dedicated by his relict, Surah. ?:
Mary warmly approved of this plan, and after a few ex
tra flourishes in the shape of a courtesy, Sally started for
home.
A few days afterward, Jenny Lincoln came galloping up
to the school-house door, declaring her intention of staying
until school was out, and having a good time. " It s for ever
and ever since I ve seen you," said she, as she gathered up
the skirt of her blue riding-dress, and followed Mary into
the house, " but I ve been so bothered with those city girls.
Seems as though they had nothing to do but to get up rides in
hay carts, or picnics in the woods and since Henry camo
home they keep sending for us. This afternoon they have
MOUNT HOLYOKE. 177
all gone blackberrying in a Lay cart, but I d rather come
here."
At this point, happening to think that the class in Col
burn who were toeing the mark so squarely, would perhaps
like a chance to recite, Jenny seated herself near the win
dow, and throwing off her hat, made fun for herself and some
little boys, by tickling their naked toes with the end of her
riding-whip. When school was out, and the two girls were
alone. Jenny entered at once upon the great object of her
visit.
" I hear you are going to Wilbraham," said she, " but I
want you to go to Mount Holyoke. We are going, a whole
lot of us, that is, if we can pass examination. Rose isn t
pleased with the idea, but I am. I think twill be fun to
wash potatoes and scour knives. I don t believe that mo
ther would ever have sent us there if it were not that Ida
Selden is going. Her father and her aunt Martha used to
be schoolmates with Miss Lyon, and they have always in
tended that Ida should graduate at Mount Holyoke. Now,
why can t you go, too ? "
Instantly Mary thought of Mr. Stuart, and his sugges
tion. " I wish I could," said she, " but I can t. I haven t
money enough, and there is no one to give it to me."
" It wouldn t hurt Mrs. Campbell to help you a little,"
returned Jenny. " Why, last term Ella spent almost enough
for candies, and gutta-percha toys, to pay the expense of
half a year s schooling, at Mount Holyoke. It s too bad
that she should have every thing, and you nothing."
Here Jenny s remarks were interrupted by the loud rat
ling of wheels, and the halloo of many voices. Going to
the door, she and Mary saw coming down the road at a furi
ous rate, the old hay cart, laden with the young people from
Chioopee, who had been berrying in Sturbridge, and were
178 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
now returning home in high glee. The horses were fantas
tically trimmed with ferns and evergreens, while several of
the girls were ornamented in the same way. Conspicuous
among the noisy group, was Ella Campbell. Henry Lin
coln s broad-brimmed hat was resting on her long curls,
while her white sun-bonnet was tied under Henry s chin.
The moment Jenny appeared, the whole party set up a
shout so deafening, that the Widow Perkins came out in a
trice, to see " if the old Harry was to pay, or what." No
sooner did Henry Lincoln get sight of Mary, than springing
to his feet, and swinging his arm around his head, he
screamed out, " Three cheers for the school ma am and her
handsome lover, Billy ! Hurrah ! "
In the third and last hurrah, the whole company joined,
and when that was finished, Henry struck up on a high key,
" Oh, where have you been, Billy boy, Billy boy,
Oh, where have you been charming Billy f "
but only one voice joined in with his, and that was Ella s !
Mary reddened at what she knew was intended as an insult,
and when she heard her sister s voice chiming in with
Henry, she could not keep back her tears.
" Wasn t that smart ? " said Jenny, when at last the hay
cart disappeared from view, and the noise and dust had some
what subsided. Then as she saw the tears in Mary s eyes,
she added, " Oh, I wouldn t care if they did teaze me about
Billy Bender. I d as lief be teazed about him as not."
" It isn t that," said Mary, smiling in spite of herself, at
Jenny s frankness. " It isn t that, I didn t like to hear
Ella sing with your brother, when she must have known he
meant to annoy me."
" That certainly was wrong," returned Jenny ; " but
Ella isn t so much to blame as Henry, who seems to have
MARY S WISH GRATIFIED. 179
v
acquired a great influence over her during the few weeks he
has been at home. You know she is easily flattered, and 1
dare say Henry has fully gratified her vanity in that respectj
for he says she is the only decent-looking girl in Chicopee.
But see, there comes Mrs. Mason, I guess she wonders what
is keeping you so long."
The moment Mrs. Mason entered the school-room, Jenny
commenced talking about Mount Holyoke, her tongue run
ning 80 fast, that it entirely prevented , any one else from
speaking, until she stopped for a moment to take breath.
Then Mrs. Mason very quietly remarked, that if Mary
wished to go to Mount Holyoke she could do so. Mary
looked up inquiringly, wondering what mine had opened so
suddenly at her feet ; but she received no explanation until
Jenny had bidden her good-bye, and gone. Then she
learned that Mrs. Mason had just received $100 from a man
in Boston, who had years before owed it to her husband, and
was unable to pay it sooner. " And. now," said Mrs. Mason,
" there is no reason why you should not go to Mount Holyoke,
if you wish to."
The glad tears which came to Mary s eyes were a suf
ficient evidence that she did wish to, and the next day a let
ter was forwarded to Miss Lyon, who promptly replied,
expressing her willingness to receive Mary as a pupil.
And now Bice Corner was again thrown into a state of fer
mentation. Mary was going to Mount Holyoke, and what
was more marvellous still, Mrs. Mason had bought her a black
silk dress, which cost her a dollar a yard I and more than one
good dame declared her intention of " giving up," if paupers
came on so fast. This having been a pauper was the thing
of which Mary heard frequently, now that her prospects were
getting brighter. And even Ella, when told that her sister was
going to Mount Holyoke. said to Miss Porter, who was still
i80 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
with her, " Why, isn t she getting along real fast for one who
has been on the town ? "
Mrs. Lincoln, too, and Rose were greatly provoked, the
former declaring she would not send her daughters to a
school which was so cheap that paupers and all could go, were
it not that Lizzie Upton had been there, and Ida Selden was
going. Jenny, however, thought differently. She was de
lighted, and as often as she possibly could, she came to Mrs.
Mason s to talk the matter over, and tell what good times
they d have, " provided they didn t set her to pounding
clothes." which she presumed they would, just because she
was so fat and healthy. The widow assumed a very re
signed air, saying " She never did meddle with other folks
business, and she guessed she shouldn t begin by tendin to
Mary s, but twas a miracle where all the money came from."
A few more of the neighbors felt worried and troubled,
but as no attention was paid to their remarks, they gradu
ally ceased, and by the time Mary s preparations were com
pleted, curiosity and gossip seemed to have subsided alto
gether. She was quite a favorite in the neighborhood, and
on the morning when she left home, there was many a kind
good-bye, and word of love spoken to her by those who came
to see her off. Mr. Knight carried her to the depot, where
they found Sally Furbush, accompanied by Tasso, her con
stant attendant. She knew that Mary was to leave that
morning, and had walked all that distance, for the sake of
seeing her, and giving her a little parting advice. It was
not quite time for the cars, and Mr. Knight, who was always
m a hurry, said " he guessed he wouldn t stay," so squeezing
both of Mary s hands, he bade her good-bye, telling her " to
be a good girl, and not get to running after the sparks."
Scarcely was he gone, when Mary s attention was attract
ed by the sound of many voices, and looking from the win
ELLA S DENIAL OF HER SISTER. 18.1
dow, she saw a group of the city girls advancing towards
the depot. Among them was Ella, talking and laughing
very loudly Mary s heart beat very rapidly, for she thought
her sister was coming to bid her good-bye, but she was mis
taken. Ella had 010 thought or care for her, and after glan
cing in at the sitting-room, without seeming to see its inmates
though not to see them was impossible, she turned her back,
and looking across the river, which was directly in front, she
said in her most drawling tone, " Why don t Rose come 1 I
shan t have time to see her at all, I m afraid."
Lizzie Upton, who was also there, looked at her in aston
ishment, and then said, " Why, Ella, isn t that your sister ? "
" My sister? I don t know. Where ? " returned Ella.
Mary laughed, and then Ella, facing about, exclaimed,
"Why, Mary, you here? I forgot that you were going this
morning."
Before Mary could reply, Sally Furbush arose, and passed
her hand carefully over Ella s head. Partly in fear, and
partly in anger, Ella drew back from the crazy woman, wlic
said, " Don t be alarmed, little one, I only wanted to find tin
cavity which I felt sure was there."
Lizzie Upton s half-smothered laugh was more provok
ing to Ella, than Sally s insinuation of her want of brains,
but she soon recovered her equanimity, for Mr. Lincoln s
carriage at that moment drove up. Henry sprang nimbly
out, kissing his hand to Ella, who blushed, and then turning
to Hose, began wishing she, too, was old enough to go to
Mount Holyoke.
;{ I guess you d pass about as good an examination now,
as some who are going," returned Rose, glancing contemp
tuously towards Mary, to whom Jenny was eagerly talking.
This directed Henry s attention that way, and simulta
neously his own and Mary s eyes met. With a peculiar ex
182 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
pression of countenance, he stepped towards her, saying
" Good morning, school ma am. For what part are you bound
frith all this baggage ? ; pointing to a huge chest with a feather
bed tied over it, the whole the property of a daughter of
Erin, who stood near, carefully guarding her treasure.
Had he addressed Mary civilly, she would have replied
with her usual politeness, but as it was, she made no reply
and he turned to walk away. All this time Tasso lay under
the table, winking and blinking at his old enemy, with an ex
pression in his eyes, which Henry would hardly have relished,
could he have seen him.
" Hark ! Isn t that the cars ? " said Jenny, as a low,
heavy growl fell on her ear ; but she soon ascertained what
it was, for as Henry was leaving the room, he kicked aside
the blue umbrella, which Sal had brought with her for fear
of a shower, and which was lying upon the floor.
In an instant, Tasso s growl changed to a bark, and
bristling with anger, he rushed towards Henry, but was stop
ped by Sal just in time to prevent his doing any mischief.
With a muttered oath, which included the " old woman " as
well as her dog, the young man was turning away, when
Jenny said, " Shame on you, to swear before ladies ! "
After assuring himself by a look that Ella and the city
girls were all standing upon the platform, Henry replied
with a sneer, " I don t see any ladies in the room."
Instantly Sal, now more furious than the dog, clutched
her long, bony fingers around his arm, saying, " Take back
that insult, sir, or Tasso shall tear you in pieces ! What
am I, if I am not a lady ? "
Henry felt sure that Sal meant what she said, and with
an air of assumed deference, he replied as he backed him
self out of his uncomfortable quarters, <: I beg your pardon
Mrs. Furbush, I forgot that you were present."
THE DEPARTURE FOR MT. XOLYOKE. 183
The whistle of the cars was now heard, and in a moment
the locomotive stood puffing before the depot. From one of
the open windows a fair young face looked out, and a voice
which thrilled Mary s every nerve, it seemed so familiar,
called out, " Oh, Rosa, Jenny, all of you, I m so glad you
are here ; I was afraid there would be some mistake, and I d
have to go alone."
" Isn t your father with you ? " asked Henry, bowing so
low, that he almost pitched headlong from the platform.
" No," answered the young lady, " he couldn t leave, nor
George either, so Aunt Martha is my escort. She s fast
asleep just opposite me, never dreaming, I dare say, that
we ve stopped."
" The mischief," said Henry. " What s to be done ?
The old gent was obliged to be in Southbridge to-day, so he
bade me put Rose and Jenny under your father s protection ;
but as he isn t here I ll have to go myself.
" No you won t either," returned Ida, " Aunt Martha is as
good as a man any time, and can look after three as well as
one."
" That s Ida Selden ! Isn t she handsome ? " whispered
Jenny to Mary.
But Mary hardly heard her. She was gazing admiringly
at Ida s animated face, and tracing in it a strong resem
blance to the boyish features, which looked so mischievously
out from the golden locket, which at that moment lay next
to her heart.
"All aboard," shouted the shrill voice of the conductor,
and Mary awoke from her reverie, and twining her arms
around Sally Furbush s neck, bade her good-bye.
" The Lord be with you," said Sally, " and be sure you
pay strict attention to Grammar ! "
Mary next looked for Ella, but she stood at a distance
184 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
jesting lightly with Henry Lincoln, and evidently determined
not to see her sister, who was hurrying towards her, when,
" All aboard " was again shouted in her ear, while at the
same moment, the conductor lifted her lightly upon the step
where Rose and Jenny were standing.
" This car is brim full," said Rose, looking over her
shoulder, " but I guess you can find a good seat in the next
one."
The train was already in motion, and as Mary did not
care to peril her life or limbs for the sake of pleasing Rose,
she followed her into the car. where there was a goodly num
ber of unoccupied seats, notwithstanding Rose s assertion to
the contrary. As the train moved rapidly over the long,
level meadow, and passed the Chicopee burying-ground, Mary
looked out to catch a glimpse of the thorn-apple tree, which
overshadowed the graves of her parents, and then, as she
thought how cold and estranged was the only one left of all
the home circle, she drew her veil over her face and burst
into tears.
. " Who is that young lady?" asked Ida, who was riding
backward and consequently directly opposite to Mary.
" What young lady?" said Rose; and Ida replied, " The
one who kissed that queer-looking old woman and then fol
lowed you and Jenny into the cars."
" Oh, that was Mary Howard," was Rose s answer.
" Mary Howard ! " repeated Ida, as if the name were
one she had heard before, " who is she, and what is she ? "
" Nobody but a town pauper," answered Rose, arid one
of Jenny s protegee s. You see she is sitting by her."
" She doesn t seem like a pauper," said Ida. " I
wish she would take off that veil. I want to see how she
looks."
" Rough and blowsy, of course, like any other country
girl," was Rose s reply.
185
By this time Mary had dried her tears, and when thej
reached the station at Warren, she removed her veil, dis
closing to view a face, which instead of being " rough and
blowsy " was smooth and fair almost as marble.
" That isn t a pauper, I know," said Ida ; and Rose re
plied, " Well, she ha s been, and what s the difference ?"
" But where does she live now ?" continued Ida : " I
begin to grow interested."
" I suppose you remember Mrs. Mason, who used to live
in Boston," answered Rose. " Well, she has adopted her, 1
believe, but I don t know much about it, and care a good
deal less."
"Mrs. Mason!" repeated Ida. "Why, Aunt Martha
thinks all the world of her, and I fancy she wouldn t sleep quite
BO soundly, if she knew her adopted daughter was in the car.
I mean to tell her. Aunt Martha, Aunt Martha ! "
But Aunt Martha was too fast asleep to heed Ida s call,
and a gentle shake was necessary to rouse her to conscious-
nesss. But when she became fully awake, and knew why she
was roused, she started up, and going towards Mary, said in
her own" peculiarly sweet and winning manner, " Ida tells mo
you are Mrs. Mason s adopted daughter, and Mrs. Mason is
the dearest friend I ever had. I am delighted to see you."
Jenny immediately introduced her to Mary, as Miss Sel-
den, whispering in her ear at the same time that she was
G-eorge s aunt ; then rising she gave her seat to Aunt Martha,
taking another one for herself near. Rose and Ida. Without
seeming to be curious at all, Aunt Martha had a peculiar way
of drawing people out to talk of themselves, and by the time
they reached the station, where they left the cars for Mt.
Holyoke, she had learned a good share of Mary s early his
tory, and felt quite as much pleased with the freshness and
simplicity of her young friend, as Mary did with her p
and elegant manners.
CHAPTER XIX
MT HOLYOKB
OH, forlorn, what a looking place ! " exclaimed Hose Lincoln,
RS from the windows of the crowded vehicle in which they
had come from the cars, she first obtained a view of the not
very handsome village of South Hadley.
Rose was in the worst of humors, for by some mischance,
Mary was on the same seat with herself, and consequently she
was very much distressed, and crowded. She, however, felt a
little afraid of Aunt Martha, who she saw was inclined to favor
the object of her wrath, so she restrained her fault-finding
spirit until she arrived at South Hadley, where every thing
came in for a share of her displeasure.
" That the Seminary ! " said she contemptuously, as they
drew up before the building. " Why, it isn t half as large,
or handsome as I supposed. Oh, horror ! I know I shan t
stay here long."
The furniture of the parlor was also very offensive to the
young lady, and when Miss Lyon came in to meet them, she,
too, was secretly styled, " a prim, fussy, slippery-tongued old
maid." Jenny, however, who always saw the bright side of
every thing, was completely charmed with the sweet smile,
and placid face, so well remembered by all who have seen and
known, the founder of Mt. Holyoke Seminary. After some
conversation between Miss Lyon and Aunt Martha it was
THE EXAMINATION. 187
decided that Rose and Jenny should room together, as a
matter of course, and that Mary should room with Ida,
Rose had fully intended to room with Ida herself, and this
decision made her very angry ; but there was no help for it,
and she was obliged to submit.
Our readers are probably aware, that an examination in
certain branches is necessary, ere a pupil can be admitted
into the school at Mt. Holyoke, where the course of instruc
tion embraces three years, and three classes, Junior, Middle,
and Senior. Rose, who had been much flattered on account
of her scholarship, confidently expected to enter the Middle
class. Jenny, too, had the same desire, though she confessed
to some misgivings concerning her knowledge of a goodly
number of the necessary branches. Ida was really an excel
lent scholar, and was prepared to enter the Senior class,
while Mary aspired to nothing higher, than admission into
the Junior. She was therefore greatly surprised, when Aunt
Martha, after questioning her as to what she had studied,
proposed that she should be examined for the Middle class.
" Oh, no," said Mary quickly, " I should fail, and I
wouldn t do that for the world."
" Have you ever studied Latin? " asked Aunt Martha.
Before Mary could reply, Rose exclaimed, " Ske study
Latin ! How absurd ! Why, she was never away to school
in her life."
Aunt Martha silenced her with a peculiar look, while
Mary answered, that for more than two years, she had been
leading Latin under Mrs. Mason s instruction.
" And you could not have a better teacher," said Aunt
Martha. " So try it by all means."
" Yes, do try," said Ida and Jenny, in the same breath,
and after a time, Mary rather reluctantly consented
* I ll warrant she intends to sit by us, so we can tell hei
188 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
every other word," muttered Hose to Jenny, but when tl
trial came she thought differently.
It would be wearisome to give the examination in detail
so we will only say, that at its close, Rose Lincoln heard
with shame and confusion, that she could only be admitted
into the Junior Class, her examination having proved a very
unsatisfactory one. Poor Jenny, too, who had stumbled
over almost every thing, shared the same fate, while Mary,
expecting nothing, and hoping nothing, burst into tears when
told that she had acquitted herself creditably, in all the
branches requisite for an admission into the Middle class.
" Mrs. Mason will be so glad, and Billy, too," was her
first thought ; and then, as she saw how disappointed Jenny
looked, she seized the first opportunity to throw her arms
around her neck, and whisper to her how sorry she was that
she had failed.
Jenny, however, was of too happy a temperament to re
main sad for a long time, and before night her loud, merry
laugh had more than once rang out in the upper hall, causing
even Miss Lyon to listen, it was so clear and joyous. That
afternoon, Aunt Martha, who was going to call upon Mrs.
Mason, started for home, leaving the girls alone among
strangers. It was a rainy, dreary day, and the moment her
aunt was gone, Ida threw herself upon the bed and burst into
tears. Jenny, who occupied the next room, was also low
spirited, for Rose was terribly cross, calling her a " ninny
hammer," and various other dignified names. Among the
four girls, Mary was the only cheerful one, and after a time
she succeeded in comforting Ida, while Jenny, catching some
thing of her spirit, began to laugh loudly, as she told a group
of girls how many ludicrous blunders she made when they
undertook to question her about Euclid, which she had iievej
studied in her life !
UNKIND REPROACHES. 189
And now in a few days life at Mt. Holyoke commenced
in -earnest. Although perfectly healthy, Mary looked rather
delicate, and it was for this reason, perhaps, that the sweep
ing and dusting of several rooms were assigned to her, as her
portion of the labor. Ida and Rose fared much worse, and
were greatly shocked, when told that they both belonged to
the wash circle !
" I declare," said Rose, " it s too bad. I ll walk hornt
before I ll do it ; " and she glanced at her white hands, to
make sure they were not already discolored by the dreaded
soap suds !
Jenny was delighted with her allotment, which was dish
washing.
" I m glad I took that lesson at the poor-house years
ago," said she one day to Rose, who snappishly replied,
" I d shut up about the poor-house, or they ll think you the
pauper instead of Madam Howard."
" Pauper ? Who s a pauper ? " asked Lucy Downs, eager
to hear so desirable a piece of news.
Ida Selden s large black eyes rested reprovingly upon
Rose, who nodded towards Mary, and forthwith Miss Downs
departed with the information, which was not long in reach
ing Mary s ears.
" Why, Mary, what s the matter ? " asked Ida, when
towards the close of the day she found her companion weep
ing in her room. Without lifting her head, Mary replied,
c< It s foolish in me to cry, I know, but why need I always
be reproached with having been a pauper. I couldn t help
it. I promised mother I would take care of little Allie as
long as she lived, and if she went to the poor-house, I had to
go too."
" And who was little Allie?" asked Ida, taking Mary s
hot hands between her own.
190 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
In few words Mary related her history, omitting Lei
acquaintance with George Moreland, and commencing at the
night when her mother died. Ida was warm-hearted and affec
tionate, and cared but little whether one were rich or poor
if she liked them. From the first she had been interested in
Mary, and now winding her arms about her neck, and kissing
away her tears, she promised to love her, and to be to her aa
true and faithful a friend as Jenny. This promise, which
was never broken, was of great benefit to Mary, drawing to
her side many of the best girls in school, who soon learned
to love her for herself, and not because the wealthy Miss
Selden seemed so fond of her.
Neither Ida nor Rose were as happy in school, as Mary
and Jenny. Both of them fretted about the rules, which
they were obliged to observe, nd both of them disliked and
dreaded their portion of the work. Ida, however, was hap
pier than Rose, for she was fonder of study, and one day
when particularly interested in her lessons, she said to Mary,
that she believed she should be tolerably contented, were it
not for the everlasting washing.
Looking up a moment after, she saw that Mary had dis*
appeared. But she soon returned, exclaiming, " I ve fixed
it. It s all right. I told her I was a great deal stronger
than you, that I was used to washing, and you were not, and
that it made your side ache ; so she consented to have us ex
change, and after this you are to dust for me, and I am to
wash for you."
Ida disliked washing so much, that she raised no very
strong objections to Mary s plan, and then when she found
how great a kindness had really been shown her, she tried
hard to think of some way in which to repay it. At last,
George Moreland, to whom she had written upon the subject,
suggested something which met her views exactly. Both
A HANDSOME MAN. 193
Ida and her aunt had told George about Mary, and without
hinting that he knew her, he immediately commenced mak
ing minute inquiries concerning her, of Ida, who communi
cated them to Mary, wondering why she always blushed so
deeply, and tried to change the conversation. In reply to the
letter in which Ida had told him of Mary s kindness, George
wrote, " You say Miss Howard is very fond of music, and
that there is no teacher connected with the institution.
Now why not give her lessons yourself? You can do it as
well as not, and it will be a good way of showing your gra
titude."
Without waiting to read farther, Ida ran in quest of
Mary, to whom she told what George had written. " You
don t know," said she, " how much George asks about you. I
never saw him so much interested in any one before, and
half the girls in Boston are after him, too."
" Poor fellow, I pity him," said Mary; and Ida continued,
" Perhaps it seems foolish in me to say so much about him,
but if you only knew him, you wouldn t wonder. He s the
handsomest young man I ever saw, and then he s so good, so
different from other young men, especially Henry Lincoln."
Here the tea bell rang, and the conversation was discon
tinued.
When Rose heard that Mary was taking music lessons,
Bhe exclaimed to a group of girls with whom she was talk
ing, " Well, I declare, beggars taking music lessons ! I
wonder what ll come next ? Why, you ve no idea how dread
fully poor she is. Our summer residence is near the alms-
house, and when she was there I saw a good deal of her.
She had scarcely any thing fit to wear, and I gave her ono
of my old bonnets, which I do believe she wore for three or
four years."
