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HOLLOWMELL:
OR,
A SCHOOLGIRL'S MISSION.
BY
E. R. Burden.
GLASGOW:
JOHN S. MARR & SONS,
51 DUNDAS STREET.
1881.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER PAGE
I. MINNIE'S PLAN 5
II. ITS DEVELOPMENT 19
III. PREPARATIONS 29
IV. THE FIRST ESSAY 44
V. AT THE ELEVENTH HOUR 54
VI. A DISPUTE SETTLED 78
VII. MONA'S DEFEAT 94
VIII. A SUCCESS 115
IX. THE END 121
[Illustration]
HOLLOWMELL: OR, A SCHOOLGIRL'S MISSION.
CHAPTER I.
MINNIE'S PLAN.
"Why, wherever _can_ my books be?" exclaimed Minnie Kimberley in a vexed
tone, as she hunted up and down the schoolroom, opening now one
cupboard, then another, now a desk, and again diving down to peer under
some out-of-the-way table or form; for places which one would think the
most unlikely, were certain to be the places where Minnie's books would
at length be discovered.
"I can't make it out," she continued, her bright face clouded over with
vexation, "somehow or other my books always _do_ manage to get lost."
"Perhaps if you could manage to put them back in your desk when you had
done with them, instead of leaving them lying just wherever you happen
to be, they might manage to stay there," suggested Mona Cameron, a tall
young lady, who sat near the window sewing, and who had more than once
been disturbed by Minnie's voyage of discovery.
"Oh, I've found two of them!" cried Minnie, emerging from beneath a
distant table, her hands black with dust, and herself nothing abashed by
Mona's rather sarcastic speech. "I wonder, now, whether I shall be able
to hunt up the others before Mab finishes her music!"
"O, Mabel Chartres is away," volunteered one of the other girls, "I
heard her come down fully ten minutes ago."
"That can't be," replied Minnie, "she must have come in here for her
things before she went away."
"Not at all, seeing she carried them up to the music-room with her that
she might save time; I heard her say she wanted away soon."
Minnie flew to the corner where Mabel's hat and jacket usually hung, and
sure enough both were gone. She sat down for a minute ready to cry with
disappointment, but recovering herself immediately, she choked back the
tears, and proceeded with the search for her books, though in a rather
more subdued manner, and with a great deal less bustle and
talkativeness. At length they were all collected from their various
hiding-places, and Minnie was ready to depart, but she seemed in no
hurry to go. She stood leaning against the desk, with a rather
irresolute look on her face, as if trying to make up her mind to
something. More than once she moved as if to go, but something seemed to
arrest her step.
At last she turned to where Mona Cameron still sat at work, and said in
a clear voice which could be distinctly heard by all the girls in the
room, "I _will_ try, Mona, to take your advice about putting my books
back in my desk; I know I'm horribly careless, and I thank you for
reminding me how I can mend it if I try."
All the girls looked up amazed--Mona herself as amazed as any and also a
little confused--but Minnie did not wait to see what effect her words
would produce, she walked straight out after she had spoken, and was not
a little astonished, and perhaps a little perturbed, to find Miss Elgin,
the English governess, in the dressing-room where she could not choose
but hear what had passed. Her face flushed, and she tried to hurry out
without attracting her notice, but Miss Elgin stopped her as she passed
the desk at which she sat, and drawing the bright face down to the level
of her own, kissed her on the forehead with a whispered "That was
bravely spoken, Minnie," and let her go.
Minnie rushed out into the cool air with a flushed and happy face, and
her heart beating high with the joy of victory, and the gratification of
knowing that her effort was appreciated. She ran home without once
thinking of her disappointment in missing Mabel, but she did not forget
to seek her own room the first thing when she got in, and pour out her
thanksgiving for her recent triumph--even although she did find herself
stopping more than once in the midst of it to go over again in her own
mind the scene in the dressing-room afterward. After dinner she was
occupied with her lessons, and she found it just a little difficult to
settle down to them after the excitement of the afternoon.
She was a girl of a very warm and impulsive temperament, and little
things were apt to upset her in a way that many people would
characterize as absurd, but which was, so far from being absurd, simply
natural and unavoidable in an emotional nature such as hers. It was not,
therefore, through one cause and another, till she was in bed that she
recollected how she had wished to speak to Mabel so particularly, and
what it was she had to speak about. She felt just a little ashamed of
herself for allowing what had, only that morning, seemed to her a thing
of the first importance, to be crushed out, and for the moment
annihilated, by the occurrence of the afternoon. However, she decided to
make up for it on the morrow, and satisfied with this resolve, she fell
fast asleep.