" Why, Hose Lincoln," said Jenny, who had overheard
192 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
all, and now came up to her sister, " how can you tell what
you know is not true ? "
" Not true ? " angrily retorted Rose. " Pray didn t she
have my old bonnet ? "
" Yes," answered Jenny, " but I bought it of you, and
paid you for it with a bracelet Billy Bender gave me, you
Know I did."
Hose was cornered, and as she saw no way of extricating
herself, she turned on her heel and walked away, muttering
about the meanness of doing a charitable deed, and then
boasting of it !
The next day Jenny chanced to go for a moment to
Mary s room. As she entered it, Mary looked up, saying,
" You are just the one I want to see. I ve been writing
about you to Billy Bender. You can read it if you choose."
Tfhen Jenny had finished reading the passage referred
to, she said, " Oh, Mary, I didn t suppose you overheard
Rose s unkind remarks about that bonnet."
" But I did," answered Mary, " and I am glad, too, for
I had always supposed myself indebted to her instead of
you. Billy thought so, too, and as you see, I have undeceived
him. Did I tell you that he had left Mr. Selden s employ
ment, and gone into a law office ? "
" Oh, good, good. I m so glad," exclaimed Jenny, dan
cing about the room. " Do you know whose office he is in ? r>
" Mr. Worthington s," answered Mary, and Jenny con
tinued : " Why, Henry is studying there. Isn t it funny ?
But Billy will beat him, I know he will, he s so smart.
How I wish he d write to me ! Wouldn t I feel grand to
Iiave a gentleman correspondent?"
" Suppose you write to him," said Mary, laughingly.
* Here s just room enough, pointing to a vacant spot upon
A SISTER S LOVE. 193
the paper. He s alfraya asking about you, and you can an
swer his questions yourself."
"I ll do it," said Jenny, and seizing the pen, she thought
lessly scribbled off a ludicrous account of her failure, and
of the blunders she was constantly committing, while she
spoke of Mary as the pattern for the whole school, both in
scholarship and behavior.
" There ! " said she, wiping her gold pen upon her silk
apron (for Jenny still retained some of the habits of her
childhood), " I guess he ll think I m crazy, but I hope he ll
answer it, any way.
Mary hoped so too, and when at last Billy s letter came,
containing a neatly written note for Jenny, it was dfficult
telling which of the two girls was the happier.
Soon after Mary went to Mount Holyoke, she had received
a letter from Billy, in which he expressed his pleasure that
she was at school, but added that the fact of her being there
interfered greatly with his plan of educating her himself.
" Mother s ill health," said he, " prevented me from doing
any thing until now, and just as I am in a fair way to ac
complish my object, some one else has stepped in before me.
But it is all right, and as you do not seem to ne^d my ser
vices at present, I shall next week leave Mr. Selden s employ
ment, and go into Mr. Worthington s law office as clerk
hoping that when the proper time arrives, I shall not be
defeated in another plan which was formed in boyhood, and
which has become the great object of my life."
Mary felt perplexed and troubled. Billy s letters of late
had been more like those of a lover than a brother, and she
could not help guessing the nature of u the plan formed in
boyhood. She knew she should never love him except with
a sister s love, and though she could not tell him so, her next
letter lacked the tone of affection with which she was accuy-
9
194 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
fcomcd to write, and was on the whole a rather formal affair
Billy, who readily perceived the change, attributed it to the
right cause, and from that time his letters became far less
cheerful than usual.
Mary usually cried over them, wishing more than once
that Billy would transfer his affection from herself to Jenny,
and it was for this reason, perhaps, that without stopping to
consider the propriety of the matter, she first asked Jenny
to write to him, and then encouraged her in answering his
notes, which (as her own letters grew shorter) became grad
ually longer and longer, until at last his letters were ad
dressed to Jenny, while the notes they contained were were
directed to Mary !
CHAPTER XX.
THE CLOSING OF THE YEAR.
RAPIDLY the days passed on at Mount Holyoke. Autumn
faded into winter, whose icy breath floated for a time over
the mountain tops, and then melted away at the approach of
spring, which, with its swelling buds and early flowers, gave
way in its turn to the long bright davs of summer. And now
only a few weeks remained ere the annual examination at
which Ida was to be graduated. Neither Hose nor Jenny
were to return the next year, and nothing but Mr. Lincoln s
firmness and good sense had prevented their being sent for
when their mother first heard that they had failed to enter
the Middle class.
Mrs. Lincoln s mortification was undoubtedly greatly
increased from the fact that the despised Mary had entered
in advance of her daughters. " Things are coming to a pretty
pass," said she. "Yes, a pretty pass; but I might have
known better than to send my children to such a school."
Mr. Lincoln could not forbear asking her in a laughing
way, " if the schools which she attended were of a higher
order than Mount Holyoke."
Bursting into tears, Mrs. Lincoln replied that " she didn t
think she ought to be twitted of her poverty."
" Neither do I," returned her husband. " You were no
more to blame for working in the factory, than Mary is for
having been a pauper ! "
196 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS
Mrs. Lincoln was silent, for she did not particularly care
to hear about her early days, when she had been an opera
tive in the cotton mills of Southbridge. She had possessed
just enough beauty to captivate the son of the proprietor, who
was fresh from college, and after a few weeks acquaintance
they were married. Fortunately her husband was a man of
good sense, and restrained her from the commission of many
foolish acts. Thus when she insisted upon sending for Rose
and Jenny, he promptly replied that they should not come
home ! Still, as Hose seemed discontented, complaining that
so much exercise made her side and shoulder ache, and as
Jenny did not wish to remain another year unless Mary did,
he consented that they should leave school at the close of the
term, on condition that they went somewhere else.
" I shall never make any thing of Henry," said he, " but
iny daughters shall receive every advantage, and perhaps one
or the other of them will comfort my old age."
He had spoken truly with regard to Henry, who was
studying, or pretending to study law in the same office with
Billy Bender. But his father heard no favorable accounts of
him, and from time to time large bills were presented for
the payment of carriage hire, wine, and u drunken sprees"
generally. So it is no wonder the disappointed father sighed,
and turned to his daughters for the comfort his only son re
fused to give.
But we have wandered from the examination at Mount
Holyoke, for which great preparations were being made.
Hose, knowing she was not to return,, seemed to think all
further effort on her part unnecessary ; and numerous were
the reprimands, to say nothing of the black marks which she
received. Jenny, on the contrary, said she wished to
retrieve her reputation for laziness, and leave behind a
good impression. So, never before in her whole life had she
AN INVITATION TO BOSTON. 197
behaved so well, or studied so hard as she did during the last
few weeks of her stay at Mount Holyoke. Ida, who was ex
pecting her father, aunt and cousin to be present at the anni
versary, was so engrossed with her studies, that she did not
observe how sad and low spirited Mary seemed. She
had tasted of knowledge, and now thirsted for more ; but it
could not be ; the funds were exhausted, and she nrist leave
the school, never perhaps to return again.
" How much I shall miss my music, and how much I
shall miss you," she said oW day to Ida, who was giving her
i lesson.
" It s too bad you haven t a piano," returned Ida, " you
are so fond of it, and improve so fast ! " then after a moment
she added, " I have a plan to propose, and may as well do it
now as any time. Next winter you must spend with me in
Boston. Aunt Martha and I arranged it the last time I
was at home, and we even selected your room, which is next
to mine, and opposite to Aunt Martha s. Now what does
your ladyship say to it ? "
" She says she can t go," answered Mary.
" Can t go 1 " repeated Ida. " Why not ? Jenny will be
in the city, and you are always happy where she is ; besides
you will have a rare chance for taking music lessons of our
best teachers ; and then, too, you will be in the same house
with George, and that alone is worth going to Boston for, I
think."
Ida little suspected that her last argument was the
strongest objection to Mary s going, for much as she wished
to meet George again, she felt that she would not on any ac
count go to his own home, lest he should think she came on
purpose to see him. There were other reasons, too, why she
did not wish to go. Henry and Rose Lincoln would both
be in the city, and she knew that neither of them would
198 THS ENGLISH ORPHANS.
scruple to do or say any thing which they thought would
annoy her. Mrs. Mason, too, missed her, and longed to have
her at home ; so she resisted all Ida s entreaties, and the next
letter which went to Aunt Martha, carried her refusal.
In a day or two, Mary received two letters, one from
Billy and one from Mrs. Mason, the latter of which con
tained money for the payment of her bills; but on offering it
to the Principal, how was she surprised to learn that her
bills had not only been regularly paid and receipted, but that
ample funds were provided for the defraying of her expenses
during the coming year. A faint sickness stole over Mary,
for she instantly thought of Billy Bender, and the obliga
tions she would now be under to him for ever. Then it oc
curred to her how impossible it was that ho should have
oarned so much in so short a time ; and as soon as she could
trust her voice to speak, she asked who it was that had thus
befriended her.
Miss was not at liberty to tell, and with a secret sus
picion of Aunt Martha, who had seemed much interested in
her welfare, Mary returned to her room to read the other let
ter, which was still unopened. It was some time since Billy
had written to her alone, and with more than her usual curi
osity, she broke the seal ; but her head grew dizzy, and her
spirits faint, as she read the passionate outpouring of a heart
which had cherished her image for years, and which, though
fearful of rejection, would still tell her how much she was
beloved. " It is no sudden fancy," said he, " but was con
ceived years ago, on that dreary afternoon, when in your
little room at the poor-house, you laid your head in my lap
and wept, as you told me how lonely you were. Do you re
member it, Mary ? I do ; and never now do-es your image
come before me, but I think of you as you were then, when
the wild wish that you should one day be mine first entered
A LOVE LETTER. 199
my heart. Morning, noon, and night have I thought of
you, and no plan for the future have I ever formed which
had not a direct reference to you. Once, Mary, I believed
my affection for you returned, but now you are changed,
greatly changed. Your letters are brief and cold, and when
I look around for the cause, I am led to fear that I was de
ceived in thinking you ever loved me, as I thought you did.
If I am mistaken, tell me so ; but if I am not, if you can
never be my wife, I will school myself to think of you as a
brother would think of an only and darling sister."
This letter produced a strange effect upon Mary. She
thought how much she was indebted to one who had stood sc
faithfully by her when all the world was dark and dreary
She thought, too, of his kindness to the dead, and that ap
pealed more strongly to her sympathy than aught else he
had ever done for her. There was no one to advise her, and
acting upon the impulse of the moment, she sat down and
commenced a letter, the nature of which she did not under
stand herself, and which if sent, would have given a different
coloring to the whole of her after life. She had written but
one page, when the study bell rang, and she was obliged to
put her letter by till the morrow. For several days she had
not been well, and the excitement produced by Billy s letter
tended to increase her illness, so that on the following morn
ing when she attempted to rise, she found herself seriously
ill. During the hours in which she was alone that day, she
had ample time for reflection, and before night she wrote an
other letter to Billy, in which she told him how impossible it
was for her to be the wife of one whom she had always loved
as an. own, and dear brother. This letter caused Mary so
much effort, and so many bitter tears, that for several days
she continued worse, and at last gave up all hope of being
present at the examination.
200 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
" Oh it s too bad." said Ida, " for I do want you to sec
Cousin George, and I know he ll be disappointed too, for I
never saw any thing like the interest he seems to take ir.
you."
A few days afterwards as Mary was lying alone, thinking
of Billy, and wondering if she had done right in writing to
him as she did. Jenny came rushing in wild with delight.
Her father was down stairs, together with Ida s father,
George, and Aunt Martha. " Most the first thing I did," said
she, " was to inquire after Billy Bender ! I guess Aunt Mar
tha was shocked, for she looked so queer. George laughed,
and Mr. Selden said he was doing well, and was one of the
finest young men in Boston. But why don t you ask about
George ? I heard him talking about you to Rose, just as I
left the parlor."
Mary felt sure that any information of her which Rose
might give would not be very complimentary, and she thought
right ; for when Rose was questioned concerning " Miss
Howard," she at first affected her ignorance of such a person,
and then when George explained himself more definitely,
she said, " Oh, that girl ! I m sure I don t know much
about her, except that she s a charity scholar, or something
of that kind."
At the words " charity scholar," there was a peculiar
smile on George s face ; but he continued talking, saying,
that if that were the case, she ought to be very studious
and he presumed she was."
" As nearly as I can judge of her," returned Rose, " she
is not remarkable for brilliant talents; but," she added, as
she met Ida s eye, " she has a certain way of showing off,
and perhaps I am mistaken with regard to her."
Very different from this was the description given of
her by Ida, who now came to her cousin s side, extolling
THE HEARTLESS FLIRT. 20 J
Mary highly, and lamenting the illness which would prevent
George from seeing her. Aunt Martha, also, spoke a word
in Mary s favor, at the same time endeavoring to stop the
unkind remarks of Rose, whom she thoroughly disliked, and
who she feared was becoming too much of a favorite with
George. Rose was not only very handsome, but she also
possessed a peculiar faculty of making herself agreeable
whenever she chose, and in Boston she was quite a favorite
with a certain class of young men. It was for George
Morcland, however, that her prettiest and most coquettish
airs were practised. He was the object which she would
secure ; and when she heard Mary Howard so highly com
mended in his presence, she could not forbear expressing
her contempt, fancying that he, with his high English
notions, would feel just as she did, with regard to poverty
and low origin. As for George, it was difficult telling
whom he did prefer, though the last time Rose was in Bos
ton, rumor had said that he was particularly attentive to
her ; and Mrs. Lincoln, who was very sanguine, once hinted
to Ida, the probability that a relationship would sooner or
later exist between the two families.
Rose, too, though careful not to hint at such a thing,
in Ida s presence, was quite willing that others of hei
companions at Mount Holyoke should fancy there was an
intimacy, if not an engagement between herself and Mr.
Moreland. Consequently he had not been in South Hadley
twenty-four hours, ere he was pointed out by some of the
villagers, as being the future husband of the elder Miss
I incoln, whose haughty, disagreeable manners had become
subject of general remark. During the whole of George s
stay at Mount Holyoke, Rose managed to keep him at her
side, entertaining him occasionally with unkind remarks con*
3crning Mary, who, she said, was undoubtedly feigning hej
202 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
sickness, so as not to appear in her classes, where she knew
she could do herself no credit; "but," said she, "as soon as
the examination is over, she ll get well fast enough, and
bother us with her company to Chicopee."
In this Rose was mistaken, for when the exercises closed,
Mary was still too ill to ride, and it was decided that she
should remain a few days until Mrs. Mason could come for
her. With many tears Ida and Jenny bade their young
friend good-bye, but Rose, when asked to go up and see her
turned away disdainfully, amusing herself during their
absence by talking and laughing with George Moreland.
The room in which Mary lay, commanded a view of the
yard and gateway ; and after Aunt Martha, Ida, and Jenny
had left her, she arose, and stealing to the window, looked
out upon the company as they departed. She could readily
divine which was George Moreland, for Rose Lincoln s
shawl and satchel were thrown over his arm, while Rose
herself walked close to his elbow, apparently engrossing his
whole attention. Once he turned around, but fearful of
being herself observed, Mary drew back behind the window
curtain, and thus lost a view of his face. He, however,
caught a glimpse of her, and asked if that was the room in
which Miss Howard was sick.
Rose affected not to hear him, and continued enumer
ating the many trials which she had endured at school, and
congratulating herself upon her escape from the " horrid
place." But for once George was not an attentive listener.
Notwithstanding his apparent indifference, he was greatly
disappointed at not seeing Mary. It was for this he had
cone to Mount Holyoke ; and in spite of Rose s endeavors to
make him talk, he was unusually silent all the way, and
when they at last reached Chicopee, he highly offended the
young lady by assisting Jenny to alight instead of herself
" MARY HOWARD." 203
li I should like to know what you are thinking about> -
she sai I rather pettishly, as she took his offered hand to sa^
good-tye.
AY ith a roguish look in his eye, George replied, "-I ve
been thinking of a young lady. Shall I tell you her name ?"
Hose blushed, and looking interestingly embarrassed,
answered, that of course twas no one whom, she knew.
" Yes, tis," returned George, still holding her hand,
and as Aunt Martha, who was jealously watching his move
ments from the window, just then called out to him " to
jump in, or he d be left," he put his face under Hose s bon
net, and whispered, " Mary Howard ! "
" Kissed her, upon my word ! " said Aunt Martha with a
groan, which was rendered inaudible to Ida by the louder
noiso of the engine.
CHAPTER XXI.
VACATION.
IN Mrs. Mason s pleasant little dining parlor, the tea- table
was neatly spread for two, while old Judith, in starched
gingham dress, white muslin apron, bustled in and out, occa
sionally changing the position of a curtain or chair, and then
stepping backward to witness the effect. The stuffed rocking,
chair, with two extra cushions, and a pillow, was drawn up
to the table, indicating that an invalid was expected to oc
cupy that seat, while near one of the plates was a handsome
bouquet, which Lydia Knight had carefully arranged, and
brought over as a present for her young teacher. A dozen
times had Lydia been told to " clip down to the gate and see
if they were comin ; " and at last, seating herself resignedly
upon the hall stairs, Judith began to wonder " what under
the sun and moon had happened."
She had not sat there long, ere the sound of wheels
again drew her to the door, and in a moment old Charlotte
and the yellow wagon entered the yard. Mary, who was
now nearly well, sprang out, and bounding up the steps,
seized Judith s hand with a grasp which told how glad she
was to see her.
"Why, you ain t dreadful sick, is you?" said Judith,
peering under her bonnet.
" Oh, no, not sick at all, * returned Mary; and then, as
A NEW APPLICANT. 205
she saw the chair, with its cushions and pillows, she burst
into a loud laugh, which finally ended in a hearty cry, when
she thought how kind was every one to her.
She had been at home but a few days when she was soli
cited to take charge of a small select school. But Mrs,
Mason thought it best for her to return to Mount Holyoke,
andaccordingly she declined Mr. Knight s offer, greatly to his
disappointment, and that of many others. Mrs. Bradley,
who never on any occasion paid her school bill, was the loud
est in her complaints, saying that, " for all Tim never larnt
a speck, and stood at the foot all summer long when Mary
kept before, he d got so sassy there was no living with him,
and she wanted him out of the way."
Widow Perkins, instead of being sorry was glad, for if
Mary didn t teach, there was no reason why Sally Ann
shouldn t. " You ll never have a better chance," said she
to her daughter, " there s no stifficut needed for a private
school, and I ll clap on nay things and run over to Mr.
Knight s before he gets off to his work."
It was amusing to see Mr. Knight s look of astonishment,
when the widow made her application. Lydia, who chanced
to be present, hastily retreated behind the pantry door, where
with her apron over her mouth, she laughed heartily as she
thought of a note, which the candidate for teaching had
once sent them, and in which " i s " figured conspicuously,
while her mother was " polightly thanked for those yeast ? "
Possibly Mr. Knight thought of the note, too, for he
gave the widow no encouragement, and when on her way
home she called for a moment at Mrs. Mason s, she " thanked
her stars that Sally Ann wasn t obliged to keep school for a
livin , for down below where she came from, teachers warn t
fust cut ! "
One morning about a week after Mary s return, she an-
206 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
nounoed her intention of visiting her mother s grave. " I arc
accustomed to so much exercise," said she, " that I can easi
ly walk three miles, and perhaps on my way home I shall
get a ride."
Mrs. Mason made no objection, and Mary was soon on
her way. She was a rapid walker, and almost before she
was aware of it, reached the village. As she came near
Mrs. Campbell s, the wish naturally arose that Ella should
accompany her. Looking up she saw her sister in the gar
den and called to her.
" Wha-a-t ? " was the very loud and uncivil answer
which came back to her, and in a moment Ella appeared round
the corner of the house, carelessly swinging her straw flat, and
humming a fashionable song. On seeing her sister she drew
back the corners of her mouth into something which she in
tended for a smile, and said, " Why, I thought it was Bridget
calling me, you looked so much like her in that gingham sun-
bonnet. Won t you come in ? "
" Thank you," returned Mary, " I was going to mother s
grave, and thought perhaps you would like to accompany
me."
"Oh, no," said Ella, in her usual drawling tone, "I
don t know as I want to go. I was there last week and saw
the monument."
"What monument?" asked Mary, and Ella replied
" Why, didn t you know that Mrs. Mason, or the town, 01
somebody, had bought a monument, with mother s and fa
ther s, and Franky s, and Allie s name on it ? "
Mary waited for no more, but turned to leave, while Ella,
who was anxious to inquire about Ida Selden, and whoicould
afford to be gracious, now that neither Miss Porter, nor the
city girls were there, called after her to stop and rest, when
she came back. Mary promised to do so, and then hurrying
THE THREE GRAVES. 207
on, soon reached the graveyard, where, as Ella had said,
there stood by her parents graves a large handsome monu
ment.
"William Bender was the first person who came into her
mind, and as she thought of all that had passed between
them, and of this last proof of his affection, she seated her
self among the tall grass and flowers, which grew upon hei
mother s grave, and burst into tears. She had not sat then
long, ere she was roused by the sound of a footstep. Looking
up, she saw before her the young gentleman, who the year
previous had visited her school in Rice Corner. Seating
himself respectfully by her side, he spoke of the three graves,
and asked if they were her friends who slept there. There
was something so kind and affectionate in his voice and man
ner, that Mary could not repress her tears, and snatching up
her bonnet which she had thrown aside she hid her face in
it and again wept.
For a time, Mr. Stuart suffered her to weep, and then
gently removed the gingham bonnet, and holding her hand
between his, he tried to divert her mind by talking upon
other topics, asking her how she had been employed during
the year, and appearing greatly pleased, when told that she
had been at Mount Holyoke. Observing, at length, that her
eyes constantly rested upon the monument, he spoke of that,
praising its beauty, and asking if it were her taste.
" No," said she, " I never saw it until to-day, and did
not even know it was here."
" Some one wished to surprise you, I dare say," returned
Mr. Stuart. " It was manufactured in Boston, I see. Have
you friends there ? "
Mary replied that she had one, a Mr. Bender, to which
Mr. Stuart quickly rejoined, "Is it William Bender? I
208 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
have heard of him through our mutual friend George Mor&-
land, whom you perhaps have seen."
Mary felt the earnest gaze of the large, dark eyes which
were fixed upon her face, and coloring deeply, she replied
that they came from England in the same vessel.
" Indeed ! " said Mr. Stuart. " When I return to tho
city shall I refresh his memory a little with regard to you ? "
" I d rather you would not," answered Mary. " Our
paths in life are very different ; and he of course would feel
no interest in me."
" Am I to conclude that you, too, feel no interest in
him ? " returned Mr. Stuart, and again his large eyes rested
on Mary s face, with a curious expression.
But she made no reply, and soon rising up, said it was
time for her to go home.
" Allow me to accompany you as far as Mrs. Campbell s,"
said Mr. Stuart. " I am going to call upon Miss Ella, whose
acquaintance I accidentally made last summer. Suppose
you call too. You know her, of course ? " Mary replied that
she did, and was about to speak of tho relationship between
them, when Mr. Stuart abruptly changed the conversation.
and in a moment more they were at Mrs. Campbell s door.
Ella was so much delighted at again seeing Mr. Stuart, that
she hardly noticed her sister at all, and did not even ask her to
remove her bonnet. After conversing a while upon indiffer
ent subjects, Mr. Stuart asked Ella to play, saying he was
very fond of music. But Ella, like other fashionable ladies,
" couldn t of course play any thing, was dreadfully out oi
practice, and besides that. her music was all so old-fash
ioned."
Mr. Stuart had probably seen such cases before, and knew
how to manage them, for he continued urging the matter,
ftntil Ella arose., and throwing back her curls, sauntered to-
THE TWO MUSICIANS. 203
wards the piano, saying she should be obliged to have some
one turn the leases for her. Mr. Stuart of course volunteered
his services, and after a violent turning of the music-stool
by way of elevating it, and a turning back by way of lowering
it, Ella with the air of a martyr, declared herself ready to
play whatever Mr. Stuart should select, provided it were not
" old."
A choice being made she dashed off into a spirited waltz,
skipping a good many notes, and finally ending with a tre
mendous crash. Fond as Mr. Stuart was of music, he did
not call for a repetition from her, but turning to Mary asked
if she could play.
Ella laughed aloud at the idea, and when Mary replied
that she did play a little, she laughed still louder, saying,
" Why, she can t play, unless it s Days of Absence, with
one hand, or something of that kind."
" Allow me to be the judge," said Mr. Stuart, and lead
ing Mary to the piano, he bade her play any thing she pleased.
Ida had been a faithful teacher, and Mary a persevering
pupil, so that whatever she played was played correctly and
with good taste ; at least Mr. Stuart thought so, for he kept
sailing for piece after piece, until she laughingly told him
her catalogue was nearly exhausted, and she d soon be
obliged to resort to the scales !
Ella looked on in amazement, and when Mary had finished
playing, demanded of her where she had learned so much,
and who was her teacher ; adding that her fingering was
wretched; "but then," said she, " I suppose you can t help
it, your fingers are so stiff! "
For a moment Mr. Stuart regarded her with an expression
which it seemed to Mary she had seen before, and then con
sulting his watch, said he must go, as it was nearly car time,
After he was gone, Ella asked Mary endless questions as to
210 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
where she met him, what he said, and if she told him thej
were sisters. " How elegantly he was dressed," said she.
" Didn t you feel dreadfully ashamed of your gingham sun-
bonnet and gown ? "
" Why, no," said Mary. " I never once thought of
them."
" I should, for I know he notices every thing," returned
Ella; and then leaning on her elbow so as to bring herself in
range of the large mirror opposite, she continued, " seems to
me my curls are not arranged becomingly this morning."
Either for mischief, or because she really thought so,
Mary replied "that they did not look as well as usual;"
whereupon Ella grew red in the face, saying that " she
didn t think she looked so very badly."
Just then the first dinner bell rang, and starting up Ella
exclaimed, " Why-ee, I forgot that ma expected General H.
to dine. I must go and dress this minute."
Without ever asking her sister to stay to dinner, she
hastily left the room. Upon finding herself so unceremoni
ously deserted, Mary tied on the despised gingham bonnet
and started for home. She had reached the place where Ella
the year before met with Mr. Stuart, when she saw a boy,
whom she knew was living at the poor-house, coming down
the hill as fast as a half blind old horse could bring him.
When he got opposite to her he halted, and with eyes project
ing like harvest apples, told her to " jump in, for Mrs. Par
ker was dying, and they had sent for her."
" I ve been to your house," said he, " and your marm
h ought mebby I d meet you."
Mary immediately sprang in, and by adroitly questioning
Mike, whose intellect was not the brightest in the world,
managed to ascertain that Mrs Parker had been much worse
for several days, that Sal Furbush had turned nurse, faith-
DEATH. 211
fully attending her night and day, and occasionally sharing
" her vigils " with a " sleek, fancy-looking girl, who dressed
up in meetin clothes every day, and who had first proposed
sending for Mary." Mary readily guessed that the " sleek,
fancy-looking " girl was Jenny, and on reaching the pooi
house she found her suspicions correct, for Jenny came out to
meet her, followed by Sally, who exclaimed, "Weep, oh
daughter, and lament, for earth has got one woman less and
Heaven one female more ! "
Passing into the house, Mary followed Jenny to the same
room where once ner baby sister had lain, and where now
upon the same table lay all that was mortal of Mrs. Pa.rker.
Miss Grundy, who was standing near the body, bowed with a
look of very becoming resignation, and then as if quite over
come, left the room. Just then a neighbor, who seemed to
be superintending affairs, came in, and Mary asked what she
could do to assist them.
" Nothing until to-morrow, when if you please you can
help make the shroud," answered the woman, and Jenny
catching Mary around the neck, whispered, " You ll stay all
night with me there s no one at home but Hose, and we ll
have such a nice time."
Mary thought of the little room up stairs where Alice
had died, and felt a desire to sleep there once more, but upon
inquiry she found that it was now occupied by Sally Furbush.
" You must come and see my little parlor," said she to
Mary, and taking her hand she led her up to the room, which
was greatly improved. A strip of faded, but rich carpeting
was before the bed. A low rocking-chair stood near the win
dow, which was shaded with a striped muslin curtain, the
end of which was fringed out nearly a quarter of a yard,
plainly showing Sally s handiwork. The contents of the old
barrel were neatly stowed away in a square box, on the top
212 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
of which lay a worn portfolio, stuffed to its utmost capacity
with manuscript.
" For all this elegance," said Sally, "I am indebted to
my worthy and esteemed friend, Miss Lincoln."
But Mary did not hear, for her eyes were riveted upon
another piece of furniture. At the foot of the bed stood
Alice s cradle, which Billy Bender had brought there on that
afternoon now so well remembered by Mary.
" Oh, Sally," said she, " how came this here ? "
" "Why," returned Sally, hitting it a jog, " I don t sleep
any now, and I thought the nights would seem shorter, if I
had this to rock and make believe little Willie was in it. So
I brought it down from the garret, and it affords me a sight
of comfort, I assure you ! "
Mary afterwards learned that often during the long win
ter nights the sound of that cradle could be heard, occa
sionally drowned by Sally s voice, which sometimes rose al
most to a shriek, and then died away in a low, sad wail, as
she sang a lullaby to the " Willie who lay sleeping on the
prairie at the West."
As there was now no reason why she should not do so,
Mary accompanied Jenny home, where, as she had expected,
she met with a cool reception from Rose, who merely nodded to
her, and then resumed the book she was reading. After tea,
Mary stepped for a moment into the yard, and then Rose
asked Jenny what she intended doing with her "genteel
visitor."
" Put her in the best chamber, and sleep there myself,"
said Jenny, adding that " they were going to lie awake all
night just to see how it seemed."
But in spite of this resolution, as midnight advanced
Jenny found that Mary s answers, even when Billy Bender
wae the topic, became more and more unsatisfactory, and
A BID FOR A HUSBAND. 213
finally ceased altogether. Concluding to let her sleep a few
minutes, and then wake her up, Jenny turned on her pillow
and when her eyes again opened, the morning sun was shining
through the half-closed shutters, and the breakfast bell was
jingling in the lower hall.
When Mary returned to the poor-house, she found a new
arrival in the person of Mrs. Perkins ! The widow had
hailed Mike as he passed her house the day before, and on
learning how matters stood, offered to accompany him home.
Mike, who had an eye for " fancy-looking girls," did not ex
actly like Mrs. Perkins appearance. Besides that, his orders
were to bring Mary, and he had no idea of taking another as a
substitute. Accordingly, when on his return from Mrs. Ma
son s, he saw the widow standing at her gate, all equipped
with parasol and satchel, he whipped up his horse, and making
the circuit of the school-house, was some ways down the road
ere the widow suspected his intentions. " Thanking her
stars " (her common expression) " that she had a good pair
of feet," Mrs. Perkins started on foot, reaching the poor-
house about sunset. She was now seated in what had been
Mrs. Parker s room, and with pursed-up lips, and large square
collar very much like the present fashion, was stitching away
upon the shroud, heaving occasionally a long-drawn sigh, as
she thought how lonely and desolate poor Mr. Parker must
feel!
" Will you give me some work ? " asked Mary, after de
positing her bonnet upon the table.
" There s nothing for you," returned Mrs. Perkins. " I
can do all that is necessary, and prefer working alone."
" Yes, she shall help too, if she wants to," snapped out
Mrs. Grundy, with one of her old shoulder jerks. " Mary s
handy with the needle, for I larnt her myself."
In a short time Mrs. Perkins disappeared from the room,
214 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
and Sally s little bright eyes, which saw every thing, soor.
spied her out in the woodshed asking Mr. Parker " if Polly
Grundy couldn t be kept in the kitchen where she belonged."
Scarcely had she left the shed when Miss Grundy herself
appeared, fretting about " the meddlesome old widow who had
come there stickin round before Mrs. Parker was hardly
cold ! "
This put a new idea into Sally s head, and the whole
household was startled as she broke out singing, " the loss of
one is the gain of another," and so forth. Mrs. Perkins pro
posed that she should be shut up, but Miss Grundy, for once
in Sally s favor, declared " she d fight, before such a thing
should be done ; " whereupon Mrs. Perkins lamented that the
house had now " no head," wondering how poor Mr. Parker
would get along with " such an unmanageable crew."
Numerous were the ways with which the widow sought
to comfort the widower, assuring him " that she ached
for him clear to her heart s core ! and I know how to pity
you, too," said she, " for when my Hezekiah died I thought
I couldn t stand it." Then by way of administering further
consolation, she added that " the wust was to come, for only
them that had tried it knew how lonesome it was to live on
day after day, and night after night, week in and week out,
without any husband or wife."
Mr. Parker probably appreciated her kindness, for when
after the funeral the following day she announced her inten
tion of walking home, he ordered Mike to " tackle up," and
carry her. This was hardly in accordance with the widow s
wishes, and when all was in readiness, she declared that she
was afraid to ride after Mike s driving. Uncle Peter was
then proposed as a substitute, but the old man had such a
dread of Mrs. Perkins, who Sal (for mischief) had said was
in love with him, that at the first intimation he climbed up
A CHRISTIAN-LIKE WISH. 215
the scuttle hole, where an hour afterwards he was discovered
peeping cautiously out to see if the coast was clear. Mr
Parker was thus compelled to go himself, Miss Grundy send
ing after him the very Christian-like wish that " she hoped
Lc d tip over and break the widow s neck ! "
CHAPTER XXII.
EDUCATION FINISHED.
VACATION was over, and again in the halls of Mount Holyoke
was heard the tread of many feet, and the sound of youthful
voices, as one by one the pupils came back to their accus
tomed places. For a time Mary was undecided whether to
return or not, for much as she desired an education, she could
not help feeling delicate about receiving it from a stranger ;
but Mrs. Mason, to whom all her thoughts and feelings were
confided, advised her to return, and accordingly the first day
jf the term found her again at Mount Holyoke, where she was
warmly welcomed by her teachers and companions. Still it
did not seem like the olden time, for Ida was not there, and
Jenny s merry laugh was gone. She had hoped that her sis
ter would accompany her, but in reply to her persuasions,
Ella answered that " she didn t want to work, she wasn t
obliged to work, and she wouldn t work ! " quoting Rose
Lincoln s " pain in the side, callous on her hand, and cold on
her lungs," as a sufficient reason why every body should
henceforth and for ever stay away from Mount Holyoke.
Mrs. Lincoln, who forgot that Rose had complained of a
pain in her side long before she ever saw South Hadley, ad
vised Mrs. Campbell, by all means, never to send her daugh
ter to such a place. "To be sure it may do well enough,"
.
BAD ADVICE. 217
said she, " for a great burly creature like Mary Howard, but
your daughter and mine are altogether too delicate and
daintily bred to endure it "
Mrs. Campbell of course consented to this, adding that
she had secured the services of a highly accomplished lady
as governess for Ella, and proposing that Rose and Jenny,
instead of accompanying their mother to the city as usual,
should remain with her during the winter, and share Ella s
advantages. To this proposition, Mrs. Lincoln readily as
sented, and while Mary, from habitual exercise both indoors
and out, was growing more and more healthful and vigorous,
Rose Lincoln, who was really delicate, was drooping day by
day, and growing paler and paler in the closely heated
school-room, where a breath of fresh air rarely found en
trance, as the " accomplished governess" could not endure it.
Daily were her pupils lectured upon the necessity of shielding
themselves from the winter winds, which were sure " to im
part such a rough, blowzy appearance to their complexion."
Rose profited well by this advice, and hardly any thing
could tempt her into the open air, unless it were absolutely
necessary. All day long she half reclined upon a small sofa,
which at her request was drawn close to the stove, and even
then complaining of being chilly she sometimes sat with her
shawl thrown over her shoulders. Jenny, on the contrary,
fanned herself furiously at the farthest corner of the room,
frequently managing to open the window slyly, and regale
herself with the snow which lay upon the sill. Often, too,
when her lessons were over for the day, she would bound away,
and after a walk of a mile or so, woulcl return to the house
with her cheeks glowing, and her eyes sparkling like stars >
furnishing a striking contrast to her pale, sickly sister, who
hovered over the stove, shivering if a window were raised, or
a door thrown open.
10
218 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
In the course of the winter Mrs. Lincoln caine up to visit
her daughters, expressing herself much pleased with Rose s
improved looks and manners. " Her complexion was so
pure," she said, " so different from what it was when she
came from Mount Holyoke."
Poor Jenny, who, full of life and spirits came rushing
in to see her mother, was cut short in her expression of joy
by being called " a perfect bunch of fat ! "
" Why, Jenny, what does make you so red and coarse ? "
said the distressed mother. "I know you eat too much," and
before Mrs. Lincoln went home, she gave her daughter nume
rous lectures concerning her diet j but it only made matters
worse ; and when six weeks after, Mrs. Lincoln came again,
she found that Jenny had not only gained five pounds, but
that hardly one of her dresses would meet !
" Mercy me ! " said she, the moment her eye fell upon
Jenny s round, plump cheeks, and fat shoulders, " you are
as broad as you are long. What a figure you would cut in
Boston ! "
For once the merry Jenny cried, wondering how she could
help being healthy and fat. Before Mrs. Lincoln left Chi-
copee, she made a discovery, which resulted in the removal
of Jenny to Boston. With the exception of the year at Mount
Holyoke, Jenny had never before passed a winter in the country,
and now everything delighted her. In spite of her go\ erness s
remonstrance, all her leisure moments were spent in the open
air, and besides her long walks, she frequently joined tho
scholars, who from the district school came over at recess to
glide down the long hill in the rear of Mrs. Campbell s barns
and stables. For Jenny to ride down hill at all was bad
enough, " but to do so with district school girls, and then bo
drawn up by coarse, vulgar boys, was far worse; and the
PREMONITORY SYMPTOMS. 219
offender was told to be in readiness to accompany her mother
home, for she could not stay in Chicopee another week.
" Oh, I m so glad," said Rose, " for now I shan t freeze
to death nights."
Mrs. Lincoln demanded what she meant, and was told
that Jenny insisted upon having the window down from the
top, let the weather be what it might; " and," added Rose,
when the wind blows hard I am positively obliged to hold
on to the sheets to keep myself in bed ! "
" A Mount Holyoke freak," said Mrs, Lincoln. " I wish
to mercy neither of you had ever gone there."
Rose answered by a low cough, which her mother did not
hear, or at least did not notice. Jenny, who loved the coun
try and the country people, was not much pleased with her
mother s plan. But for once Mrs. Lincoln was determined,
and after stealing one more sled-ride down the long hill, and
bidding farewell to the old desk in the school-house, sacred
for the name carved three years before with Billy Bender s
jack-knife, Jenny went back with her mother to Boston, leav
ing Rose to droop and fade in the hot, unwholesome atmos
phere of Miss Hinton s school-room.
Not long after Jenny s return to the city, she wrote to
Mary an amusing account of her mother s reason for remov
ing her from Chicopee. " But on the whole, I am glad to be
at home," said she, " for I see Billy Bender almost every
day. I first met him coming down Washington Street, and
he walked with me clear to our gate. Ida Selden had a
party last week, and owing to George Moreland s influence,
Billy was there. He was very attentive to me, though Henry
Bays twas right the other way But it wasn t. I didn t ask
him to go out to supper with me. I only told him I d intro
duce him to somebody who would go, and he immediately
offered me his arm. Oh, how mother scolded, and how angry
220 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
ihe got when she asked me if I wasn t ashamed, and I told
her I wasn t !
" Billy doesn t appear just as he used to. Seems as though
something troubled him ; and what is very strange, he nevei
speaks af you, unless I do first. You ve no idea how hand-
lome he is. To be sure, he hasn t the air of George More-
land, and doesn t dress as elegantly, but I think he s finer
looking. Ever so many girls at Ida s party asked who he
was, and said twas a pity he wasn t rich, but that wouldn t
make any difference with me, I d have him just as soon as
though he was wealthy.
" How mother would go on if she should see this ! But I
don t care, I like Billy Bender, and I can t help it, and
entre nous, I believe he likes me better than he did ! But I
must stop now, for Lizzie Upton has called for me to go with
her and see a poor blind woman in one of the back alleys."
From this extract it will be seen that Jenny, though sev
enteen years of age, was the same open-hearted, childlike
creature as ever. She loved Billy Bender, and she didn t
care who knew it. She loved, too, to seek out and befriend
the poor, with which Boston, like all other large cities,
abounded. Almost daily her mother lectured her upon her
bad taste in the choice of her associates, but Jenny was in
corrigible, and the very next hour might perhaps be seen
either walking with Billy Bender, or mounting the ricketty
stairs of some crazy old building, where a palsied old woman
or decrepit old man watched for her coming, and blessed her
when she came.
Early in the spring Mr. Lincoln went up to Chicopee to
make some changes in his house, preparatory to his family s
removal thither. When he called at Mrs. Campbell s to see
Rose, he was greatly shocked at her altered and languid ap
pearance. The cough, which her mother had not observed,
THE CONTRAST 221
fell ominously on his ear ; for he thought of a young sister,
who many years before in the bloom of girlhood had passed
away from his side. A physician was immediately called,
and after an examination Rose s lungs were pronounced dis
eased, though not as yet beyond cure. She was of course
taken from school ; and with the utmost care, and skilful
nursing, she gradually grew better.
Jenny, who had never been guilty of any great love for
books, was also told that her school days were over, and con
gratulated herself upon being a " full grown young lady,"
which fact no one would dispute, who saw her somewhat large
dimensions.
When Ella learned that Jenny as well as Rose was eman
cipated from the school-room, she immediately petitioned her
mother for a similar privilege, saying that she knew all that
was necessary for her to know. Miss Hinton, too, being
weary of one pupil, and desiring a change for herself, threw
her influence in Ella s favor, so that at last Mrs. Campbell
yielded ; and Ella, piling up her books, carried them away,
never again referring to them on any occasion, but spending
her time in anticipating the happiness she should enjoy the
following .winter, when she was to be first introduced to Bos
ton society.
Unlike this was the closing of Mary s school days. Pa
tiently and perseveringly, through the year she had studied,
storing her mind with useful knowledge ; and when at last the
annual examination <?ame, not one in the senior class stood
higher, or was graduated with more honor than herself. Mrs.
Mason, who was there, listened with all a parent s pride and
fondness to her adopted child, as she promptly responded to
every question. But it was not Mrs. Mason s presence alone
which incited Mary to do so well. Among the crowd of spec*
tators she caught a glimpse of a face which twice before she
222 t THE ENGi.rSH ORPHANS.
had seen, once in the school-room at Rice Corner, and once in
the graveyard at Chicopee. Turn which way she would, she
felt, rather than saw, how intently Mr. Stuart watched her ;
and when at last the exercises were over, and she with others
arose to receive her Diploma, she involuntarily, glanced in the
direction where she knew he sat. For an instant their eyes
met, and in the expression of his, she read an approval
warmer than words could have expressed.
That night Mary sat alone in her room, listening almost
nervously to the sound of every footstep, and half starting
up if it came near her door. But for certain reasons Mr.
Stuart did not think proper to call, and while Mary was con
fidently expecting him, he was several miles on his way home.
In a day or two Mary returned to Chicopee, but did not,
like Ella, lay her books aside and consider her education fin
ished. Two or three hours each morning were devoted to
study, or reading of some kind. For several weeks nothing
was allowed to interfere with this arrangement, but at the end
of that time, the quiet of Mrs. Mason s house was disturbed
by the unexpected arrival of Aunt Martha and Ida, who
came up to Chicopee for the purpose of inducing Mrs. Mason
and Mary to spend the coming winter in Boston. At first
Mrs. Mason hesitated, but every objection which either she
or Mary raised was so easily put aside, that she finally con
sented, saying she would be ready to go about the middle of
November. Aunt Martha, who was a bustling, active little
woman, and fancied that her brother s household always
went wrong without her, soon brought her visit to a close,
and within the week went back to Boston, together with Ida.
The day following their departure, Mrs. Perkins -came
over to inquire who " them stuck up folks was, and if the
youngest wasn t some kin to the man that visited Mary s
A MARRIAGE ON THE CARPET. 223
school two years before;" saying " they favored each ether
enough to be brother and sister."
" Why, so they do," returned Mary. " I have often tried
to think who it was that Ida resembled; but they are not at
all related, I presume."
Mrs. Mason said nothing, and soon changing the conver
sation, told Mrs. Perkins of her projected visit.
" Wall, if it don t beat all what curis things turn up ! "
said the widow. " You are going to Boston, and mercy
knows what ll become of me, but laws, I ain t a goin to
worry, I shall be provided for some way."
" Why, what is the matter ? " asked Mrs. Mason, noti
cing for the first time that her visitor seemed troubled.
After walking to the window to hide her emotions, and
then again resuming her rocking chair, the widow communi
cated to them the startling information that Sally Ann was
going to be married !
" Married ! To whom ? " asked Mrs. Mason and Mary
in the same breath, but the widow said they must "guess;"
so after guessing every marriageable man or boy in town they
gave it up, and were told that it was no more nor less than
Mr. Parker !
" Mr. Parker ! " repeated Mary. " Why, he s old enough
to be her father, ain t he ? "
" Oh, no," returned Mrs. Perkins; " Sally Ann will be
thirty if she lives till the first day of next January."
" You have kept the matter very quiet," said Mrs. Ma
son ; and the widow, exacting from each a promise never to
tell as long as they lived, commenced the story of her
wrongs.
It seems that not long after Mrs. Parker s demise, Mr.
Parker began to call at the cottage of the widow, sometimes
to inquire after her health, but oftener to ask about a red
224 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
heifer which he understood Mrs. Perkins had for sale ! On
these occasions Sally Ann was usually invisible, so week after
week Mr. Parker continued to call, talking always about the
" red heifer," and whether he d better buy her or not.
" At last," said the widow, " I got sick on t, and one day
after he d sat more n two hours, says I, Ebenezer, if you
want that red heifer, say so, and that ll end it. Up ho
jumps, and says he, I ll let you know in a few days ; then
pullin from his trowscrs pocket two little nurly apples, he
laid ein on the table as a present for Sally Ann ! "Wall, the
next time he come I was sick, and Sally Ann let him in. I
don t know what possessed me, but thinks to me I ll listen,
and as I m a livin woman, instead of ever mentioning the
heifer, he asked as fair and square as ever a man could, if
she d have him ! and Sally Ann, scart nigh about to death,
up and said Yes. :
Here the widow, unable to proceed further, stopped, but
soon regaining breath continued, " Nobody but them that s
passed through it can guess how I felt. My head swam, and
when I come to I was lyin on the broad stair."
" Are they to be married soon? " asked Mrs. Mason, and
Mrs. Perkins answered, " Of course. Was there ever an old
fool of a widower who wasn t in a hurry ? Next Thursday is
the day sot, and I ve come to invite you, and see if you d
lend me your spoons and dishes, and them little towels you
use on the table, and your astor lamps, and some flowers if
there s any fit, and let Judy come over to help about cookin
the turkey and sperrib ! "
Mrs. Mason promised the loan of all these things, and
then the widow arose to go. Mary, who accompanied her to
the door, could not help asking whether Mr. Parker had
Bnally bought her red heifer.
The calico sunbonnet trembled , and the little gray eyes
THE WEDDING. 225
flashed indignantly as she said, " That man never wanted my
red heifer a bit more than he wanted me ! "
True to her promise, Mrs. Mason the next Thursday sent
Judith over to the cottage with her " spoons, dishes, little
towels, and astor lamp," while she herself carried over the
best and fairest flowers which had escaped the frosts of au
tumn. Mary was chosen to dress the bride, who, spite of her
red hair, would have looked quite well, had her skirt been a
trifle longer and wider. Mrs. Perkins had insisted that five
breadths of silk was sufficient, consequently Sally Ann looked
as Sal Furbush said, not wholly unlike a long tallow can
dle, with a red wick."
Mrs. Perkins, who flourished in a lace cap and scarlet
ribbons, greeted her son-in-law with a burst of tears, saying
she little thought when they were young that she should ever
be his mother ! "
For the sake of peace Mr. Parker had invited Miss Grundy
to be present at the wedding, but as this was the first inti
mation that Miss Grundy had received of the matter, she fell
into a violent fit of anger, bidding him to " go to grass with
his invitations," and adding very emphatically, that " she d
have him to know she never yet saw the day when she d marry
him, or any other living man."