Next morning, true to her resolution, she was early at the school so as
to be able to see Mabel Chartres, her most particular friend and
constant companion, before the day's work began. Mabel was a little
late, so Minnie could only whisper to her to wait when school was over,
and then they were called to their different places, for Minnie, though
younger by almost a year than Mabel, occupied an advanced position in
the first class, while Mabel was only in the second, and even there was
not of much account. Minnie, indeed in most things divided the laurels
of the school with Mona Cameron who was the oldest pupil, and the
emulation of the two kept the school in a perpetual state of
effervescence; Mona being sharp, and at times rather acrid, and Minnie
bright and sparkling and excitable, the contact of the two natures was
more than calculated to produce such a result. But on this particular
day it seemed as if some of the ingredients were wanting, for the
morning and afternoon passed, to the astonishment of all, without a
single "phiz" as the girls were wont somewhat felicitously to call the
frequent passages of arms in which the two girls considered it their
peculiar privilege to indulge.
Mona had slightly sneered at what she termed Minnie's latest "crank," on
the preceding evening, but she had been a good deal impressed by the
courage and simplicity of Minnie's conduct, and in reality admired it,
while she felt she could never emulate it. She was honest with herself
whatever she might be with others, and felt in a vague sort of way that
she might be doing a thing almost as admirable, if not as likely to
excite admiration, if she could even only for one day keep her sharp
tongue under control, and refrain from such exercises of the vein of
sarcasm which was her peculiar characteristic, as at other times she
held it almost necessary to perform. Thus it was that the school was
particularly quiet that day, for Minnie was also in a subdued mood, and
so when school was over and she was at liberty to walk off with Mabel,
she felt just in the frame of mind for the discussion to which she had
been looking forward all day.
She felt, however, that she could not proceed with it at present, on the
way home where they would be liable to interruption at almost every
turn, so she persuaded Mabel to come home with her. This was no very
difficult matter, any more than it was an infrequent occurrence, for
Minnie and Mabel were never very long separate, and having had to leave
without her friend on the previous evening, had been as much a
disappointment to Mabel as it had been to Minnie.
It was a remarkable feature in the friendship which existed between
them, that it was, and always had been free from that species of quarrel
called "huffs." In the case of nine girls' friendships out of ten, the
fact of one going off in the way Mabel had done, without an explanation
afterwards or an intimation before hand, would have formed a very strong
foundation whereon to raise a structure of evidence to prove that
something was amiss, which few girls could have resisted. But no such
idea entered Minnie's head. She simply concluded that something very
pressing had compelled Mabel to leave earlier than usual, and trusted
her too completely to connect it in any way with herself.
After dinner they proceeded with their lessons, which seemed to be got
over in a much shorter time when the two worked together, than when they
each worked separately, so that they were soon free to settle down
before the fire in Minnie's room, and begin the subject which had been
on Minnie's mind for almost four days now.
"Well, Minnie, what is it?" asked Mabel at last, for Minnie seemed to be
at a loss how to begin, now that the time had come. She walked over and
sat down on the rug, leaning her head on Mabel's knee, and began, "you
know, Mab, dear, that it isn't very long since I found out that there
was anything better in life than laughing and dancing and enjoying one's
self in the way the world calls enjoyment. I told you all about it
before, how Mr. Laurence told me about the happiness of being a
Christian, and living for something beside my own pleasure, and how
since that I have felt that great happiness myself. I can't talk very
much about it, because it is so new--and so--I can't find a word for it,
but I think you'll know what I mean--that I don't quite understand it
myself, but I feel it all the same, and it has made me another creature.
I don't think anybody would believe that who only sees the outside of
me, but it is quite true; I have different thoughts and feelings and
wishes about everything, and feel altogether as if I had newly awakened
and could never go to sleep again."
Minnie had rattled on in her usual impulsive fashion, and now pulled up
suddenly, for Mabel's arm tightened round her arm with a convulsive
clasp, and her head dropped on her shoulder in a perfect agony of
weeping.