Mr. Parker of course couldn t dispute her, so he turned
away, wondering within himself " what made wimmen so
queer ! "
The day following the wedding, the bride went to her new
home, where she was received by Miss Grundy with a grunt
which was probably intended for a " how d ye do." Undo
Peter expressed his pleasure at making the acquaintance of
one more of the " fair sect," but hoped that " estimable lady
her mother, wouldn t feel like visiting her often, as mothers
very apt to make mischief." Sally Furbush was the
10*
226 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
only cool and collected one present, and she did the hwiora
of the house so gracefully and well, that but for the wildnesa
of her eyes and an occasional whispering to herself, the brida
would never have suspected her of insanity.
CHAPTER XXIII.
LIFE IN BOSTON.
u COME this way, Mary. I ll show you ycur chamber. It s
right here next to mine," said Ida Selden, as on the evening
of her friend s arrival she led her up to a handsomely fur
nished apartment, which for many weeks had borne the title
}f " Mary s room."
" Oh, how pleasant! " was Mary s exclamation, as she sur
veyed the room in which every thing was arranged with such
perfect taste.
A cheerful coal fire was blazing in the grate, for no mur
derous stove was ever suffered to invade the premises where
Aunt Martha ruled. The design of the Brussels carpet was
exquisitely beautiful, and the roses upon it looked as if
freshly plucked from the parent stalk. At one end of the
room, and just opposite the grate, were two bay windows,
overlooking Mr. Selden s fine, large garden, and shaded by
curtains of richly embroidered lace. In front of the fire
was a large easy chair, covered with crimson damask ; and
scattered about the room were ottomans, divans, books, pic
tures, and every thing which could in any way conduce to a
young lady s comfort or happiness. On the marble mantel
there stood two costly vases, filled with rare flowers, among
which Mary recognized her favorites. But ere she had time
to speak of it, Ida opened a side door, disclosing to view a
228 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
cosy little bedroom, with a large closet and bathing room
adjoining.
" Here," said she, " you are to sleep ; but you needn t
expect to be entirely exclusive, for every night when I feel
cold or fidgety, I shall run in here and sleep with you. Is
it a bargain ? "
Mary was too happy to speak, and dropping into the easy
chair she burst into tears. In a moment Ida, too, was seated
in the same chair, and with her arm around Mary s neck was
wondering why she wept. Then as her own eyes chanced to
fall upon the vases, she brought one of them to Mary, saying,
" See, these are for you, a present from one, who bade me
present them with his compliments to the little girl who
nursed him on board the AVindermere, and who cried because
he called her ugly ! "
Mary s heart was almost audible in its beatings, and her
cheeks took the hue of the cushions on which she reclined.
Returning the vase to the mantel-piece, Ida came back to
her side, and bending closer to her face, whispered, " Cousin
George told me of you years ago when he first came here,
but I forgot all about it, and when we were at Mount Holyoke,
I never suspected that you were the little girl he used to talk
so much about. But a few days before he went away he re
minded me of it again, and then I understood why he was so
much interested in you. I wonder you never told me you
knew him, for of course you like him. You can t help it."
Mary only heard a part of what Ida said. " Just before
he went away. " Was he then gone, and should she not see
him after all ? A cloud gathered upon her brow, and Ida
readily divining its cause, replied, " Yes, George is gone,
Either he or father must go to New Orleans, and so George
of course went. Isn t it too bad ? I cried and fretted, but
he only pulled my ears, and said he should think I d be glad
NEW ACQUAINTANCES. 220
for he knew we wouldn t want a great six-footer domineering
over us, and following us every where, as he would surely do
were he at home."
Mary felt more disappointed than she was willing to ac
knowledge, and for a moment she half wished herself back
in Chicopee, but soon recovering her equanimity, she ven
tured to ask how long George was to be gone.
" Until April, I believe," said Ida ; " but any way you
are to stay until he comes, for Aunt Martha promised to
keep you. I don t know exactly what George said to her
about you, but they talked together more than two hours,
and she says you are to take music lessons and drawing les
sons, and all that. George is very fond of music."
Here thinking she was telling too much, Ida suddenly
stopped, and as the tea bell just then rang, she started up,
saying, " Oh, I forgot that father was waiting in the parlor to
see you. I ve said so much about you that his curiosity is
quite roused, but I can introduce you at the table just as
well." Our lady readers will pardon Mary if before meeting
Mr. Selden she gave herself a slight inspection in the long mir
ror, which hung in her dressing room. Passing the brush sev
eral times through her glossy hair, and smothing down the
folds of her neatly fitting merino, she concluded that she look
ed well enough for a traveller, and with slightly heightened
color, followed Ida into the supper room, where she found as
sembled Mrs Mason, Aunt Martha, and Mr. Selden. The
moment her eye fell upon the latter, she recognized the sancu
kindly beaming eye and pleasant smile, which had won her
childish heart, when on board the Windermere he patted her
head, as George told how kind she had been to him.
" We have met before, I believe," said he, and warmly
fhaking her hand he bade her welcome to Boston.
Then seating her by his side at the table, he managed bj
230 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
his kind attentions to make both her and Mrs. Mason feel
perfectly at home. Aunt Martha, too, was exceedingly polite,
but after what Ida had told her, Mary could not help feeling
somewhat embarrassed in her presence. This, however, grad
ually wore away, and before the evening was over she began
to feel very much at home, and to converse with Aunt Mar
tha as freely and familiarly as with Ida.
The next morning between ten and eleven the door bell
rang, and in a moment Jenny Lincoln, whose father s house
was just opposite, came tripping into the parlor. She had
lost in a measure that rotundity of person so offensive to her
mother, and it seemed to Mary that there was a thoughtful
expression on her face never seen there before, but in all
other respects, she was the same affectionate, merry-hearted
Jenny.
" I just this minute heard you were here, and came over
just as I was," said she, glancing at the same time at her
rich, though rather untidy morning wrapper. After asking
Mary if she wasn t sorry George had gone, and if she expect
ed to find Mr. Stuart, she said, " I suppose you know Ella
is here, and breaking every body s heart, of course. She
went to a concert with us last evening, and looked perfectly
beautiful. Henry says she is the handsomest girl he ever
saw, and I do hope she ll make something of him, but I m
afraid he is only trifling with her, just as he tries to do with
every body."
" I am afraid so too," said Ida, " but now Mary has come
perhaps he ll divide his attentions between the two."
If there was a person in the world whom Mary thoroughly
detested, it was Henry Lincoln, and the idea of his trifling
with her, made her eyes sparkle and flash so indignantly tnat
Ida noticed it, and secretly thought that Henry Lincoln
frould for cncp find his match. After a time Marv turned to
FASHIONABLE VISITING. 23 \
Jenny, saying, * You haven t told me a word about, about
William Bender. Is he well ? "
Jenny blushed deeply, and hastily replying that he was
the last time she saw him, started up, whispering in Mary s
ear, " Oh, I ve got so much to tell you, but I must go
now."
Ida accompanied her to the door, and asked why Rose
too did not call. In her usual frank, open way, Jenny an
swered, " You know why. Hose is so queer."
Ida understood her and replied, " Very well ; but tell
her that if she doesn t see fit to notice my visitors, I cer
tainly shall not be polite to hers."
This message had the desired effect ; for Rose, who was
daily expecting a Miss King, from Philadelphia, felt that
nothing would mortify her more than to be neglected by
Ida, who was rather a leader among the young fashionables.
Accordingly after a long consultation with her mother, she
concluded it best to call upon Mary. In the course of the
afternoon, chancing to be near the front window, she saw
Mr. Selden s carriage drive away from his door, with Ida
and her visitor.
" Now is my time," thought she ; and without a word to
her mother or Jenny, she threw on her bonnet and shawl,
and in her thin French slippers, stepped across the street
and rang Mr. Selden s door bell. Of course she was " so
disappointed not to find the young ladies at home," and
leaving her card for them, tripped back, highly pleased with
her own cleverness.
Meantime Ida and Mary were enjoying their ride about
the city, until coming suddenly upon an organ-grinder and
monkey, the spirited horses became frightened and ran
upsetting the carriage, and dragging it some distance.
Fortunately Ida was only bruised, but Mary received a
232 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
severe cut upon her head, which, with the fright, caused he/
to fa : nt. A young man, who was passing down the street
and saw the accident, immediately came to the rescue ; and
when Mary awoke to consciousness, Billy Bender was sup
porting her, and gently pushing back from her face the
thick braids of her long hair. At first she thought she was
not much hurt, but when she attempted to lift her head she
uttered a cry of pain, and laid it heavily back upon his
bosom.
li Who is she ? Who is she ? " asked the eager voices
of the group around, but no one answered, until a young
gentleman, issuing from one of the fashionable drinking
saloons, came blustering up, demanding ii what the row was."
Upon seeing Ida, his manner instantly changed, and
after learning that she, with another young lady, had been
upset, he ordered the crowd "to stand back," at the same
time forcing his way forv/ard until he caught a sight of
Mary s face.
" Whew, Bill," said he, " your old flame the pauper, isn t
it?"
It was fortunate for Henry Lincoln that Billy Bender ?
arms were both in use, otherwise he might have measured
his length upon the side walk, which exercise he would
hardly have relished in the presence of Ida. As it was,
Billy frowned angrily upon him, and in a fierce whisper
bade him beware how he used Miss Howard s name. By
this time the horses were caught, another carriage procured,
and Mary, still supported by Billy Bender, was carefully
lifted into it, and borne back to Mr. Selden s house. Henry
Lincoln also accompanying her, and giving out numerous
orders as to : what ought to be done ! "
Many of Ida s friends, hearing of the accident, flocked
in to seo her, and to inquire after the young lady who was
HEARTLESS CONDUCT. 235
Injured. Among the first who called was Lizzie Upton,
whom the reader has once met in Chicopee. On Ler way
home she stopped at Mrs. Campbell s, where she was imme
diately beset by Ella, to know " who the beautiful young
lady was that Henry Lincoln had so heroically saved from
a violent death, dragging her out from under the horses
heels ! "
Lizzie looked at her a moment in surprise, and then
replied, " Why, Miss Campbell,is it possible you don t know
it was your own sister ! "
It was Henry Lincoln himself who had given Ella her
information, without, however, telling the lady s name; and
now, when she learnd that twas Mary, she was too much
surprised to answer, and Lizzie continued, " I think you are
laboring under a mistake. It was not Mr. Lincoln, who
saved your sister s life, but a young law student, whom you
perhaps have seen walking with George Moreland."
Ella replied that she never saw George Moreland, as he
left Boston before she came ; and then as she did not seem
at all anxious to know whether Mary was much injured or
not, Lizzie soon took her leave. Long after she was gone,
Ella sat alone in the parlor, wondering why Henry should
tell her such a falsehood, and if he really thought Mary
beautiful. Poor simple Ella, she was fast learning to live
on Henry Lincoln s smile, to believe each word that he said,
to watch nervously for his coming and to weep if he stayed
away. There were other young men in Boston, who, at
tracted by her pretty face, and the wealth of which she was
reputed to be heiress, came fawningly around her, but with
most strange infatuation, she turned from them all, caring
only for Henry Lincoln. He, on the contrary, merely
sought her society for the sake of passing away an idle
hour, boasting among his male acquaintances of the influ
234 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
enee lie had acquired over her, by complimenting her curls
and pretty face ! He knew that she was jealous of any
praise or attention bestowed by him upon another, and had
purposely told her what he did of Mary, exulting within
himself as he saw the pain his words inflicted.
" I know he was only trying to tease me," was the con
clusion to which Ella finally came, and then there arose in
her mind a debate as to whether, under the circumstances,
it were not best to treat her sister with rather more respect
than she was wont to do. " The Seldens," thought she,
" are among the first. If they notice her others will, and
why should not I? :
This question was at last decided in the affirmative, and
towards the close of the afternoon, she started for Mr. Sel-
den s, on her way meeting with Henry, who asked " where
she was going ? "
" To see that beautiful young lady, ; returned Ella, ra
ther pettishly ; whereupon Henry laughed aloud, and asked
" if it were not a little the richest joke he had ever put upon
her."
Ella saw no joke at all, but as Henry had turned about,
and was walking back with her, she could not feel angry, and
prattled on, drinking in his words of flattery, as he told her
how charmingly she looked at the concert, and how jealous he
felt when he saw so many admiring eyes gazing upon what
he considered his own exclusive property ! The very expres
sive look which accompanied this remark made Ella s heart
beat rapidly, for Henry had never before said any thing
quite so pointed, and the cloud, which for a time had rested
on her brow, disappeared.
When they reached Mr. Selden s house, Henry an
nounced his intention of calling also to inquire after Mary
whom he respected on her sister s account ! " But," said he.
THE TWO SISTERS. 235
* I am in something of a hurry, and as you girls have a thou
sand things to talk about, I hardly think I can wait for you."
" Oh, pray, don^t wait," returned Ella, hoping in her
heart that he would,
Upon asking for Mary, she was taken immediately to her
room, where she found her reclining upon a sofa, attired in a
tasteful crimson morning gown, which gave a delicate tint to
her cheeks. She was paler than usual, and her thick shining
hair was combed up from her forehead in a manner highly
becoming to her style of beauty. Until that day Ella had
never heard her sister called handsome never even thought-
such a thing possible ; but now, as she looked upon her, she
acknowledged to herself that Henry was more than half
right, and she felt a pang of jealousy,- a fear that Mary
might prove her rival. Still she tried to be agreeable, tell
ing her how fortunate she was in being at Mr. Semen s*
" for," said she, " I dare say some of our first people will no
tice you just because you are here ! "
Ida hastily walked to the window, standing with her back
towards Ella, who continued, " I think it s so funny. I ve
inquired and inquired about Mr. Stuart, but no one knows
him, and I ve come to the conclusion he was an impostor,
or a country schoolmaster, one or the other."
There was a suppressed laugh behind the lace curtain
where Ida stood, and when Mary began to defend Mr. Stuart,
she came out, and with great apparent interest asked who he
was, and where they had seen him. Afterwards Mary re
membered the mischief which shone in Ida s eyes as they de
scribed Mr. Stuart, but she thought nothing of it then.
After asking Mary who paid for her music lessons. how
many new dresses she d got, and who cut them, Ella started
to go, carelessly saying as she left the room, that when
was able she should expect to see her at Mrs. Campbell s.
236 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
!
In the mean time Henry had become so much engaged in
a conversation with Mr. Selden, that he forgot; the lapse of
time until he heard Ella coming down the stairs. Then im
pelled by a mean curiosity to see what she would do, he sat
still, affecting not to notice her. She heard his voice, and
knew that he Avas still in the parlor. So for a long time she
lingered at the outer door, talking very loudly to Ida, and
finally, when there was no longer any excuse for tarrying,
she suddenly turned back, and shaking out her cloak and
tippet, exclaimed, " Why, where can my other glove be ? I
must have dropped it in the parlor, for I do not remember of
having had it up stairs ! "
The parlor was of course entered and searched, and
though no missing glove was found, the company of Henry
Lincoln was thus secured. Have my readers never seen a
Henry Lincoln, or an Ella Campbell ?
CHAPTER XXIV.
A CHANGE OF OPINION.
<( On, mother, won t you take this pillow from my head, and
put another blanket on my feet, and fix the fire, and give mo
some water, or something ? Oh, dear, dear ! " groaned poor
Rose Lincoln, as with aching head and lungs, she did pen
ance for her imprudence in crossing the wet, slippery street
in thin slippers and silken hose.
Mrs. Lincoln, who knew nothing of this exposure, loudly
lamented the extreme delicacy of her daughter s constitution,
imputing it wholly to Mount Holyoke discipline, and wishing,
as she had often done before, that " she d been wise and kept
her at home." Jenny would have wished so, too, if by this
means Rose s illness could have been avoided, for it was not
a very agreeable task to stay in that close sick room, listening
to the complaints of her fault-finding sister, who tossed and
turned and fretted, from morning until night, sometimes wish
ing herself dead, and then crying because she " wanted some
thing, and didn t know what."
" Oh, dear," said she, one evening several days after the
commencement of her illness, " how provoking to be obliged
to lie here moping with the dullest of all dull company,
when there s Mrs. Russell s party next week, and I ve such
238 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
a lovely dress to wear. "Why ain t I as strong and health j
as you ? though I wouldn t be so fat for any thing."
Jenny knew that whatever answer she could make would
not be the right one, so she said nothing, and after a moment
Rose again spoke.
" I ll go to that party sick or well. I wouldn t miss of it
for any thing."
This time Jenny looked up in surprise, asking why her
sister was so particularly anxious to attend the party.
" Because," returned Rose, " Mary Howard will be there,
and you know as well as I how awkward she ll appear, never
was in any kind of society in her life."
" I don t see what inducement that can be for you to
expose your health," said Jenny, and Rose continued : " I
want to see Ida mortified once, for she might know better
than to bring a green, country girl here, setting her up as
something wonderful, and expecting every body to believe it
just because Miss Selden said so. Didn t you tell me there
was some one continually going to inquire after Mary ?
" Yes," answered Jenny; whereupon Rose got very angry,
complaining that no one called upon her except that little
simpleton Ella, who only came when she thought there was a
chance of seeing Henry !
" Seems to me you ve changed your mind with regard to
Ella," said Jenny.
" No I hain t either," answered Rose; "I always thought
her silly, and now she hangs round Henry so much I m thor
oughly disgusted. But see, there s Henry now, at Mr. Sel-
den s gate, with another gentleman."
The moon was shining brightly, and looking out, Jenny
saw Billy Bender and her brother mounting the steps which
led to Mr. Selden s door.
" It s funny that they should be together," thought she,
THE TWO YOUNG MEN. 239
while Rose continued, " Nothing will surprise me now, if Henry
has got to running after her. I am glad George Moreland is
away, though I fancy he s too much good sense to swallow a
person, just because Ida and his old maid aunt say he must."
Here the conversation was interrupted by the entrance
of Mr. Lincoln, who came as usual to see his daughter. In
the mean time the two young men, who accidentally met at
the gate, had entered Mr. Selden s parlor, and inquired for
the young ladies.
" Come, you must go down," said Ida to Mary, when the
message was delivered. This is the third time Mr. Bender
has called, and you have no excuse for not now seeing him.
" By the way," she continued, as Mary said something about
Billy, "don t call him Billy; we know him as Mr. Bender,
and Billy is so, so, "
" So countrified," suggested Mary.
" Yes, countrified if you please," returned Ida. " So
after this he is William. Haven t you noticed that Jenny
calls him so ? But come," she added mischievously, " never
rnind brushing your hair. Mr. Stuart isn t down there ! "
With the exception of the time when she was hurt, Mary
had not seen William for more than two years and a half,
and now when she met him, she was so much embarrassed
that she greeted him with a reserve, amounting almost to
coldness. He on the contrary, was perfectly self-possessed,
but after a few common-place remarks, he seated himself on
the opposite side of the room, and entered into conversation
with Mrs. Mason concerning Chicopee and its inhabitants.
Frequently Mary s eyes rested upon him, and she felt a
thrill of pride when she saw how much his residence in Bos
ton had improved him, and how handsome he really was.
But any attempt to converse with him was rendered impossi
ble by Henry Lincoln, who, toady as he was, thought proper
240 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
to be exceedingly polite to Mary, now that the Seldens no
ticed her so much. Seating himself by her side with all the
familiarity of an old friend, and laying his arm across the
back of the sofa, so that to William it looked as if thrown
around her shoulders, he commenced a tirade of nonsense as
meaningless as it was disagreeable. More than once, too, he
managed to let fall a very pointed compliment, feeling
greatly surprised to see with what indifference it was received.
" Confound the girl ! " thought he, beginning to feel
piqued at her coldness. " Is she made of ice, or what ? "
And then he redoubled his efforts at flattery, until Mary,
quite disgusted, begged leave to change her seat, saying by
way of apology that she was getting too warm. In the course
of the evening George Moreland was mentioned. Involun
tarily Mary blushed, and Henry, who was watching her,
proposed that she resume her former seat, " for," said he,
" you look quite as warm and red where you are."
" The nearest I ever knew him come to any thing witty,"
whispered Ida, from behind a fire screen. " I do believe
you ve rubbed up his ideas, and I predict that you win him
instead of Ella."
Mary did not even smile, for to her there was something
revolting in the idea of being even teased about Henry, who
was conceited enough to attribute her reserve to the awe
which he fancied his u elegant presence " inspired ! If Ella
with all her wealth and beauty placed an invaluable estimate
upon his attentions, why should not her unpretending sister
be equally in love with him ? And the young dandy stroked
his mustache with his white fingers, and wondered what Ella
Campbell would say if she knew how much her sister admired
him, and how very nearly his admiration was returned !
At length William arose to go, and advancing towards
Mary, he took her hand, saying in a low tone with marked
CIRCUMSTANCES ALTER CASES. 24 i
emphasis on the word sister, " I find my sister greatly
changed and improved since I last saw her."
" And you too are changed," returned Mary, her eyea
filling with tears, for William s manner was not as of old.
" Yes, in more respects than one," said he, " but I shall
see you again. Do you attend Mrs. Russell s party ?"
Mary replied in the affirmative, and the next moment he
was gone. Half an hour after, Henry, too, departed, saying
to Mary as he went out, " You musn t fail to be at Mrs. Rus
sell s, for I shall only go for the sake of seeing you. Truth,
upon my honor, what little I have," he continued, as Mary s
eyes flashed forth her entire disbelief of what he said. " T
am in earnest now, if I never was before."
Ida laughed aloud at the mystified picture which Mary s
face presented as the door closed upon Henry. " You are
too much of a novice to see through every thing, but you ll
learn in time that opinions frequently change with circum
stances," said she.
That night in his chamber, with his heels upon the mar
ble mantel, and his box of cigars and bottle of brandy at
his side, the man of fashion soliloquized as follows:
" Zounds ! How that girl has improved. Never saw the like
in my life. Talk about family and rank, and all that stuff!
Why, there isn t a lady in Boston that begins to have the
air distingue which Mary Howard has. Of course she ll
be all the go. Every thing the Seldens take up is. Ain t
I glad Moreland is in New Orleans; for with his notions,
he wouldn t hesitate to marry her if he liked her, poor as
she is. Now if she only had the chink, I d walk up to her
quick. I dont see why the deuce the old man need to have
got so involved just now, as to make it necessary for me either
to work or have a rich wife. Such eyes too, as Mary s got !
Black and fiery one minute, blue and soft the next. Well,
11
242 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS,
any way I ll have a good time flirting with her, just for th
sake of seeing Ella wince and whimper, if nothing more.
Bah ! What a simpleton she is, compared wth Mary. I
wonder how much Mrs. Campbell is worth, and if Ella will
have it all "
And the young man retired to dream of debts liquidated
by the gold which a marriage with Ella Campbell would
bring him
CHAPTER XXV.
THE PARTY.
" BEING me my new dress, Jenny ; I want to see if the Hon-
iton lace on the caps is as wide as Ida Selden s."
" What do you mean ? " asked Jenny, turning quickly
towards her sister, whose white, wasted face looked fitter for a
shroud than a gay party dress.
"I mean what I say," returned Rose ; "Im not going to
be cooped up here any longer. I m going to the party to
morrow night, if I never go again ! "
"Why, Rose Lincoln, are you crazy?" asked Jenny
" You haven t been in the street yet, and how do you expect to
go to-morrow night ? Mother wouldnt let you, if she were
here."
" Well, thank fortune, she and father both are in South-
bridge ; and besides that, I m a great deal better ; so hand me
my dress."
Jenny complied, and reclining on pillows scarcely whiter
than herself, Rose Lincoln examined and found fault with a
thin gossamer fabric, little suited for any one to wear in a
cold, wintry night, and much less for her.
" There, I knew it wasn t as wide as Ida s into an eighth
of an inch," said she, measuring with her finger the expen*
give lace. " I ll have some new. Come, Jenny, suppose you
go down street and get it, for I m bent upon going ;" and the
thoughtless girl sprang lightly upon the floor, and chass&d
5^44 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
half way across the room to show how well and strong she
was.
Jenny knew that further expostulation from, her was use
less, but she refused to go for the lace, and Sarah, the servant
girl, was sent with a note from Rose saying she wanted a nioe
article, 8 or 10 dollars per yard.
" I don t believe father would like to have you make such
a bill," said Jenny when Sarah was gone. " Mother didn t
dare tell him about your new dress, for he told her she mustn t
get any thing charged, and he said, too, something about
hard times. Perhaps he s going to fail. Wouldn t it be
dreadful?"
If Rose heard the last part of this sentence she did not
heed it, for to her the idea of her father s failing was pre
posterous. When the dinner bell rang she threw on a heavy
shawl, and descending to the dining parlor, remained below
stairs all the afternoon, forcing back her cough, and chatting
merrily with a group of young girls who had called to see
her, and congratulated her upon her improved health, for ex
citement lent a deep glow to her cheek, which would easily
deceive the inexperienced. The next day, owing to over-
exertion, Rose s temples were throbbing with pain, and more
than once, she half determined not to go ; but her passion
for society was strong, and Mrs. Russell s party had so long
been anticipated and talked about that she felt she would
not miss it for the world, and as she had confessed to Jenny,
there was also a mean curiosity to see how Mary Howard
would appear at a fashionable party.
" Saturate my handkerchief with cologne, and put the
vinaigrette where I can reach it while you arrange my hair,"
said she to Sarah, who at the usual hour came up to dress
her young mistress for the evening. " There, be careful and
THE LAST PARTY. 245
not brush so hard, for that ugly pain isn t quite gone now
bring me the glass and let me see if I do look like a ghost."
" Pale, delicate folks is always more interesting than red,
hearty ones," said the nattering servant, as she obeyed.
" Mercy, how white I am ! " exclaimed Rose, glancing at tho
ashen face reflected by the mirror. " Hub my cheeks with
cologne, Sarah, and see if that won t bring some color into
them. There, that ll do. Now hand me my dress. Oh,
isn t it beautiful ? " she continued, as she threw aside the
thickly wadded double gown, and assumed a light, thin dress,
which fell in soft, fleecy folds around her slight figure.
" Faith, an ye looks sweet, God bless you," said Sarah as
she clasped the diamond bracelet around the snowy arms,
and fastened the costly ornaments in the delicate ears.
When her toilet was completed, Rose stood up before the
long mirror, and a glow of pride came to her cheeks, as she
saw how lovely she really was.
" You s enough sight handsomer than Miss Jenny," whis
pered Sarah, as the door opened and Jenny appeared, more
simply arrayed than her sister, but looking as fresh and
blooming as a rose-bud.
" How beautiful you are, Rosa," said she, " only it makes
me shiver to look at your neck and arms. You ll wear
your woollen sack, besides your shawl and cloak, won t you ? "
" Nonsense, I m not going to be bundled up this way, for
don t you see it musses the lace," said Rose, refusing the
warm sack which Jenny brought her.
A rap at the door and a call from Henry that the car
riage was waiting, ended the conversation, and throwing on
their cloaks and hoods, the girls descended to the hall, where
with unusual tenderness Henry caught up his invalid sister,
and drawing her veil closely over her face, carried her to the
sleigh, so that her feet might not touch the icy walk,
246 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
" What ! Rose Lincoln here ! " exclaimed half a dozen
Voices as Rose bounded into the dressing-room.
" Yes, Rose Lincoln is here," she replied, gayly divest
ing herself of her wrapping. " I m not going to die just yet,
I guess, neither am I going to be housed up all winter. Tho
fresh air has done me good already, see," and she pointed
to a bright round spot which burnt upon her cheeks.
A young girl, whose family had one by one fallen victims
to the great New England plague, consumption, shuddered
and turned way, for to her eye the glow which Rose called
health was but the hectic bloom of death.
" How beautiful she is ! " said more than one, as with her
accustomed grace Rose entered the brilliant drawing-room.
And truly Rose was beautiful that night, but like the gor
geous foliage of the fading autumn twas the beauty of decay,
for death was written on her blue-veined brow, and lurked
amid the roses on her cheek. But little thought she of that,
as with smiling lip and beaming eye she received the homage
of the admiring throng.
" Upon my word, you do look very well," said Henry,
coming for a moment to his sister s side. " Why, you d be
the star of the evening, were it not for ma belle Ella. See,
there she conies," and he pointed to a group just entering
the room.
An expression of contempt curled Rose s lip as she:
glanced at Ella, and thought of being outshone by her doll
ish figure and face. " I m in no danger, unless a more for
midable rival than that silly thing appears," thought she ; and
she drew up her slender form with a more queenly grace, and
bowed somewhat haughtily to Ella, who came up to greet
her. There was a world of affection in Ella s soft hazel
eyes, as they looked eagerly up to Henry, who for the sake
of torturing the young girl feigned not to see her, until she
FIRST INTRODUCTION. 247
had stood near him some minutes. Then offering her his hand
he said, with the utmost nonchalance, " Why, Ella, are you
here ? I was watching so anxiously for your sister that I did
not notice your entrance."
Ella had dressed herself for the party with more than
usual care, and as she smoothed down the folds of her delicate
pink silk, and shook back her long glossy curls, she thought,
" He cannot think Mary handsomer than I am to-night ; " and
now when the first remark he addressed to her was concern
ing her sister, she replied rather pettishly, " I believe you
are always thinking about Mary."
" Now, don t be jealous," returned Henry, "I only wish
to see the contrast between you."
Ella fancied that the preference would of course be in
her favor, and casting aside all unpleasant feelings, she ex
erted herself to the utmost to keep Henry at her side, asking
him numberless questions, and suddenly recollecting some
thing which she wished to tell him, if he made a movement
towards leaving her.
" Confound it. How tight she sticks to a fellow,"
thought he, " but I ll get away from her yet."
Just then Ida and Mary were announced. Both Aunt
Martha and Ida had taken great pains to have their young
friend becomingly dressed, and she looked unusually well in
the embroidered muslin skirt, satin waist, and blonde bertha
which Aunt Martha had insisted upon her accepting as a
present. The rich silken braids of her luxuriant hair were
confined at the back of her finely formed head with a golden
arrow, which, with the exception of a plain band of gold on
each wrist, was the only ornament she wore. This was her
first introduction to the gay world, but so keen was her per
ception of what was polite and proper, that none would ever
have suspected it and yet there was about her something s
248 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
fresh and unstudied, that she had hardly entered the room
ere many were struck with her easy, unaffected manners, so
different from the practised airs of the city belles.
Ella watched her narrowly, whispering aside to Henry,
how sorry she felt for poor Mary, she was so verdant, and
really hoping she wouldn t do any thing very awkward, for
twould mortify her to death ! " but, look," she added, " and
see how many people Ida is introducing her to."
" Of course, why shouldn t she ? " asked Henry ; and Ella*
replied, " I don t know, it seems so funny to see Mary here,
don t it ? "
Before Henry could answer, a young man of his acquaint
ance touched his shoulder, saying, " Lincoln, who is that
splendid-looking girl with Miss Selden ? I haven t seen a
finer face in Boston, for many a day."
" That ? Oh, that s Miss Howard, from Chicopee. An
intimate friend of our family. Allow me the pleasure of in
troducing you," and Henry walked away, leaving Ella to the
tender mercies of Rose, who, as one after . another quitted
her side, and went over to the " enemy," grew very angry,
wondering if folks were bewitched, and hoping Ida Selden
" felt better, now that she d made so many notice her prote
gee."
Later in the evening, William Bender came, and immedi
ately Jenny began to talk to him of Mary, and the impres
sion she was making. Placing her hand familiarly upon hia
arm, as though that were its natural resting place, she led
him towards a group, of which Mary seemed the centre of
attraction. Near her stood Henry Lincoln, bending so low
as to threaten serious injury to his fashionable pants, and re
doubling his flattering compliments, in proportion as Mary
grew colder, and more reserved in her manner towards him
Silly and conceited as he was, he could not help noticing
HEARTLES6NESS. 249
differently she received William Bender from what she had
himself. But all in good time, thought he, glancing at Ella,
to see how she was affected by his desertion of her, and his
flirtation with her sister. She was standing a little apart
from any one, and with her elbow resting upon a marble
stand, her cheeks flushed, and her eyelashes moist with tho
tears she dared not shed, she was watching him with feel
ings in which more of real pain than jealousy was mingled,
for Ella was weak and simple-hearted, and loved Henry Lin
coln far better than such as he deserved to be loved.
" Of what are you thinking, Ella ? " asked Rose, who,
finding herself nearly alone, felt willing to converse with al
most any .one.
At the sound of her voice Ella looked up, and coming
quickly to her side, said, " It s so dull and lonesome here, I
wish I d staid at home."
ft
In her heart Hose wished so too, but she was too proud
to acknowledge it, and feeling unusually kind towards Ella,
whose uneasiness she readily understood, she replied, " Oh, I
see you are jealous of Henry, but he s only trying to teaze
you, for he can t be interested in that awkward thing."
" But he is. I most know he is," returned Ella, with a
trembling of the voice she tried in vain to subdue ; and then
fearing she could not longer restrain her emotion, she sud
denly broke away from Rose, and ran hastily up to the dress
ing-room.
Nothing of all this escaped Henry s quick eye, and as
sundry unpaid bills for wine, brandy, oyster suppers, and
Avery. came looming up before his mind, he thought proper
o make some amends for his neglect. Accordingly when
Ella returned to the drawing-room, he offered her his arm,
asking " what made her eyes so red," and slyly pressing hei
250 THE ENGLISH CKPHANS.
hand, when she averted her face, saying, " Nothing, they
weren t red."
Meantime William Bender, having managed to drop
Jenny from his arm, had asked Mary to accompany him to a
small conservatory, which was separated from the reception
rooms by a long and brilliantly lighted gallery. As they
stood together, admiring a rare exotic, "William s manner
suddenly changed, and drawing Mary closer to his side, he
said distinctly, though hurriedly, <: I notice, Mary, that yon
seem embarrassed in my presence, and 1 have, therefore,
sought this opportunity to assure you that I shall not again
distress you by a declaration of love, which, if returned,
would now give me more pain than pleasure, for as I told
you at Mr. Selden s, I am changed in more respects than
one. It cost me a bitter struggle to give you up, but reason
and judgment finally conquered, and now I can calmly think
of you, as some time belonging to another, and w th all a
brother s confidence, can tell you that I, too, love another,
not as once I loved you, for that would be impossible but
with a calmer, more rational love."
All this time Mary had not spoken, though the hand
which William had tak en in his trembled like an imprisoned
"bird; but when he came to speak of loving another, she in
voluntarily raised his hand to her lips, exclaiming, " It
Jenny, it s Jenny."
" You have guessed rightly," returned William, smiling at
the earnestness of her manner. " It is Jenny, though ho\
such a state of things ever came about, is more than I can
tell."
Mary thought of the old saying, " Love begets love/ 1
but she said nothing, for just then Jenny herself joined them.
Looking first at William, then at Mary, and finally passing
*cr arm around the latter, she whispered, " I know he s told
JENNY S ENGAGEMENT. 251
yoi, and I m glad, for somehow I couldn t tell you my
self."
Wisely thinking that his company could be dispensed
with, William walked away, leaving the two girls alone. In
her usual frank way. Jenny rattled on, telling Mary how
happy she was, and how funny it seemed to be engaged, and
how frightened she was when William asked her to marry
hicv"
Fearing that they might be missed, they at last returned
to the parlor, where they found Ella seated at the piano, and
playing a very spirited polka. Henry, who boasted that he
"could wind her around his little finger," had succeeded in
coaxing her into good humor, but not at all desiring her
company for the rest of the evening, he asked her to play, aa
the easiest way to be rid of her. She played unusually
well, but when, at the close of the piece, she looked around
for commendation, from the one for whose ear alone she had
played, she saw him across the room, so wholly engrossed
with her sister that he probably did not even know when
the sound of the piano ceased.
Poor Ella ; it was with the saddest heartache she had ever
known that she returned from a party which had promised
her so much pleasure, and which had given her so much pain.
Hose, too, was bitterly disappointed. One by one her old
admirers had left her for the society of the " pauper," as she
secretly styled Mary, and more than once during the evening
had she heard the "beauty" and "grace" of her rival ex
tolled by those for whose opinion she cared the most ; and
when, at one o clock in the morning, she threw herself ex
hausted upon the sofa, she declared ls twas the last party
she d ever attend."
A?as, for thee. Rosa, that declaration proved too true !
CHAPTER XXVI.
MAKING UP HIS MIND.
FOR more than an hour there had been unbroken silent in
the dingy old law office of Mr. Worthington, where He&ry
Lincoln and William Bender still remained, the one as a
practising lawyer and junior partner of the firm, and the
other as a student still, for he had not yet dared to offer
himself for examination. Study was something which Henry
particularly disliked; and as his mother had trained him
with the idea, that labor for him was wholly unnecessary, he
had never bestowed a thought on the future, or made an
exertion of any kind.
Now, however, a different phase of affairs was ap
pearing. His father s fortune was threatened with ruin ;
and as, on a morning several weeks subsequent to Mrs.
Russell s party, he sat in the office with his heels upon the
window sill, and his arms folded over his head, he debated
the all-important question, whether it were better to marry
Ella Campbell, for the money which would save him from
poverty, or to rouse himself to action for the sake of Mary
Howard, whom he really fancied he loved !
Frequently since the party had he met her, each time
becoming more and more convinced of her superiority over
the other young ladies of his acquaintance. He was un
doubtedly greatly assisted in this decision by the manner
With which she was received by the fashionables of Boston ,
HENRY CHANGES HIS TACTICS. 253
but aside from that, as far as he was capable of doing so,
he liked her, and was now making up his mind whether to
tell her so or not.
At last, breaking the silence, he exclaimed, " Hang me
if I don t believe she s bewitched me, or else I m in love.
Bender, how does a chap feel when he s in love ?
" Very foolish, judging from yourself," returned Wil
liam 5 and Henry replied, " I hope you mean nothing per
sonal, for I m bound to avenge my honor, and t would be a
deuced scrape for you and me to fight about " your sister,"
as you call her, for tis she who has inspired me, or made a
fool of me, one or the other."
" You ve changed your mind, haven t you ? " asked Wil
liam, a little sarcastically.
" Hanged if I have," said Henry. " I was interested
in her years ago, when she was the ugliest little vixen a man
ever looked upon, and that s why I teazed her so, I don t
believe she s handsome now, but she s something, and that
something has raised the mischief with me. Come, Bender,
you are better acquainted with her than I am, so tell me
honestly if you think I d better marry her."
The expression of William s face was a sufficient answer,
and with something of his old insolence, Henry continued,
u You needn t feel jealous, for I tell you Mary Howard looks
higher than you. Why, she d wear the crown of England,
as a matter of course, any day."
With a haughty frown, William replied, " You have my
permission, sir, to propose as soon as you please. I rather
wish you would," then taking his hat, he left the office, while
Henry continued his soliloquy, as follows : " I woncler
what the old folks would say to a penniless bride. Wouldn t
mother and Rose raise a row ? I d soon quiet the old
woman, though, by threatening to tell that she was once a
254 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
factory girl, yes, a factory girl. But if dad smashes un
I ll have to work, for I haven t brains enough to earn my
living by my wit. I guess on the whole, I ll go and call OB
Ella, she s handsome, and besides that, has the rhino too, but.
Lord, how shallow ! " and the young man broke the blade
of his knife as he struck it into the hard wood table, by way
of emphasizing his last words
Ella chanced to be out, and as Henry was returning, he
overtook Ida Selden and Mary Howard, who were taking
their accustomed walk. Since her conversation with Wil
liam a weight seemed lifted from Mary s spirits, and she now
was happier far than she ever remembered of having been
before. She was a general favorite in Boston, where all of
her acquaintances vied with each other in making her stay
among them as agreeable as possible. Her facilities for
improvement, too, were great, and what was better than all
the rest, George Moreland was to return much sooner than
he at first intended. While she was so happy herself, Mary
could not find it in her heart to be uncourteous to Henry,
and her manner towards him that morning was so kind and
affable that it completely upset him; and when he parted
with her at Mr. Selden s gate, his mind was quite made uj
to offer her his heart and hand.
" I shall have to work," thought he, as he entered hit
room to decide upon the best means by which to make hi?
intentions known. " I shall have to work, I know, but foi
her sake I d do any thing."
There was a bottle of Madeira standing upon the table
and as he announced his determination of " doing any thing
for the sake of Mary Howard," his eye fell upon his favorite
beverage. A deep blush mounted to his brow, and a fierce
struggle between his love for Mary and his love for the wine-
cup ensued. The former conquered, and seizing the bottle
* AN OFFER OF MARRIAGE 255
he hurled it against the marble fire jamb, exclaiming, " I ll
be a man, a sober man, and never shall the light of Mary s
eyes grow dim with tears wept for a drunken husband ! "
Henry was growing eloquent, and lest the inspiration
should leave him, he sat down and wrote to Mary, on paper,
what he could not tell her face to face. Had tjiere been a
lingering doubt of her acceptance, he would undoubtedly have
wasted at least a dozen sheets of the tiny gilt-edged paper, but
as it was, one would suffice, for she would not scrutinize his
handwriting, she would not count the blots, or mark the
omission of punctuating pauses. She would almost say yes
before she read it. So the letter, which contained a sincere
apology for his uncivil treatment of her in former years,
and an ardent declaration of love for her now, was written,
sealed, and directed, and then there was a gentle rap upon
the door. Jenny wished to come in for a book which was
lying upon the table.
Henry had resolved to keep his family ignorant of his
intentions, but at the sight of Jenny he changed his mind,
Jenny loved Mary, too. Jenny would be delighted at the
prospect of having her for a sister, and would help him
brave the storm of his mother s displeasure.
" Jenny," said he, grasping at her dress, as she passed
him on her way from the room, " Jenny, sit down here. I
want to tell you something." Jenny glanced at the frag
ments of the wine bottle, then at her brother s flushed face,
and instantly conjecturing that he had been drinking, said
reproachfully, as she laid her soft, white hand on his brow
" Oh, brother, brother ! "
He understood her meaning, and drawing her so closely
to him that his warm breath floated over her cheek, replied,
: I m not drunk, for see, there is no scent of alcohol in mjr
256 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
breath, for I have sworn to reform, sworn that no drop jf
ardent spirits shall ever again pass my lips."
The sudden exclamation of joy, the arms thrown so affoc
tionately around his neck, the hot tears upon his cheek, and
the kisses that warm-hearted sister imprinted upon his lips
should hav^ helped him to ratify that vow. But not for hei
sake had it been made, and shaking her off, he said, " Don t
make a fool of yourself, Jenny, I wasn t in any danger of
disgracing you, for I was only a moderate drinker. But
really. I do want to talk with you on a very important sub
ject. I want to ask who of all your acquaintances you
would prefer to have for a sister, for I am going to be mar
ried."
" To Ella ? " asked Jenny, and Henry replied scorn
fully, " No, ma am ! my wife must have a soul, a heart, and
a mind, to make up for my deficiency on those points. To
be plain, how would you like to have me marry Mary How
ard ?"
" Not at all Not at all," was Jenny s quick reply, while
her brother said angrily, "And why not? Are you, too,
proud as Lucifer, like the rest of us ? I could tell you some
thing, Miss, that would bring your pride down a peg or two.
But answer me, why are you unwilling for me to marry
Mary? "
Jenny s spirit was roused too, and looking her brother
fully in his face, she unhesitatingly replied, " You are not
worthy of her ; neither would she have you."
" And this from my own sister ? " said Henry, hardly
able to control his wrath. tl Leave the room, instantly,
But stay," he added, " and let me hear the reasons foi
what you have asserted."
" You know as well as I," answered Jenny, u that one
is pure and gentle as Mary Howard, should never b
UNHAPPY FOREBODINGS. 257
associated with you, who would trample upon a woman s
better nature and feelings, for the sake of gratifying voui
own wishes. Whenever it suits your purpose, you flattei
and caress Ella Campbell, to whom your slightest wish is a
law, and then when your mood changes, you treat her wit
neglect ; and think you, that knowing all this, Mary Howard
would look favorably upon you, even if there were no strong
er reason why she should refuse you ? "
" If you mean the brandy bottle," said Henry, growing
more and more excited, " have I not sworn to quit it, and
is it for you to goad me on to madness, until I break that
vow ? "
" Forgive me if I have been too harsh," said Jenny, taking
Henry s hand. " You are my brother, and Mary my dearest
friend, and when I say I would not see her wedded to you,
tis not because I love you less, but her the more. You are
wholly unlike, and would not be happy together. But oh,
if her love would win you back to virtue, I would almost
beg her, on my bended knees, not to turn away from you."
" And I tell you her love can win me back, when no
thing else in the kingdom will," said Henry, snatching up the
note and hurrying away.
For a time after he left the room. Jenny sat in a kind of
stupefied maze. That Mary would refuse her brother, she
was certain, and she trembled for the effect that refusal
would produce upon him. Other thoughts, too, crowded upon
the young girl s mind, and made her tears flow fast. Henry
had hinted of something which he could tell her if he would,
and her heart too well foreboded what that something was.
The heavy sound of her father s footsteps, which sometimes
kept her awake the livelong night, his pale haggard face in
the morning, and her mother s nervous, anxious manner, told
her that rttin was hanging over them.
258 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
lu the midst of her reverie, Henry returned. He had
delivered the letter, and now, restless and unquiet, he sat
down to await its answer. It came at last, his rejection,
yet couched in language so kind and conciliatory, that he
could not feel angry. Twice, three times he read it over,
hoping to find some intimation that possibly she might re
lent ; but no, it was firm and decided, and while she thanked
him for the honor he conferred upon her, she respectfully
declined accepting it, assuring him that his secret should be
kept inviolate.
" There s some comfort in that," thought he, " for I
wouldn t like to have it known that I had been refused by a
poor unknown girl," and then, as the conviction came over him
that she would never be his, he laid his head upon the table,
and wept such tears as a spoiled child might weep when
refused a toy, too costly and delicate to be trusted in its
rude grasp.
Erelong, there was another knock at the door, and,
hastily wiping away all traces of his emotion, Henry admit
ted his father, who had come to talk of their future pros
pects, which were even worse than he had feared. But he
did not reproach his wayward son, nor hint that his reckless
extravagance had hastened the calamity which otherwise
might possibly have been avoided. Calmly he stated the
extent to which they were involved, adding that though an
entire failure might be prevented a short time, it would
come at last ; and that an honorable payment of his debts
would leave them beggars.
u For myself I do not care," said the wretched man,
pressing hard his aching temples, where the gray hairs had
thickened within a few short weeks. " For myself I do
not care but for my wife and children, for Rose, and that
A BETROTHAL. 259
she must miss her accustomed comforts, is the keenest pang
of all."
All this time, Henry had not spoken, but thought was
busily at work. He could not bestir himself; he had no en
ergy for that now ; but he could marry Ella Campbell, whoso
wealth would keep him in the position he now occupied, be
sides supplying many of Rose s wants.
Cursing the fate which had reduced him to such an ex-
tremity, towards the dusk of evening, Henry started again
for Mrs. Campbell s. Lights were burning in the parlor
and as the curtains were drawn back, he could see through
the partially opened shutter, that Ella was alone. Reclin
ing in a large sofa chair, she sat, leaning upon her elbow,
the soft curls of her brown hair falling over her white arm,
which the full blue cashmere sleeve exposed to view. She
seemed deeply engaged in thought, and never before had she
looked so lovely to Henry, who, as he gazed upon her, felt a
glow of pride, in thinking that fair young girl could be his
for the asking.
" I wish she was not so confounded fiat," thought he,
hastily ringing the door-bell.
Instantly divining who it was, Ella sprang up, and when
Henry entered the parlor, he found her standing in the cen
tre of the room, where the full blaze of the chandelier fell
upon her childish features, lighting them up with radiant
beauty.
" And so my little pet is alone," said he, coming for
ward, and raising to his lips the dainty fingers which Ella
extended towards him. " I hope the old aunty is out," he
continued, " for I want to see you on special business."