Minnie felt a good deal of surprise as well as alarm at this sudden
outburst, for she had never seen Mabel so much overcome before, and just
now it seemed so altogether unaccountable; she concluded, however, that
it would be useless to attempt any solution of the mystery until the
storm had somewhat spent itself; she did not, therefore, trouble her
with any questions or attempts at consolation, but allowed her to cry on
unrestrainedly, only changing her position, that she might the better
render her all the support in her power, and convey to her by every
means but that of speech her sympathy and concern. At length her sobs
began to be less convulsive, and her tears to come less freely, and
soon she was able to speak and assure her friend that she need not be
under any apprehension concerning her, and that she would soon be able
to tell her the cause of her grief.
Minnie waited with great patience for some minutes before she would
allow Mabel to speak again, and then, Mabel protesting that it was all
over, and that she was quite calm again, began with brimming eyes,
notwithstanding her protest. "It must have been the narration of your
happiness that caused me to lose control of myself, I felt the contrast
between it and my own state of mind so keenly, that I was quite
overcome--Oh, Minnie, I would give every drop of mere earthly happiness
to feel for one hour, what you have described!"
Minnie looked at her in astonishment. "Why, Mabel, of course you never
needed to feel such a thing--you have known about these things all your
life!"
"Ah, yes!" replied Mabel, "I have known _about_ them, as you say, but I
have never _known_ them. You know one may know all about a thing or
person, and yet never know it or him by direct experience."
"That is true," said Minnie, reflectively. "But why did you always try
to interest me in them, when you really felt no good effect from them
yourself?"
"Please don't ask me that!" entreated Mabel, "It would be worse than
useless for me to try to explain it, but it is a fact that I have never
known such a change as you talk about--as what we call conversion must
surely imply--so I have never been converted, and that is the reason, I
suppose, why all my efforts to interest you were always vain. How could
I hope to lead you to a Saviour I could not see myself?"
Minnie was silent. She could not understand Mabel's difficulty, and
therefore did not feel able to discuss it. She could not say anything to
comfort or console her either, from her own short experience, because
she felt, notwithstanding all that she had just heard, that Mabel was
years and years before her on the road--further by a long way than all
the years of her life. She felt this but could not say it; it seemed to
hover through her mind like a shadow, and she could not grasp it in
order to put it into words.
Mabel saw how puzzled she was, and realized how dangerous it might be to
her peace to communicate difficulties of such a nature in her present
impressionable state; she therefore endeavoured to divert her mind into
a safer channel by getting her to talk about herself.
"It is very silly of me," she said, "to speak thus to you who have so
newly begun the race. What should you know of such things? Come, we
won't talk about them, and I daresay I shall grow out of such morbid
notions in time; tell me about yourself, I am sure it will do me good;
you were telling me about how different you felt. Please do go on."
"But are you sure it won't affect you as it did before? I would like to
tell you about it because of what it has led me to do, and because I
would like you to feel as I do, if, as you say, you have never felt it."
And Minnie looked at her with great tears in her eyes, and with a great
pity in her warm generous heart, wishing she could give half her
happiness to her friend.
"Go on, dear," said Mabel, "you don't know how much good it will do me."
"Well, but I must tell you, Mabel, that although I am very happy, it
sometimes troubles me to think how little I am changed outwardly, and
how nobody but yourself would believe anything of all I have told you. I
am sure Mona Cameron wouldn't"--she stopped suddenly, half inclined to
interrupt herself in order to retail to Mabel the incident of the
previous day, but thinking better of it, she resumed--"It does trouble
me more than a little, sometimes, but I'm not going to lot it. I know
about the difference, and you know about it, and better than all, God
who wrought it knows about it, so what can it matter whether the world
knows about it or not?"
"But, Minnie," interrupted Mabel, "I don't see that you are quite right
there; it must be of consequence that we show to the world what side we
are on."--"O, yes, of course," replied Minnie hastily, "I was just
coming to that--I meant the school-girls particularly when I said the
world just now, because I know it will take a long time to convince them
of the reality of this--indeed I am inclined to think they won't be
convinced, it won't suit their ideas--but there, I am again! judging
them just in the very way I am condemning them for judging me. Oh, dear,
what a long time it will take before I get out of my old way of speaking
without thought, for which my new way of thinking rebukes me a thousand
times a day!"
"Patience, dear," recommended Mabel, knowing well what a hard
recommendation it was to follow, but feeling she must say something.