Ella noticed how excited he appeared, and always on th
alert for something when he was with her, she began tc
260 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
tremble, and without knowing what she said, asked him
" what he wanted of her ? "
" Zounds!" thought Henry, "she meets me more than
half-way ;" and then, lest his resolution should fail, he re
seated her in the chair she had left, and drawing an ottoman
to her side, hastily told her of his love, ending his declara
tion, by saying that from the first time he ever saw her, he had
determined that she should be his wife ! And Ella, wholly
deceived, allowed her head to droop upon his shoulder, while
she whispered to him her answer. Thus they were be
trothed, Henry Lincoln and Ella Campbell.
" Glad am I to be out of that atmosphere," thought the
newly engaged young man, as he reached the open air, and
began to breathe more freely. " Goodness me, won t I lead
a glorious life, with that jar of tomato sweetmeats ! Now,
if she d only hung back a little, but no, she said yes before
I fairly got the words out ; but money covereth a multitude
of sins, I beg your pardon, ma am," said he quickly, as he
became conscious of having rudely jostled a young lady, who
was turning the corner.
Looking up, he met Mary Howard s large, dark eyes
fixed rather inquiringly upon him. She was accompanied by
one of Mr. Selden s servants, and he felt sure she was going
to visit her sister. Of course, Ella would tell her all, and
what must Mary think of one who could so soon repeat his
vows of love to another ? In all the world there was not an
individual for whose good opinion Henry Lincoln cared one
half so much as for Mary Howard s ; and the thought that
he should now surely lose it maddened him. The resolution
of the morning was forgotten, and that night a fond father
watched and wept over his inebriate son, for never before
had Henry Lincoln been so beastly intoxicated.
CHAPTER XXVII.
THE SHADOWS DEEPEN.
FROM one of the luxuriously furnished chambers of herfather a
elegant mansion, Jenny Lincoln looked mournfully out upon
the thick angry clouds, which, the live-long day, had obscured
the winter sky. Dreamily for a while she listened to the pat
ter of the rain as it fell upon the deserted pavement below,
and then, with a long, deep sigh, she turned away and wept.
Poor Jenny ! the day was rainy, and dark, and dreary, but
darker far were the shadows stealing over her pathway
Turn which way she would, there was not one ray of sun
shine, which even her buoyant spirits could gather from the
surrounding gloom. Her only sister was slowly, but surely
dying, and when Jenny thought of this she felt that if Rose
could only live, she d try and bear the rest ; try to forget how
much she loved William Bender, who that morning had hon
orably and manfully asked her of her parents, and been
spurned with contempt, not by her father, for could he
have followed the dictates of his better judgment, he would
willingly have given his daughter to the care of one who he
knew would carefully shield her from the storms of life. It
was not he, but the cold, proud mother, who so haughtily
refused William s request, accusing him of taking under
handed means to win her daughter s affections.
" I had rather see you dead ! " said the stony-hearted
woman, when Jenny knelt at her feet, and pleaded for her to
262 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
take back the words she had spoken " I had rather see you
dead, than married to such as lie. I mean what I have said,
and you will never be his."
Jenny knew William too well to think he would ever sanc
tion an act of disobedience to her mother, and her heart grew
faint, and her eyes dim with tears, as she thought of con
quering the love which had grown with her growth, and
strengthened with her strength. There was another reason,
too, why Jenny should weep as she sat there alone in her room.
From her father she had heard of all that was to happen.
The luxuries to which all her life she had been accustomed,
were to be hers no longer. The pleasant country house in
Chicopee, dearer far than her city home, must be sold, and
nowhere in the wide world, was there a place for them to
rest.
It was of all this that Jenny was thinking that dreary
afternoon ; and when at last she turned away from the win
dow, her thoughts went back again to her sister, and she
murmured, " If she could only live."
But it could not be ; the fiat had gone forth, and Hose,
like the fair summer flower whose name she bore, must fade
and pass away. For several days after Mrs. Russell s party
she tried to keep up, but the laws of nature had been out
raged, and now she lay all day in a darkened room, moaning
with pain, and wondering why the faces of those around her
were so sad and mournful.
" Jenny," said she one day when the physician, as usual,
had left the room without a word of encouragement " Jen
ny, what does make you look so blue and forlorn. I hope
you don t fancy I m going to die ? Of course I m not."
Here a coughing fit ensued, and after it was over, sho
continued, " Isn t George Moreland expected soon ? "
Jenny nodded, and Rose proceeded, " I must, and will be
A PAINFUL TRIAL. 263
well before he comes, for twill never do to yield the field to
that Howard girl, who they say is contriving every way to
get him, coaxing round old Aunt Martha, and all that.
But how ridiculous ! George Moreland, with his fastidious
taste, marry a pauper ! " and the sick girl s fading cheek
glowed, and her eyes grew brighter at the absurd idea !
Just then Mr. Lincoln entered the room. He had been
consulting with his wife the propriety of taking Rose to her
grandmother s in the country. She would thus be saved the
knowledge of his failure, which could not much longer be
kept a secret ; and besides that, they all, sooner or later,
must leave the house in which they were living ; and he
judged it best to remove his daughter while she was able to
endure the journey. At first Mrs. Lincoln wept bitterly,
for if Hose went to Glenwood, she, too, must of course go ;
and the old brown house, with its oaken floor and wainscot
ed ceiling, had now no charms for the gay woman of fashion,
who turned with disdain from the humble roof which had
sheltered her childhood.
Lifting her tearful eyes to her husband s face, she said
" Oh, I can t go there. Why not engage rooms at the hotel
in Glenwood village. Mother is so odd and peculiar in her
ways of living, that I never can endure it," and again Mrs.
Lincoln buried her face in the folds of her fine linen cam
bric, thinking there was never in the world a woman as
wretched as herself.
" Don t, Hatty, don t ; it distresses me to see you feel
thus. Rooms and board at the hotel would cost far more
than I can afford to pay, and then, too, " here he paused,
as if to gather courage for what he was next to say ; " and
then, too, your mother will care for Rose s soul as well aa
body."
Mrs. Lincoln looked up quickly, and her husband con*
264 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
tinned, " Yes, Hatty, we need not deceive ourselves longer
Rose must die, and you know as well as I whether our train
ing has been such as will best fit her for another world."
For a time Mrs. Lincoln was silent, and then in a moro
subdued tone, she said, " Do as you like, only you must tell
Hose, /never can."
Half an hour after, Mr. Lincoln entered his daughter s
room, and bending affectionately over her pillow, said,
" How is my darling to-day ? "
" Better, better, almost well," returned Rose, raising
herself in bed to prove what she had said. " I shall be out
in a few days, and then you ll buy me one of those elegant
plaid silks, won t you ? All the girls are wearing them, and
I haven t had a new dress this winter, and here tis almost
March."
Oh, how the father longed to tell his dying child that
her next dress would be a shroud. But he could not. He
was too much a man of the world to speak to her of death,
he would leave that for her grandmother ; so without an
swering her question, he said, " Rose, do you think you are
able to be moved into the country ? "
" What, to Chicopee ? that horrid dull place ! I
thought we were not going there this summer."
" No, not to Chicopee, but to your grandma Rowland s,
in Glenwood. The physician thinks you will be more quiet
there, and the pure air will do you good."
Rose looked earnestly in her father s face to see if he
meant what he said, and then replied, " I d rather go any
where in the world than to Glenwood. You ve no idea how
I hate to stay there. Grandma is so queer, and the things
in the house so fussy and countrified, and cooks by a fire
place, and washes in a tin basin, and wipes on a crash towe]
that hangs on a roller ! "
DREAMS. ^565
Mr. Lincoln could hardly repress a smile at Hose s rea
soning, but perceiving that he must be decided, he said,
" "YVe think it best for you to go, and shall accordingly make
arrangements to take you in the course of a week or two.
Your mother will stay with you, and Jenny, too, will be
there a part of the time ; " then, not wishing to witness the
Dffect of his words, he hastily left the room, pausing in the
hall to wipe away the tears which involuntarily came to his
eyes, as he overheard Rose angrily wonder, " why she should
be turned out of doors when she wasn t able to sit up ! "
" I never can bear the scent of those great tallow can
dles, never," said she ; " and then to think of the coarse
sheets and patchwork bedquilts oh, it s dreadful ! "
Jency s heart, too, was well-nigh bursting, but she forced
down her own sorrow, while she strove to comfort her sister,
telling her how strong and well the bracing air of the coun
try would make her, and how refreshing when her fever was
on would be the clear, cold water which gushed from the
spring near the thorn-apple tree, where in childhood they so
oft had played. Then she spoke of the miniature waterfall,
which not far from their grandmother s door, made " fairy-
like music;" all the day long, and at last, as if soothed by
the sound of that far-off falling water, Rose forgot her
trouble, and sank into a sweet, refreshing slumber, in which
she dreamed that the joyous summer-time had come, and
that she, well and strong as Jenny had predicted, was the
happy bride of George Moreland, who led her to a grass-
grown grave, the grave of Mary Howard, who had died of
consumption and been buried in Glenwood ! "
While Rose was sleeping, Jenny stole softly down thu
stairs, and throwing on her shawl and bonnet, went across
the street, to confide her troubles with Mary Howard ; who,
vr hile she sympathized deeply with her young friend, was not
266 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
surprised, for, from her slight acquaintance -with Mrs, Lin
coin, she could readily believe that one so ambitious and
haughty, would seek for her daughter a wealthier alliance
than a poor lawyer. All that she could say to comfort Jen
ny she did, bidding her to wait patiently, and hope for the
best.
" You are blue and dispirited," said she, " and a littlo
fresh air will do you good. Suppose we walk round a square
or two ; for see, the rain is over now."
Jenny consented, and they had hardly gone half the
length of a street when "William himself joined them.
Rightly guessing that her absence would not be noticed,
Mary turned suddenly into a side street, leaving William
and Jenny to themselves. From that walk Jenny returned
to her home much happier than she left it. She had seen
William, had talked with him of the past, present, and
future, had caught from his hopeful spirit the belief that
all would be well in time, and in a far more cheerful frame
of mind, she re-entered her sister s room ; and when Rose,
who was awake, and noticed the change in her appearance,
asked what had happened, she could not forbear telling her.
Rose heard her through, and then very kindly informed
her that " she was a fool to care for such a rough-scuff."
In a few days, preparations were commenced for moving
Rose to G-lenwood, and in the excitement of getting ready,
she in a measure forgot the tallow candles and patchwork
bedquilt, the thoughts of which had so much shocked her at
first.
" Put in my embroidered merino morning gown," said
ghe to Jenny, who was packing her trunk, " and the blue
cashmere one faced with white satin; and don t forget my
best cambric skirt, the one with so much work on it, for
when Q eorge Moreland comes to Glenwood I shall want to
FURTHER DISTRESS. 26?
look as well as possible ; and then, too, I like to see the
country folks open their mouths, and stare at city fashions."
" "What makes you think George will come to Glen-
wood ? " asked Jenny, as she packed away dresses her sister
would never wear.
" I know, and that s enough," answered Hose ; " and
now, before you forget it, put in my leghorn flat, for if I
gtay long, I shall want it ; and see how nicely you can fold
the dress I wore at Mrs. Russell s party ! "
" Why, Rose, what can you possibly want of that ? "
asked Jenny, and Rose replied, " Oh, I want to show it to
grandma, just to hear her groan over our extravagance, and
predict that we ll yet come to ruin ! "
Jenny thought that if Rose could have seen her father
that morning, when the bill for the dress and its costly trim
mings was presented, she would have wished it removed for
ever from her sight. Early in the winter Mr. Lincoln had
seen that all such matters were settled, and of this bill,
more recently made, he knew nothing.
" I can t pay it now," said he promptly to the boy who
brought it. " Tell Mr. Holton I will see him in a day or
two."
The boy took the paper with an insolent grin, for he had
heard the fast circulating rumor, " that one of the big bugs
was about to smash up ;" and now, eager to confirm the re
port, he ran swiftly back to his employer, who muttered,
" Just as I expected. I ll draw on him for what I lent him,
and that ll tell the story. My daughters can t afford to
wear such things, and I m not going to furnish money for
his."
Of all this Rose did not. dream, for in her estimation
there was no end to her father s wealth, and the possibility
of his failing had never entered her mind. Henry indeed
268 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
had once hinted it to her on the occasion of her asking him
" how he could fancy Ella Campbell enough, to marry her."
" I m not marrying her, but her money" was his prompt
answer; " and I assure you, young lady, we are more in need
of that article than you imagine."
Rose paid no attention to this speech, and when she
found that her favorite Sarah was not to accompany her, she
almost wept herself into convulsions, declaring that her fa
ther, to whom the mother imputed the blame, was cruel and
hard-hearted, and that if it was Jenny instead of herself
who was sick, she guessed " she d have forty waiting-maids
if she wanted them."
" I should like to know who is to take care of me ? " said
she. Jenny isn t going, and grandma would think it an un
pardonable extravagance to hire a servant. I will not go,
and that ends it ! If you want to be rid of me, I can die
fast enough here."
Mrs. Lincoln had nothing to say, for she well knew she
had trained her daughter to despise every thing pertaining
to the old brown house, once her childhood home, and where
even now the kind-hearted grandmother was busy in prepar
ing for the reception of the invalid. From morning until
night did the little active form of Grandma Howland flit
from room to room, washing windows which needed no wash
ing, dusting tables on which no dust was lying, and doing a
thousand things which she thought would add to the comfort
of Rose. On one room in particular did the good old lady
bestow more than usual care. Twas the " spare chamber,"
at whose windows Rose, when a little girl, had stood for
hours, watching the thin, blue mist and fleecy clouds, as they
floated around the tall green mountains, which at no great
distance seemed to tower upward, and upward, until their
tops were lost in the sky above. At the foot of the inoun-
PREPARATIONS. 269
tain and nearer Glenwood, was a small sheet of water which
now in the spring time was plainly discernible from the win
dows of Hose s chamber, and with careful forethought Mrs,
Howland arranged the bed so that the sick girl could look
out upon the tiny lake and the mountains beyond. Snowy
white, and fragrant with the leaves of rose and geranium
which had been pressed within their folds, were the sheets
which covered the bed, the last Rose Lincoln would ever rest
upon. Soft and downy were the pillows, and the patchwork
quilt, Rose s particular aversion, was removed, and its place
supplied by one of more modern make.
Once Mrs. Howland thought to shade the windows with
the Venetian blinds which hung in the parlor below ; but
they shut out so much sunlight, and made the room so
gloomy, that she carried them back, substituting in their
place plain white muslin curtains. The best rocking chair,
and the old-fashioned carved mirror, were brought up from
the parlor; and then when all was done, Mrs. Howland gave a
sigh of satisfaction that it was so well done, and closed the
room until Rose should arrive.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
GLENWOOD.
THROUGH the rich crimson curtains which shaded Rose Lin
coln s sleeping room, the golden beams of a warm March
sun were stealing, lighting up the thin features of the sick
girl with a glow so nearly resembling health, that Jenny,
when she came to wish her sister good morning, started with
surprise at seeing her look so well.
" Why, Rose, you are better," said she, kissing the fair
cheek on which the ray of sunlight was resting.
Rose had just awoke from her deep morning slumber,
and now remembering that this was the day appointed for
her dreaded journey to Glenwood, she burst into tears, won
dering "why they would persist in dragging her from
home."
" It s only a pretence to get me away, I know," said she,
" and you may as well confess it at once. You are tired of
waiting upon me."
Mr. Lincoln now came in to see his daughter, but all his
attempts to soothe her were in vain. She only replied,
" Let me stay at home, here in this room, my own room ; "
adding more in anger than sorrow, " I ll try to die as soon as
I can, and be out of the way, if that s what you want ! "
" Oh, Rose, Rose ! poor father don t deserve that," said
Jenny, raising her hand as if to stay her sister s thoughtless
words, while Mr. Lincoln, laying his face upon the pillow so
THE CONSUMPTIVE^ HOPE. 271
that his silvered locks mingled with the dark tresses of nis
child, wept bitterly, bitterly.
And still he could not tell her ivhy she must leave her
home. He would rather bear her unjust reproaches, than
have her know that they were beggars ; for a sudden shock,
the physician said, might at any time end her life. Tho
roughly selfish as she was, Rose still loved her father dearly,
and when she saw him thus moved, and knew that she was
the cause, she repented of her hasty words, and laying her
long white arm across his neck, asked forgiveness for what
she had said,
" I will go to G-lenwood," said she ; " but must I stay
there long ? "
" Not long, not long, my child," was the father s reply,
and Jenny brushed away a tear as she too thought, " not
long."
And so, with the belief that her stay was to be short,
Rose passively suffered them to dress her for the journey,
which was to be performed partly by railway and partly in a
carriage. For the first time since the night of his engagement
with Ella Campbell, Henry was this morning free from intox
icating drinks. He had heard them say that Rose must die,
but it had seemed to him like an unpleasant dream, from
which he now awoke to find it a reality. They had brought
her down from her chamber, and laid her upon the sofa in
the parlor, where Henry came unexpectedly upon her. He
had not seen her for several days, and when he found her
lying there so pale and still, her long eyelashes resting
heavily upon her colorless cheek, and her small white hands
hanging listlessly by her side, he softly approached her,
thinking her asleep, kissed her brow, cheek and lips, whis
pering as he did so, " Poor girl ! poor Rosa ! so young and
beautiful."
272 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
Rose started, and wiping from her forehead the tear hei
brother had left there, she looked anxiously around. Henry
was gone, but his words had awakened in her mind a new
and startling idea. Was she going to die ? Did they think
so, and was this the reason of Henry s unwonted tenderness ?
and sinking back upon her pillows, she wept as only those
weep to whom, in the full flush of youth and beauty, death
comes a dreaded and unwelcome guest.
" I cannot die, I will not die," said she at last, rousing
lerself with sudden energy ; "I feel that within me which
says I shall not die. The air of Grlenwood will do me good,
and grandma s skill in nursing is wonderful."
Consoled by these reflections, bhe became more calm, and
had her father now given his consent for her to remain in
Boston, she would of her own accord have gone to Grlenwood.
The morning train bound for Albany stood in the depot,
waiting the signal to start ; and just before the final " all
aboard " was sounded, a handsome equipage drove slowly up,
and from it alighted Mr. Lincoln, bearing in his arms his
daughter, whose head rested wearily upon his shoulder.
Accompanying him were his wife, Jenny, and a gray-haired
man, the family physician. Together they entered the rear
car, and instantly there was a hasty turning of heads, a
shaking of curls, and low whispers, as each noticed and
commented upon the unearthly beauty of Rose, who in her
father s arms, lay as if wholly exhausted with the effort she
had made.
The sight of her, so young, so fair, and apparentlyso
low, hushed all selfish feelings, and a gay bridal party who
had taken possession of the ladies saloon, immediately came
forward, offering it to Mr. Lincoln, who readily accepted it^
THE JOURNEY. 273
and laying Rose upon the long settee, he made her as com
fortable as possible with the numerous pillows and cushions
he had brought with him As the creaking engine moved
slowly out of Boston, Rose asked that the window might be
raised, and leaning upon her elbow, she looked out upon her
native city, which she was leaving for ever. Some such idea
came to her mind; but quickly repressing it, she turned
towards her father, saying with a smile, " I shall be better
when I see Boston again."
Mr. Lincoln turned away to hide a tear, for he had no
nope that she would ever return. Towards nightfall
of the next day they reached Glenwood, and Rose, more
fatigued than she was willing to acknowledge, now that she
was so determined to get well, was lifted from the carriage
and carried into the house. Mrs. Rowland hastened for
ward to receive her, and for once Rose forgot to notice
whether the cut of her cap was of this year s fashion or
last.
" I am weary," she said. " Lay me where I can rest.
And with the grandmother leading the way, the father car
ried his child to the chamber prepared for her with so much
care.
" It s worse than I thought twas," said Mrs. Howland,
returning to the parlor below, where her daughter, after
looking in vain for the big rocking-chair, had thrown herself
with a sigh upon the chintz-covered lounge. " It s a deal
worse than I thought twas. Hasn t she catched cold, or
been exposed some way ?"
<! Not in the least," returned Mrs. Lincoln, twirling the
golden stopper of her smelling bottle. " The foundation of
her sickness was laid at Mount Holyoke, and the whole faculty
ought to be indicted for manslaughter."
Jenny s clear, truthful eyes turned towards her mother,
12*
274 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
who frowned darHy, and continued : " She was as well as
any one until she went there, and I consider it my duty to
warn all parents against sending their daughters to a place
where neither health, manners, nor any thing else is attended
to, except religion and housework."
Jenny had not quite got over her childish habit of occa
sionally setting her mother right on some points, and she
could not forbear saying that Dr. Kleber thought Rose in
jured herself by attending Mrs. Russell s party.
" Dr. Kleber doesn t know any more about it than I do,"
returned her mother. u He s always minding other folks
business, and so are you. I guess you d better go up stairs,
and see if Rose doesn t want something."
Jenny obeyed, and as she entered her sister s chamber,
Rose lifted her head languidly from her pillow, and pointing
to a window, which had been opened that she might breathe
more freely, said, u Just listen ; don t you hear that horrid
croaking? "
Jenny laughed aloud, for she knew Rose had heard
" that horrid croaking " more than a hundred times in
Chicopee, but in Glenwood every thing must necessarily
assume a goblin form and sound. Seating herself upon the
foot of the bed, she said, " Why. that s the frogs. I love to
hear them dearly. It makes me feel both sad and happy,
just as the crickets do that sing under the hearth in our old
home at Chicopee."
Jenny s whole heart was in the country, and she could
not so well sympathize with her nervous, sensitive sister,
who shrank from country sights and country sounds. Acci
dentally spying some tall locust branches swinging in the
evening breeze before the east window, she again spoke to
Jenny, telling her to look and see if the tree leaned against
THE SPOILT CHILD. 275
the house, " for if it does," said she, " and creaks I shan t
sleep a wink to-night."
After assuring her that the tree was all right, Jenny
added, " I love to hear the wind howl through these old
trees, and were it not for you, I should wish it might blow
so that I could lie awake and hear it."
When it grew darker, and the stars began to come out
Jenny was told " to close the shutters."
Now, Rose," said she, " you are making half of this,
for you know as well as I, that grandma s house hasn t got
any shutters."
"Oh, mercy, no more it hasn t. What shall I do?"
said Rose, half crying with vexation. " That coarse muslin
stuff is worse than nothing, and everybody ll be looking in
to see me."
" They ll have to climb to the top of the trees, then,"
said Jenny, " for the ground descends in every direction,
and the road, too, is so far away. Besides that, who is
there that wants to see you ?"
Rose didn t know. She was sure there was somebody,
and when Mrs. Howland came up with one of the nicest lit
tle suppers on a small tea-tray, how was she shocked to find
the window covered with her best blankets, which were safe
ly packed away in the closet adjoining.
" Rose was afraid somebody would look in and see
her," said Jenny, as she read her grandmother s astonish
ment in her face.
" Look in and see her ! " repeated Mrs. Howland. " I ve
undressed without curtains there forty years, and I ll be
bound nobody ever peeked at me. But come," she added,
* : set up, and see if you can t eat a mouthful or so. Here s
some broiled chicken, a slice of toast, some currant jelly that
276 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
I made myself, and the swimminest cup of black ica you
ever see. It ll eenamost bear up an egg."
" Sweetened with brown sugar, ain t it ? " said Rose sip
ping a little of the tea.
In great distress the good old lady replied that she was
out of white sugar, but some folks loved brown just as well.
" Ugh ! Take it away." said Rose. "It makes me sick,
and I don t believe I can eat another mite," but in spite of
her belief the food rapidly disappeared, while she alternately
made fun of the little silver spoons, her grandmother s bridal
gift, and found fault because the jelly was not put up im
porcelain jars, instead of the old blue earthen tea-cup, tied
over with a piece of paper !
Until a late hour that night, did Rose keep the whole
household (her mother excepted) on the alert, doing the
thousand useless things which her nervous fancy prompted.
First the front door, usually secured with a bit of whittled
shingle, must be nailed, "or somebody would break in."
Next, the windows, which in the rising wind began to rattle,
must be made fast with divers knives, scissors, combs and
keys ; and lastly, the old clock must be stopped, for Rose was
not accustomed to its striking, and it would keep her awake !
" Dear me ! " said the tired old grandmother, when, at
about midnight, she repaired to her own cosy little bedroom,
<! how fidgety she is. I should of s posed that livin in
the city so ? she d got used to noises."
In a day or two Mr. Lincoln and Jenny went back to
Boston, bearing with them a long list of articles which Rose
must and would have. As they were leaving the house Mrs.
Holland brought out her black leathern wallet, and forcing
two ten dollar bills into Jenny s hand, whispered, " Take it
to pay for them things. Your pa has need enough for his
money, and this is some I ve earned along, knitting, and sell
A KIND GRANDMOTHER. 277
ing butter. At first I thought I would get a new chamber
carpet, but the old one answers my turn very well, so take it,
and buy Rose every thing she wants."
And all this time the thankless girl up stairs was Letting
and muttering about her grandmother s stinginess^ in kot
having a better carpet " than the old faded thing
looked as if manufactured before the flood 1
CHAPTER XXIX.
A NEW DISCOVERY.
ON the same day when Rose Lincoln left Boston for Grlen-
wood, Mrs. Campbell sat in her own room, gloomy and de
pressed. For several days she had not been well, and besides
that, Ella s engagement with Henry Lincoln filled her heart
with dark forebodings, for rumor said that he was unprinci
pled, and dissipated, and before giving her consent Mrs.
Campbell had labored long with Ella, who insisted " that
he was no worse than other young men, most of them drank
occasionally, and Henry did nothing more ! "
On this afternoon she had again conversed with Ella, who
angrily declared, that she would marry him even if she knew
he d be a drunkard, adding, " But he won t be. He loves
me better than all the world, and I shall help him to reform."
" I don t believe your sister would marry him," continued
Mrs. Campbell, who was becoming much attached to Mary.
lt I don t believe she would, either, and for a very good
reason, too," returned Ella, pettishly jerking her long curls.
" But I can t see why you should bring her up, for he has
never been more than polite to her, and that he assured me
was wholly on my account."
" She isn t pleased with your engagement !" said Mrs.
Campbell ; and Ella replied, " Well, what of that ? It s
THE DISCOVERY. 279
nothing to her. and I didn t mean she should know it ; but
Jenny, like a little tattler, must needs tell her, and so she has
read me a two hours sermon on the subject. She acted so
queer, too, I didn t know what to think of her, and when she
and Henry are together, they look so funny, that I almost be
lieve she wants him herself, but she can t have him,
110, she can t have him," and secure in the belief that she
was the first and only object of Henry s affection, Ella
danced out of the room to attend to the seamstress who was
doing her plain sewing.
After she was gone, Mrs. Campbell fell asleep, and for
the first time in many a long year dreamed of her old home
in England. She did not remember it herself, but she had
so often heard it described by the aunt who adopted her, that
now it came up vividly before her mind, with its dark stone
walls, its spacious grounds, terraced gardens, running vines
and creeping roses. Something about it, too, reminded her
of what Ella had once said of her mother s early home,
and when she awoke, she wondered that she had never ques
tioned the child more concerning her parents. She was
just lying back again upon her pillow, when there was a
gentle rap at the door, and Mary Howard s soft voice asked
permission to come in.
" Yes, do," said Mrs. Campbell. " Perhaps you can
charm away my headache, which is dreadful."
" I ll try," answered Mary. Shall I read to you ? "
" If you please ; but first give me my salts. You ll find
them there in that drawer."
Mary obeyed, but started as she opened the drawer, for
there, on the top, lay a small, old-fashioned miniature, of
a fair young child, so nearly resembling Frauky, that tha
tears instantly came to her eyes.
:; What is it?" asked Mrs. Campbell, and Mary replied,
280 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
" This picture, so much like "brother Franky. May I look
at it?"
" Certainly," said Mrs. Campbell. " That is a picture
of my sister."
For a long time Mary gazed at the sweet childish face,
which, with its clustering curls, and soft brown eyes, looked
to her so much like Franky. At last, turning to Mrs. Camp
bell, she said, "You must have loved her very much.
What was her name ? "
" Ella Temple." was Mrs. Campbell s reply, and Mary
instantly exclaimed, " Why, that was my mother s name! "
"Your mother, Mary! your mother !" said Mrs. Camp
bell, starting up from her pillow. "But no; it cannot be.
Your mother is lying in Chicopec, and Ella, my sister, died
in England."
Every particle of color had left Mary s face, and her
eyes, now black as midnight, stared wildly at Mrs. Camp
bell. The sad story, which her mother had once told her,
came back to her minor, bringing with it the thought, which
had so agitated her companion.
" Yes," she continued, without noticing what Mrs. Camp
bell had said, " my mother was Ella Temple, and she had
two sisters, one her own, and the other, a half sister, Sarah
Fletcher and Jane Temple, both of whom came to Ame
rica many years ago."
" Tell me more, tell me all you know ! " whispered
Mrs. Campbell, grasping Mary s hand ; " and how it came
about that I thought she was dead, my sister."
Upon this point Mary could throw no light, but of all
that she had heard from her mother she told, and then Mrs.
Campbell, pointing to her writing desk, said, " Bring it to
toe. I must read that letter again."
Mary obeyed, and taking out a much soiled, blotted let
ANNOYING REGRETS. 28 ,
ter, Mrs. Campbell asked her to read it abud. It was as
follows " Daughter Jane, I now take this opportunity
of informing you, that I ve lost your sister Ella, and have
now no child saving yourself, who, if you behave well, will
be my only heir. Sometimes I wish you were here, for it s
lonesome living alone, but- I suppose you re better off where
you are. Do you know any thing of that girl Sarah ? Her
cross-grained uncle has never written me a word since he
left England. If I live three years longer I shall come to
America, and until that time, adieu. Your father,
Henry Temple Esq. M. P."
" How short and cold ! " was Mary s first exclamation,
for her impressions of her grandfather were not very agree
able.
" It is like all his letters," answered Mrs. Campbell.
"But it was cruel to make me think Ella was dead, for how
else could* I suppose he had lost her ? and when I asked the
particulars of her death, he sent me no answer ; but at this
I did not so much wonder, for he never wrote oftenor than
once in two or three years, and the next that I heard, ho
was dead, and I was heiress of all his wealth."
Then, as the conviction came over her that Mary was in
deed the child of her own sister, she wound her arms about
her neck, and kissing her lips, murmured, " My child, my
Mary. Oh, had I known this sooner, you should not have
been so cruelly deserted, and little Allie should never have
died in the alms-house. But you ll never leave me now, foi
all that I have is yours yours and Ella s."
The thought of Ella touched a new chord, and Mrs
Campbell s tears were rendered less bitter, by the knowledge
that she had cared for, and been a mother, to one of hei
Bister s orphan children.
* I know now," said she, { why, from the first, I felt sc
282 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
drawn towards Ella, and why her cleai , largo eyes, are sc
much like my own lost darling s, and even you, Mary "
Here Mrs. Campbell paused, for proud as she now was
of Mary, there had been a time when the haughty lady
turned away from the sober, homely little child, who begged
so piteously " to go with Ella " where there was room and to
spare. All this came up in sad review, before Mrs. Camp
bell, and as she recalled the incidents of her sister s death,
and thought of the noble little Frank, who often went hun
gry and cold that his mother and sisters might be warmed
and fed, she felt that her heart would burst with its weight
of sorrow.
Oh, my God ! " said she, " to die so near me, my only
sister, and / never know it, never go near her. I with all
my wealth, as much hers as mine, and she dying of starva
tion."
Wiping the hot tears from her own eyes, Mary strove to
comfort her aunt by telling her how affectionately her mo
ther had always remembered her. " And even on the night
of her death," said she, " she spoke of you, and bade me,
if I ever found you, love you for her sake."
" Will you, do you love me ? " asked Mrs. Campbell.
-Mary s warm kiss upon her cheek, and the loving clasp
of her arms around her aunt s neck, was a sufficient answer.
" Do you know aught of my Aunt Sarah ? " Mary asked
at last ; and Mrs. Campbell replied, " Nothing definite.
From father we first heard that she was in New York, and
then Aunt Morris wrote to her uncle, making inquiries con
cerning her. I think the Fletchers were rather peculiar in
their dispositions, and were probably jealous of our family
for the letter was long unanswered, and when at last Sarah s
uncle wrote, he said, that " independent of old Temple s aid
she had received a good education ;" adding further, that she
THE TWO SISTERS. 283
had married and gone west, and that he was intending soon
to follow her. He neither gave the name of her husband,
or the place to which they were going, and as all our subse
quent letters were unanswered, I know not whether she is
dead or alive ; but often when I think how alone I am, with
out a relative in the world, I have prayed and wept that she
might come back ; for though I never knew her, never saw
her that I remember, she was my mother s child, and I
should love her for that."
Just then Ella came singing into the room, but started
when she saw how excited Mrs, Campbell appeared, and how
swollen her eyelids were.
" Why, what s the matter ? " said she. " I never saw you
cry before, excepting that time when I told you I was going
to marry Henry," and Ella laughed a little spiteful laugh,
for she had not yet recovered from her anger at what Mrs.
Campbell had said when she was in there before.
" Hush sli," said Mary softly ; and Mrs. Campbell,
drawing Ella to her side, told her of the strange discovery
she had made ; then beckoning Mary to approach, she laid a
hand upon each of the young girls heads, and blessing them,
called them " her own dear children."
It would be hard telling what Ella s emotions were.
One moment she was glad, and the next she was sorry, for
she was so supremely selfish, that the fact of Mary s being
now in every respect her equal, gave her more pain than
pleasure. Of course, Mrs. Campbell would love her best,
every body did who knew her, every body but Henry.
And when Mrs. Campbell asked why she did not speak, she
replied, " Why, what shall I say ? shall I go into ecstasies
about it ? To be sure I m glad, very glad that you are mj
aunt. Will Mary live here now ? "
284 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS
" Yes, always," answered Mrs. Campbell ; and No
never," thought Mary.
Her sister s manner chilled her to the heart. She tho
roughly understood her, and felt sure they could not be hap-
py together, for Ella was to live at home even after her
marriage. There was also another, and stronger reason, why
Mary should not remain with her aunt. Mrs. Mason had
the first, best claim upon her. She it was who had befriend
ed her when a lonely, neglected orphan, taking her from the
alms-house, and giving her a pleasant, happy home. She it
was, too, who in sickness and health had cared for her with
all a mother s love, and Mary would not leave her now. So
when Mrs. Campbell began to make plans for the future,
each one of which had a direct reference to herself, she
modestly said she should never desert Mrs. Mason, stating
her reasons with so much delicacy, and yet so firmly, that
Mrs. Campbell was compelled to acknowledge she was right,
while at the same time she secretly wondered whether Ella
for her sake would refuse a more elegant home were it
offered her.
All that afternoon the contrast between the two girls
grew upon her so painfully, that she would almost gladly have
exchanged her selfish, spoilt Ella, for the once despised and
neglected orphan; and when at evening Mary came to say
" Good night," she embraced her with a fervency which
seemed to say she could not give her up.
Scarcely had the door closed upon Mary, ere there vasi
a violent bell ring, and Henry Lincoln was ushered into the
parlor, where Ella, radiant with smiles, sat awaiting him.
They were invited that evening to a little sociable, and Ella
had bestowed more than usual time and attention upon h<v
toilet, for Henry was very observant of ladies dresses, and
now that " he had a right," was constantly dictating, as to
THE FAITHLESS LOVER. 285
what she should wear, and what she should not. On thifl
evening every thing seemed fated to go wrong. Ella had
heard Henry say that he was partial to mazarine blue, and
not suspecting that his preference arose from the fact of his
having frequently seen her sister in a neatly fitting blu
merino she determined to surprise him with his favorite
color. Accordingly, when Henry entered the parlor, he
found her arrayed in a rich blue silk, made low in the neck
with loose, full sleeves, and flounced to the waist. The
young man had just met Mary at the gate, and as usual
after seeing her was in the worst of humors.
His first salutation to Ella was " Well, Mother Bunch,
you look pretty, don t you ? "
" I don t know. Do I ? " said Ella, taking him literally.
" Do you? " he repeated, with an impatient toss of his
head. " All but the pretty. I advise you to take off that
thing" (pointing to the dress), "I never saw you look worse."
Since Ella s engagement she had cried half the time,
and now, as usual, the tears came to her eyes, provoking
Henry still more.
" Now make your eyes red," said he. " I declare, I
wonder if there s any thing of you but tears."
" Please don t talk so," said Ella, laying her hand on
his arm. " I had this dress made on purpose to please you,
for you once said you liked dark blue."
" And so I do on your sister, but your complexion is
different from hers, and then those ruffles and bag sleeves
make you look like a little barrel ! "
" You told me you admired flounces, and these sleeves
are all the fashion," said Ella, the tears again flowing in
spite of herself.
" Well, I do think Mary looks well in flounces," returned
286 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
Henry, " but she is almost a head taller than you, ai,d bettei
proportioned every way."
Ella longed to remind him of a time when he called her
sister " a hay pole," while he likened herself to " a little
sylph, fairy," &c., but she dared not ; and Henry, bent on
finding fault, touched her white bare shoulder, saying " I
wish you wouldn t wear such dresses. Mary don t except at
parties, and I heard a gentleman say that she displayed bet
ter taste than any young lady of his acquaintance."
Ella was thoroughly angry, and amid a fresh shower of
tears exclaimed, " Mary, Mary, I m sick of the name.
It s nothing but Mary, Mary all day long with Mrs.
Campbell, and now you must thrust her in my face. If
you think her so perfect, why don t you marry her, instead
of me ? "
" Simply because she won t have me," returned Henry,
and then not wishing to provoke Ella too far, he playfully
threw his arm around her waist, adding " But come, my lit
tle beauty, don t let s quarrel any more about her, I ought
to like my sister, and you shouldn t be jealous. So throw
on your cloak, and let s be off."
" Oh, no, not yet. It s too early " answered Ella,
nothing loth to have an hour alone with him.
So they sat down together upon the sofa, and after asking
about Rose, and how long Jenny was to remain in Glenwood,
Ella, chancing to think of the strange discovery that day
made with regard to herself and Mary, mentioned it to Henry,
who seemed much more excited about it than she had been.
" Mrs. Campbell, your mother s sister ! " said he. " And
Mary s aunt too ? Why didn t you tell me before ? "
" Because I didn t think of it," returned Ella. " And it s
nothing so very marvellous either, or at least it does not affect
me in the least." Henry did not reply, but there was that
THE WILL. 287
passing through his mind which might affect Ella not a lit*
tie. As tho reader knows, he was marrying her for her
money ; and now if that money was to be shared with an
other, the bride lost half her value ! But such thoughts
must not be expressed, and when Henry next spoke, he
said very calmly, " "Well, I m glad on Mary s account, for
your aunt will undoubtedly share her fortune with her,"
and Henry s eyes turned upon Ella with a deeper meaning
than she could divine.
It was so long since Ella had felt the need of money,
that she had almost ceased to know its value, and besides
this, she had no suspicion of Henry s motive in questioning
her ; so she carelessly replied that nothing had been said on
the subject, though she presumed her aunt would make
Mary heiress with herself, as she had recently taken a vio
lent fancy to her. Here the conversation flagged, and
Henry fell into a musing mood, from which Ella was forced
to rouse him when it was time to go. As if their thoughts
were flowing in the same channel, Mrs. Campbell that even
ing was thinking of Mary, and trying to devise some means
by which to atone for neglecting her so long. Suddenly a
new idea occurred to her, upon which she determined imme
diately to act, and the next morning Mr. "Worthington was
sent for, to draw up a new will, in which Mary Howard was
to share equally with her sister.
" Half of all I own is theirs by right," said she , " and
what I want is, that on their 21st birth-day they shall come
into possession of the portion which ought to have been
heir mother s, while at my death the remainder shall be
equally divided between them."
The will was accordingly drawn up, signed and sealed,
Mr. Worthington keeping a rough draft of it, which was
thrown among some loose papers in his office A few dayi
288 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
afterwards Henry coining accidentally upon it, read it with*
out any hesitation.
" That settles it at once," said he, " and I can t say I m
sorry, for I was getting horribly sick of her. Now I d wil
lingly marry Mary without a penny, but Ella, with only one
quarter as much as I expected, and that not until she s
twenty-one, is a different matter entirely. But what am I
to do ? I wish Moreland was here, for though he don t like
me (and I wonder who does), he wouldn t mind lending me
a few thousand. Well, there s no help for it; and the
sooner the old man breaks now, the better. It ll help me
out of a deuced mean scrape, for of course I shall be mag
nanimous, and release Ella at once from her engagement
with a ruined man"
The news that Mary was Mrs. Campbell s niece spread
rapidly, and among those who came to congratulate her, none
was more sincere than William Bender. Mary was very
dear to him, and whatever conduced to her happiness added
also to his. Together with her he had heard the rumor of
Mr. Lincoln s downfall, and while he felt sorry for the fam
ily, he could not help hoping that it would bring Jenny
nearer to him. Of this he told Mary, who hardly dared
trust herself to reply, lest she should divulge a darling se
cret, which she had cherished ever since Mrs. Campbell had
told her that, in little more than a year, she was to be the
rightful owner of a sum of money much larger than she had
ever dreamed it possible for her -to possess. Wholly unsel
fish, her thoughts instantly turned towards her adopted bro
ther. A part of that sum should be his, and with that for
a stepping stone to future wealth, Mrs. Lincoln, when poor
and destitute, could no longer refuse him her daughter.
Mrs. Campbell, to whom alone she confided her wishes, gave
her consent, though she could not understand the self-deny-
MARY S BENEVOLENT INTENTIONS. 289
ing love which prompted this act of generosity to a stran
ger.
And now Mary was very happy in thinking how much good
she could do. Mrs. Mason, her benefactress, should never
want again. Sally Furbush, the kind-hearted old crazy wo
man who had stood by her so long and so faithfully, should
share her home wherever that home might be ; while better
than all the rest, William Bender, the truest, best friend she
ever had, should be repaid for his kindness to her when a
little, unknown pauper. And still the world, knowing noth
ing of the hidden causes which made Mary s laugh so merry
and her manner so gay, said that " the prospect of being aD
heiress had turned her head, just as it always did those who
were suddenly elevated to wealth."
13
CHAPTER XXX.
THE CRISIS.
MR. LINCOLN had failed. At the corners of the streets,
groups of men stood together, talking over the matter, and
ascribing it, some to his carelessness, some to his extreme
good nature in indorsing for any one who asked, and others,
the knowing ones, winking slily as they said " they guessed
he knew what he was about, they d known before of such
things as failing rich; " but the mouths of these last were
stopped when they heard that the household furniture, every
thing, was given up for the benefit of his creditors, and was
to be sold at auction during the coming week.
In their parlors at home wives and daughters also dis
cussed the matter, always ending by accusing Mrs. Lincoln
of unwarrantable extravagance, and wondering how the
proud Rose would bear it, and suggesting that " she could
work in the factory just as her mother did ! " It was strange
how suddenly Mrs. Lincoln s most intimate friends discovered
that she had once been a poor factory girl, remembering
too that they had often noticed an air of vulgarity about
her ! Even Mrs. Campbell was astonished that she should
have been so deceived, though she pitied the daughters, " who
were really refined and lady-like, considering " and then
ghe thought of Henry, hoping that Ella would be now will
ing to give him up.
THE SORDID LOVER. 291
But with a devotion worthy of a better object, Elli re
plied, that he was dearer to her than ever. " I have not
loved him for his wealth," said she, " and I shall not for
sake him now." And then she wondered why he staid so
long away, as day after day went by, and still he came not.
It was in vain that Mary, who visited the house frequently,
told her of many things which might detain him. Ella
saw but one. He fancied she, too, would desert him, like
the cold unfeeling world. And then she begged so implor
ingly of her sister to go to him, and ask him to come, that
Mary, loth as she was to do so, finally complied. She found
him in his office, and fortunately alone. He was looking
very pale and haggard, the result of last night s debauch,
but Mary did not know of this. She only saw grief for
his misfortune, and her voice and manner were far more
cordial than usual as she bade him good afternoon.
"It is kind in you, Miss Howard, to come here," said
he, nervously pressing the hand she offered. " I knew you
would not forsake me, and I d rather have your sympathy
than that of the whole world."
Wishing to end such conversation, Mary replied, " I
came here, Mr. Lincoln, at Ella s request. Ever since your
father s failure she has waited anxiously for you "
She was prevented from saying more by Henry, who,
with a feigned bitterness of manner, exclaimed, " Ella need
not feel troubled, for I am too honorable to insist upon her
keeping an engagement, which I would to Heaven had never
been made. Tell her she is free to do as she pleases."
" You are mistaken, sir," answered Mary ; " Ella does
not wish to be free, But come with me ; I promised to
bring you."
"With an air of desperation, Henry took his hat, and
Btarted with Mary for Mrs. Campbell s. Oh, how eagerlj
292 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
Ella sprang forward to meet him, and burying her face iia
his bosom, she sobbed like a child.
" Hush, Ella, this is foolish," said he ; and then seating
her in a chair, he asked, " why he was sent for."
" I was afraid, afraid you might think I did not love
you now," answered Ella.
" I could not blame you if you did not," said Henry.
" Matters have changed since we last met, and I am not
mean enough to expect you to keep your engagement."
" But if /expect it, If / wish it ? " asked Ella, raising
her tear-wet eyes to his face.
" You are excited now," said he, " but in a few days
you ll thank me for my decision. An alliance with poverty
could be productive of nothing but unhappiness to you ;
and while I thank you for your unselfish love, I cannot ac
cept it, for I am determined that, so long as I am poor, I
shall never marry ; and the sooner you forget me, the better,
for, Ella, I am not deserving of your love."
Then, with a cold adieu, he left her ; and when, half an
hour afterwards, Mary entered the parlor, she found her sis
ter lying upon the sofa, perfectly motionless, except when a
tremor of anguish shook her slight frame, A few words
explained all, and taking her head in her lap, Mary tried to
soothe her. But Ella refused to be comforted ; and as she
seemed to prefer being alone, Mary ere long left her, and
bent her steps towards Mr. Lincoln s dwelling, which pre
sented a scene of strange confusion. The next day was the
auction, and many people of both sexes had assembled to
examine, and find fault with, the numerous articles of furni
ture, which were being removed to the auction rooms.
" Where s them silver candlesticks, and that cake-basket
that cost up ards of a hundred dollars ? " asked one fussy,
vulgar-looking old woman, peering into closets and cup
UNJUST REMARKS. 293
boards, and even lifting trunk lids in her search. " I want
some such things, and if they go for half price or less, meb-
by Israel will bid ; but I don t see eni. I ll warrant they ve
hid em.
Mary was just in time to hear this remark, and she mod"
estly replied, that Mr. Lincoln s creditors had generously
presented him with all the silver, which was now at Mr. Sel-
den s.
The woman stared impudently at her a moment, and then
said, " Now. that s what I call downright cheatin ? What
business has poor folks with so much silver. Better pay
their debts fust. That s rny creed."
Mary turned away in disgust, but not until she heard
the woman s daughter whisper, " Don t, mother, that s
Miss Howard, Mrs. Campbell s niece," to which the moth
er replied, " Wall, who cares for that ? Grlad I gin her a
good one. Upper crust ain t no better than I be."
Passing through the hall, where several other women
were examining and depreciating Mrs. Lincoln s costly car
pets, pronouncing them "half cotton," &c., Mary made her
way up stairs, where in a chamber as yet untouched, she
found Jenny, and with her William Bender. Mrs. Lincoln s
cold, scrutinizing eyes were away, and Mr. Lincoln had cor
dially welcomed William to his house, telling him of his
own accord where his daughter could be found. Many a
ifime in his life for Mary s sake had William wished that he
was rich, but never had he felt so intense a longing for
money, as he did when Jenny sat weeping at his side, and
starting at every new sound which came up from the rabble
below.
" Oh, Mary, Mary ! " she said, as the latter entered the
room, " to-morrow every thing will be sold, and I shall hava
no home. It s dreadful to be poor."