"Yes, Mabel," returned Minnie, "I _am_ learning patience--even I, who
never knew what restraint meant all my life, am learning what true
freedom is for the first time."
Mabel looked down at her wistfully, as if half inclined to say
something, but remembering her danger she remained silent.
"And that just reminds me," continued Minnie, after a moment's pause,
"that I have not yet told you the new idea I have been so longing to
have your opinion upon, since ever it came into my head."
"Well, you must make haste," Mabel answered, "you see its quite late
already.
"O, it won't take long! I'll just tell you about it, and we can go into
it some other time, its only a project, you know, and of course I wanted
to have your opinion and advice first, and your help afterwards."
"All of which you may count on," said Mabel smiling.
"Well, then, I must ask you in the first place, if you know the row of
houses down beside the pit which papa built for the miners?"
"Yes, I pass it every day coming to school."
"Then you will probably have noticed how ill-kept and dirty the houses
are, and how untidy the women and children are, who continually lounge
and romp about the doors."
"Indeed I have," returned Mabel, "and I have often thought what a pity
it was that those houses which might be made so beautiful, should be
kept in such a state."
"That is just what papa was saying the other morning at breakfast. He
said that he had had the houses built on the most approved principles,
with every sort of convenience and facility for the promotion of health
and order, and yet when he took a party of gentleman down to the pit
last week, he was utterly ashamed to observe the squalor and misery of
the place. He said that some of the worst slums of London could hardly
be worse, except in the matter of light and air, and even these the
people seemed to be doing their best to exclude, judging from the dust
covered and tightly closed windows. It just occurred to me while he was
speaking that perhaps I might be able to do something to remedy this
terrible state of affairs. I am sure papa would be glad to do anything
to help us. I have not said anything to him about it till I should hear
your verdict, and because I haven't the least shadow of an idea what
plan would be best to go upon. What do you think of it?"
"I think it will be a very difficult matter, and will require a great
deal of consideration," replied Mabel thoughtfully.
"But you don't think it impossible or impracticable?" inquired Minnie,
anxiously.
"Impossible?--no," replied she, "But do you think our hands will be
strong enough, and our hearts stout enough for such an undertaking. It
is not a thing we may take up to amuse ourselves with for a moment, and
throw down when we are tired of it."
"O, there's no fear of _you_ doing that with anything, and as for me, I
must strike while the iron is hot. You know how new impressions wear off
with me, and if I don't get into some work of this kind at once, I am
afraid I'll get cool. I don't mean that I fear going back to where I
was, but I am not like you, I haven't lived in it all my life, and I
need something to keep up my interest. It's so with me in everything
else, and I am sure it won't be different in this case, because of
course my nature won't change, although my heart has. But that is not
all; during these few weeks I have been living just in a sort of
trance--that is, every moment I've been alone, content to dream all the
time of how good God had been to me, but just the night before papa
spoke about those people, it suddenly occurred to me that I must do
something to help others, to find out how good He would be to them if
they would only let Him. It seemed dreadfully selfish to sit still and
drink in that wonderful happiness, without offering some of it to others
when there are thousands dying for a drop of it. So when papa spoke
about the miners down at Hollowmell, it struck me that here was work
just ready for me."
She stopped, a little out of breath, and waited to hear what Mabel would
say.
"Well, it does seem," said Mabel, beginning at the same time to put on
her jacket and hat, "It does seem as if it was intended you should take
this in hand; but don't let us do anything rashly. Let us think it over
carefully for a week, and if we come to the conclusion that it would
not be too much for us, let us begin operations then."
"O, Mab!" cried Minnie in dismay, "How calmly you talk of putting it
off. Why, my hands are just aching to get to work, and then, what's the
use of considering whether or not it will be too much for us; no amount
of consideration will convince us as one attempt will, and of what use
is our faith if we cannot make a practical use of it?"
"Perhaps I am over cautious," Mabel admitted, "but let us take at least
till Saturday to make up our minds as to the best way of going to work,
as you have already confessed you have not yet thought of a plan."
"Very well," agreed Minnie, kissing Mabel warmly as she bade her
good-night, "Not a word more till Saturday, when we shall have time
enough to give the subject the attention it requires. Good-night."
"Good-night," returned Mabel, as she ran lightly down the steps, and was
soon lost in the gathering darkness.