294 TUB ENGLISH ORPHANS,
Mary knew that from bitter experience, and sitting down
by her young friend, her tears flowed as freely as Jenny s
had often flowed for her, in the gray old woods near Chieo-
pee poor-house. Just then there was an unusual movement
in the yard below, and looking from the window, Jenny saw
that they were carrying the piano away.
This is worse than all," said she. " If they only knew
how dear that is to me, or how dear it will be when "
She could not finish, but Mary knew what she would say.
The piano belonged to Hose, whose name was engraved upon
its front, and when she was dead, it would from that fact bo
doubly dear to the sister. A stylish-looking carriage now
drew up before the house, from which Mrs. Campbell alight
ed, and holding up her long skirts, ascended the stairs, and
knocked at Jenny s door.
" Permeely," called out the old lady who had been dis
appointed in her search for the silver candlesticks, " wasn t
that Miss Campbell ? Wall, she s gone right into one of
them rooms where t other gal went. I shouldn t wonder if
Mr. Lincoln s best things was hid there, for they keep the
door locked."
.Accidentally Mr. Lincoln overheard this remark, and in
his heart he felt that his choicest treasure was indeed there.
His wife, from whom he naturally expected sympathy, had
met him with desponding looks and bitter words, freproach-
ing him with carelessness, and saying, as in similar circum
stances ladies too often do, that " she had foreseen it from
the first, and that had he followed her advice, twould not
have happened."
Henry, too, seemed callous and indifferent, and the fa
ther alone found comfort in Jenny s words of love and en
couragement. From the first she had stood bravely by him,
refusing to leave the house until til was over ; and many a
JENNY LEAVES HOME. 295
weary night, when the great city was hushed and still, a light
had gleamed from the apartment where, with her father, she
eat looking over his papers, and trying to ascertain as far as
possible, to what extent he was involved. It was she who
first suggested the giving up of every thing ; and when
Henry, less, upright than his noble sister, proposed the with
holding of a part, she firmly answered, " No, father don t
do it. You have lost your property, but do not lose your
self-respect."
Always cheerful, and sometimes even gay in his pres
ence, she had succeeded in imbuing him with a portion of
her own hopeful spirit, and he passed through the storm far
better than he could otherwise have done. Mrs. Campbell s
visit to the house was prompted partly from curiosity, and
partly from a desire to take away Jenny, who was quite a
favorite with her.
" Come, my dear," said she, pushing back the short,
thick curls which clustered around Jenny s forehead, " you
must go home with me. This is no place for you. Mary
will go too," she continued ; and then on an " aside " to
Mary, she added, " I want you to cheer up Ella ; she sits
alone in her room, without speaking or noticing me in any
way."
At first Jenny hesitated, but when William whispered
that she had better go ; and Mrs. Campbell, as the surest
way of bringing her to a decision, said, " Mr. Bender will
oblige me by coming to tea," she consented, and closely
veiled, passed through the crowd below, who instinctively
drew back, and ceased speaking, for wherever she was known,
Jenny was beloved. Arrived at Mrs. Campbell s, they
found Ella, as her mother had said, sitting alone in hei
room, not weeping, but gazing fixedly down the street, as if
expecting some one who did not come 1
296 TPIE ENGLISH ORPHANS
In reply to Jenny s anxious inquiries as to what was the
matter, Mary frankly told all, and then Jenny, folding her
arms around the young girl, longed to tell her how unwor
thy was the object of such lote. But Henry was her
brother, and she could not. Softly caressing Ella s cheek,
she whispered to her of brighter days which perhaps would
come. The fact that it was his sister Henry s sister
opened anew the fountain of Ella s tears, and she wept for
a long time ; but it did her good, and for the remainder of
the afternoon she seemed more cheerful, and inclined to con
verse.
The next day was the auction, and it required the per
suasion of both Mrs. Campbell and Mary to keep Jenny
from going, she knew not whither herself, but any where, to
be near and take one more look at the dear old furniture as
it passed into the hands of strangers. At last Mrs. Camp
bell promised that black Ezra, who had accompanied her
from Chicopee, should go and report faithfully all the pro
ceedings, and then Jenny consented to remain at home ;
though all the day she seemed restless and impatient, won
dering how long before Uncle Ezra would return, and then
weeping as in fancy she saw article after article disposed of
to those who would know little how to prize it.
About five o clock Uncle Ezra came home, bringing a
note from Ida, saying that the carriage would soon be round
for Mary and Jenny, both of whom must surely come, as
there was a pleasant surprise awaiting them. While Mary
was reading this, Jenny was eagerly questioning Uncle Ezra
with regard to the sale, which, he said, " went off uncommon
well," owing chiefly, he reckoned, " to a tall, and mighty
good-lookin chap, who kept bidding up and up, till he got
em about where they should be. Then he d stop for some
one else to bid."
THE PURCHASER OF THE FIDDLE." 297
: Who was he ? " asked Mary, coming forward, and join
ing Jenny.
" Dun know, Miss ; never seen him afore," said Unch
Ezra, " but he s got heaps of money, for when he paid for
the planner, he took out a roll of bills near about big as my
two fists ! "
" Then the piano is gone," said Jenny sadly, while Marj
asked how much it brought.
a Three hundred dollars was the last bid I heard from
that young feller, and somebody who was biddin agin him
said, twas more n twas wuth."
" It wasn t either," spoke up Jenny, rather spiritedly.
" It cost five hundred, and it s never been hurt a bit."
" Mr. Bender bought that little fiddle of your n," contin
ued Uncle Ezra, with a peculiar wink, which brought the
color to Jenny s cheeks ; while Mary exclaimed, "Oh, I m so
glad you can have your guitar again."
Here the conversation was interrupted by the arrival of
the carriage, which came for the young ladies, who were
soon on their way to Mr. Selden s, Mary wondering what the
surprise was, and Jenny hoping William would call in the
evening. At the door they met Ida, who was unusually
merry, almost too much so for the occasion, it seemed to
Mary, as she glanced at Jenny s pale, dispirited face. Aunt
Martha, too, who chanced to cross the hall, shook Mary s
hand as warmly as if she had not seen her for a year, and
then with her broad, white cap-strings flying back, she re
paired to the kitchen to give orders concerning the supper.
Mary did not notice it then, but she afterwards remem-
Dercd. that Ida seemed quite ansious about her appearance,
for following her to her room, she said, " You look tired j
Mary. Sit down and rest you awhile. Here, take my vin
aigrette, that will revive you." Then as Mary was ar
13*
298 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
ranging her hair, she said, " Just puff out this side a little,
more; there, that s right. Now turn round, I want to
see how you look."
" Well, how do I ? " asked Mary, facing about as Ida
directed.
" I guess you ll do," returned Ida. " I believe Henry
Lincoln was right, when he said that this blue merino, and
linen collar, was the most becoming dress you could wear :
but you look well in every thing, you have so fine a form."
"Don t believe all her flattery," said Jenny, laughingly
" She s only comparing your tall, slender figure with little
dumpy me ; but I m growing thin, see," and she lapped her
dress two or three inches in front.
" Come, now let s go down," said Ida, " and I ll intro
duce you, to Jenny s surprise, first."
With Ida leading the way, they entered the music
room, where in one corner stood Rose s piano, open, and ap
parently inviting Jenny to its side. With a joyful cry, she
sprang foward, exclaiming, " Oh, how kind in your father ; I
most know we can redeem it some time. I ll teach school,
any thing to get it again."
" Don t thank father too much," answered Ida, " for he
has nothing to do with it, except giving it house room, and
one quarter s teaching will pay that bill ! "
" Who did buy it, then ? " asked Jenny ; and Ida replied,
K Can t tell you just yet. I must have some music first.
Come, Mary, you like to play. Give me my favorite, * Rosa
Lee, with variations."
Mary was passionately fond of music, and, for the time
she had taken lessons, played uncommonly well. Seating
herself at the piano, she became oblivious to all else around
her, and when a tall figure for a moment darkened the door
Way, while Jenny uttered a suppressed exclamation of sur
THE SURPRISE. 299
prise, she paid no heed ; nor did she become conscious of a
third person s presence until the group advanced towards
her, Ida and Jenny leaning upon the piano, and the other,
standing at her right, a little in the rear. Thinking, if she
thought at all, that it was William Bender, Mary played on
until the piece was finished, and then, observing that her
companions had left the room, she turned and met the dark,
handsome eyes, not of William Bender, but of one who,
with a peculiar smile, offered her his hand, saying, * I be
lieve I need no introduction to Miss Howard, except a slight
change in the name, which instead of being Stuart is More-
land ! "
Mary never knew what she said or did. She only re
membered a dizzy sensation in her head, a strong arm passed
round her, and a voice which fully aroused her as it called
her " Mary," and asked if she were faint. Just then Ida
entered the room, announcing tea, and asking her if she
found " Mr. Stuart " much changed ? At the tea-table Mary
sat opposite George, and every time she raised her eyes, she
met his fixed upon her, with an expression so like that of
the picture in the golden locket which she still wore, that
she wondered she had not before recognized George More-
land in the Mr. Stuart who had so puzzled and mystified
her. After supper she had an opportunity of seeing why
George was so much beloved at home. Possessing rare
powers of conversation, he seemed to know exactly what to
say, and when to say it, and with a kind word and pleasant
smile for all, he generally managed to make himself a favor
ite, notwithstanding his propensity to tease, which would
occasionally show itself in some way or other. During the
evening William Bender called, and soon after Henry Lin
coln also came in, frowning gloomily when he saw how neai
to each other were William and his sister, while he jealous
300 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
ly watched them, still keeping an eye upon George and
Mary, the latter of whom remembered her young sister, and
treated him with unusual coldness. At last, complaining of
feeling Hue. he asked Ida to play, at the same time saun
tering towards the music room, where stood his sister s
piano. " Upon my word," said he, " this looks natural. Who
bought it ? " and he drummed a few notes of a song.,
" Mr. Moreland bought it. Wasn t he kind ? " said Jenny,
who all the evening had been trying for a chance to thank
George, but now when she attempted to do so he prevented her
by saying, " Oh don t don t I can imagine all you wish to say,
and I hate to be thanked. Rose and I are particular friends,
and it afforded me a great deal of pleasure to purchase it
for her but," he added, glancing at his watch, " I must be
excused now, as I promised to call upon my ward."
" Who s that? " asked Jenny, and George replied that it
was a Miss Herndon, who had accompanied him from New
Orleans to visit her aunt, Mrs. Russell.
" He says she s an heiress, and very beautiful," rejoined
Ida, seating herself at the piano.
Instantly catching at the words " heiress" and " beauti
ful," Henry started up, asking " if it would be against all
the rules of propriety for him to call upon her thus early."
u I think it would," was George s brief answer, while
Mary s eyes flashed scornfully upon the young man, who,
rather crestfallen, announced himself ready to listen to Ida,
whom he secretly styled " an old maid," because since his
first remembrance she had treated him with perfect indiffer
ence.
That night before retiring the three girls sat down by
the cheerful fire in Mary s room to talk over the events of
the day, when Mary suddenly asked Ida to tell her truly, if
it were not George who had paid her bills at Mount Holyoke
HAPPY MOMENTS. 301
" What bills ? " said Jenny, to whom the idea was new,
while Ida replied, " And suppose it was ? "
" I am sorry," answered Mary, laying her head upon the
table.
What a silly girl," said Ida. " He was perfectly able,
and more than willing, so why do you care ? "
" I do not like being so much indebted to any one," was
Mary s reply, and yet in her secret heart there was a strange
feeling of pleasure in the idea that George had thus cared
for her, for would he have done so, if She dared not
finish that question even to herself. dared not ask if she
hoped that George Moreland loved her one half as well as
she began to think she had always loved him. Why should
he, with his handsome person and princely fortune, love one so
unworthy, and so much beneath him ? And then, for the first
time, she thought of her changed position since last they
met. Then she was a poor, obscure schoolmistress, now,
flattered, caressed, and an heiress. Years before, when a lit
tle pauper at Chicopee, she had felt unwilling that George
should know how destitute she was, and now in the time of
her prosperity she was equally desirous that he should, for
a time at least, remain ignorant of her present condition.
" Ida," said she, lifting her head from the table, " does
George know that I am Mrs. Campbell s niece ? "
" No," answered Ida, " I wanted to tell him, but Aunt
Martha said I d better not."
" Don t then," returned Mary, and resuming her former
position she fell into a deep reverie, from which she was at
last aroused, by Jenny s asking " if she intended to sit up
all night?"
The news that George Moreland had returned, and
bought Rose Lincoln s piano, besides several other articles,
spread rapidly, and the day following his arrival Mary and
302 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
Ida were stopped in the street by a group of their compan
ions, who were eager to know how George bore the news
that his betrothed was so ill, and if it was not that which had
brought him home so soon, and then the conversation turned
upon Miss Herndon, the New Orleans lady who had that
morning appeared in the street; " And don t you think," said
one of the girls, " that Henry Lincoln was dancing attend
ance upon her ? If I were you," turning to Mary, " I d
caution my sister to be a little wary of him. But let me
see, their marriage is to take place soon ? "
Mary replied that the marriage was postponed indefinite
ly, whereupon the girls exchanged meaning glances and
passed on. In less than twenty-four hours, half of Ella s
acquaintances were talking of liter discarding Henry on ac
count of his father s failure, and saying " that they expected
it, twas like her."
Erelong the report, in the shape of a condolence, reached
Henry, who caring but little what reason was assigned
for the broken engagement, so that he got well out of it, as
sumed a much injured air, but said " he reckoned he should
manage to survive ; " then pulling his sharp-pointed collar
up another story, and brushing his pet mustache, wherein
lay most of his mind, he walked up street, and ringing at
Mrs. Russell s door, asked for Miss Herndon, who, vain as
beautiful, suffered his attentions, not because she liked him
in the least, but because she was fond of flattery, and there
was something exceedingly gatifying in the fact that at the
North, where she fancied the gentlemen to be icicles, she
had so soon made a conquest. It mattered riot that Mrs.
Russell told her his vows were plighted to another. She
cared nothing for that. Her life had been one long series
of conquests, until now at twenty-five there was not in the
THE FAITHLESS LOVER. 303
whole world a more finished or heartless coquette than Evren
Herndon.
Days passed on, and at last rumors reached Ella, that
Henry was constant in his attendance upon the proud south
ern beauty, whose fortune was valued by hundreds of thou
sands. At first she refused to believe it, but when Mary
and Jenny both assured her it was true, and when she her
self had ocular demonstration of the fact, " she gave way to
one long fit of weeping; and then, drying her eyes, declared
that Henry Lincoln should see " that she would not die for
him."
Still a minute observer could easily have seen that her
gayety was feigned, for she had loved Henry Lincoln as
sincerely as she was capable of loving, and not even George
Moreland, who treated her with his old boyish familiarity,
could make her for a moment forget one who DOW passed
her coldly by, or listened passively while the sarcastic Ev
ren Herndon likened her to a waxen image, fit only for a
glars case !
CHAPTER xxxi.
A. QUESTION
TOWARDS the last of April, Mrs. Mason and Mary returned
to their old home in the country. On Ella s account, Mrs.
Campbell had decided to remain in the city during a part of
the summer, and she labored hard to keep Mary also, offer
ing as a last inducement to give Mrs. Mason a home too.
But Mrs. Mason preferred her own house in Chicopee, and
thither Mary accompanied her, promising, however, to spend
the next winter with her aunt, who wept at parting with her
more than she would probably have done had it been Ella.
Mary had partially engaged to teach the school in Rice
Corner, but George, assuming a kind of authority over her,
declared she should not.
" I don t want your eyes to grow dim and your cheeks
pale, in that little pent-up room," said he. " You know
I ve been there and seen for myself."
Mary colored, for George s manner of late had puzzled
her, and Jenny had more than once whispered in her ear
" I know George loves you, for he looks at you just as
William does at me, only a little more so ! "
Ida, too, had once mischievously addressed her as
" Cousin," adding that there was no one among her ac
quaintances whom she would as willingly call by that name
" When I was a little girl," said she, " they used to tease
me about George, but I d as soon think of marrying my
brother. You never saw Mr. Elwood, George s classmate,
A VISIT TO CHICOl EE. 305
for he s in Europe now. Between you and me, I like him,
and
A loud call from Aunt Martha prevented Ida from fin
ishing, and the conversation was not again resumed. The
next morning Mary was to leave, and as she stood in th
parlor talking with Ida, George came in with a travelling
satchel in his hand, and a shawl thrown carelessly over his
arm.
. " Where are you going ? " asked Ida.
" To Springfield. I have business there," said George.
"And when will you return?" continued Ida, feeling
that it would be doubly lonely at home.
" That depends on circumstances," said he. " I shall
stop at Chicopee on my way back, provided Mary is will-
ing."
Mary answered that she was always glad to see her
friends, and as the carriage just then drove up, they started
together for the depot. Mary never remembered of having
had a more pleasant ride than that from Boston to Chicopee
George was a most agreeable companion, and with him at
her side she seemed to discover new beauties in every object
which they passed, and felt rather sorry when the winding
river, and the blue waters of Pordunk Pond warned her that
Chicopee Station was near at hand.
" I shall see you next week," said George, as he handed
her from the cars, which the next moment rolled over the
long meadow, and disappeared through the deep cut in the
sandy hillside.
For a week or more Judith had been at Mrs. Mason s
house, putting things to rights, and when the travellers
arrived they found every thing in order. A cheerful fire wag
blazing in the little parlor, and before it stood the tea-table
nicely arranged, while two beautiful Malta kittens, which
306 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
during the winter had been Judith s special care, lay upon
the hearth-rug asleep, with their soft velvet paws locked lov
ingly around each other s neck.
" Oh, how pleasant to be at home once more, and alone,"
said Mrs. -Mason, but Mary did not reply. Her thoughts
were elsewhere, and much as she liked being alone, the pres
ence of a certain individual would not probably have marred
her happiness to any great extent. But lie was coming
soon, and with that in anticipation, she appeared cheerful
and gay as usual.
Among the first to call upon them was Mrs. Perkins,
who came early in the morning, bringing her knitting work
and staying all day. She had taken to dressmaking, she
said, and thought maybe she could get some new ideas from
Mary s dresses, which she very coolly asked to see. "With
the utmost good humor, Mary opened her entire wardrobe to
the inspection of the widow, who, having recently forsaken
the Unitarian faith, and gone over to the new Methodist
church in River street, turned conscientiously away from the
gay party dresses, wondering how sensible people, to say
nothing of Christian people, could find pleasure in such
vanities !
" But then," said she, " I hear you ve joined the Epis-
copals, and that accounts for it, for they allow of most any
thing, and in my opinion ain t a whit better than the Catho
lics."
" Why, we are Catholic. Ain t you ? " asked Mary.
The knitting work dropped, and with a short ejaculatory
prayer of " Good Lord," Mrs. Perkins exclaimed, " Well ;
I m glad you ve owned up. Half on em deny it, but
there tis in black and white in the Prayer Book, * I believe
in the Holy Catholic Church. "
It was in vain that Mary referred her to the Dictionary
307
for a definition of the word " Catholic." " She knew all she
wanted to know, and she shouldn t wonder, bein twas Fri
day, if Miss Mason didn t have no meat for dinner."
The appearance of a nicely roasted bit of veal quieted
her fears on that subject, and as the effects of the strong
green tea became apparent, she said, " like enough she d
been too hard on the Episcopals, for to tell the truth, she
never felt so solemn in her life as she did the time she went
to one of their meetins ; but," she added, " I do object to
them two gowns, and I can t help it ! "
At last the day was over, and with it the visit of the
widow, who had gathered enough gossiping materials to last
her until the Monday following, when the arrival in the
neighborhood of George Moreland, threw her upon a fresh
theme, causing her to wonder " if twan t Mary s beau, and
if he hadn t been kinder courtin her ever since the time he
visited her school."
She felt sure of it when, towards evening, she saw them
enter the school-house, and nothing but the presence of a
visitor prevented her from stealing across the road, and lis
tening under the window. She would undoubtedly have
been highly edified, could she have heard their conversation.
The interest which George had felt in Mary when a little
child, was greatly increased when he visited her school in
Kice Corner, and saw how much she was improved in her
manners and appearance ; and it was then that he conceived
the idea of educating her, determining to marry her if she
proved to be all he hoped she would.
That she did meet his expectations, was evident from the
fact that his object in stopping at Chicopee, was to settle a
question which she alone could decide. He had asked her
to accompany him to the school-house, because it was there
his resolution had been formed, and it was there he would
308 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
make it known. Mary, too, had something which she wished
to say to him. She would thank him for his kindness to her,
and her parents memory ; but the moment she commenced
talking upon the subject, George stopped her, and for the
first time since they were children, placed his arm around
her waist, and kissing her smooth white brow, said, " Shall
I tell you, Mary, how you can repay it ? "
She did not reply, and he continued, " Give me a hus
band s right to care for you, and I shall be repaid a thou
sand fold."
Whatever Mary s answer might have been, and indeed we
are not sure that she answered at all, George was satisfied ;
and when he told her how dear she was to him, how long he
had loved her, and asked if he might not hope that he, too,
had been remembered, the little golden locket which she
placed in his hand was a sufficient reply. Without Ida s aid
he had heard of the relationship existing between Mrs.
Campbell and Mary, but it made no difference with him.
His mind had long been made up, and in taking Mary for
his wife, he felt that he was receiving the best of Heaven s
blessings.
Until the shadows of evening fell around them they sat
there, talking of the future, which George said should be all
one bright dream of happiness to the young girl at his side,
who from the very fulness of her joy wept as she thought
how strange it was that she should be the wife of George
Moreland, whom many a dashing belle had tried in vain to
win. The next morning George went back to Boston, prom
ising to return in a week or two, when he should expect
Mary to accompany him to Glenwood, as he wfihd to see
Eose once more before she died.
CHAPTER XXXII.
GOING HOME.
THE windows of Rose Lincoln s chamber were open, and th<
balmy air of May came in, kissing the white brow of the
sick girl, and whispering to her of swelling buds and fair
young blossoms, which its breath had wakened into life, and
which she would never see.
" Has Henry come ? " she asked of her father, and in
the tones of her voice there was an unusual gentleness, for
just as she was dying Rose was learning to live.
For a time she had seemed so indifferent and obstinate,
that Mrs. Howland had almost despaired. But night after
night, when her daughter thought she slept, she prayed for
the young girl, that she might not die until she had first
learned the way of eternal life. And, as if in answer to her
prayers, Rose gradually began to listen, and as she listened,
she wept, wondering though why her grandmother thought
her so much more wicked than any one else. Again, in a
sudden burst of passion, she would send her from the room,
saying, " she had heard preaching enough, for she wasn t
going to die, she wouldn t die any way."
But at last such feelings passed away, and as the sun of
her short life was setting, the sun of righteousness shone
more and more brightly over her pathway, lighting her
through the dark valley of death. She no longer asked to
310 THE ENGLISH ORPHANS.
be taken home, for she knew that could not be, but she won
dered why her brother stayed so long from Glenwood, when
he knew that she was dying.
On her return from the city, Jenny had told her as gen
tly as possible of his conduct towards Ella, and of her fears
that he was becoming more dissipated than ever. -For a
time Rose lay perfectly still, and Jenny, thinking she was
asleep, was about to leave the room, when her sister called
her back, and bidding her sit down by her side, said, " Tell
me, Jenny, do you think Henry has any love for me ? "
" He would be an unnatural brother if he had not," an
swered Jenny, her own heart yearning more tenderly towards
her sister, whose gentle manner she could not understand.
" Then," resumed Rose, " if lie loves me, he will be. sor
ry when I am dead, and perhaps it may save him from ruin."
The tears dropped slowly from her long eyelashes, while
Jenny, laying her round rosy cheek against the thin pale
face near her, sobbed out, " You must not die, dear Rose
You must not die, and leave us."
From that time the failure was visible and rapid, and
though letters went frequently to Henry, telling him of his
sister s danger, he still lingered by the side of the brilliant
beauty, while each morning Rose asked, " Will he come to
day ?" and each night she wept t 
