MARTHA GREY IS SURPRISED.
Lewis Rand submitted to what was inevitable, and, as Mr. Sharp
predicted, interposed no obstacles in the way of a division of the
property. He chose to retain in his own share the house and furniture of
the late Mr. Rand, foreseeing that the house would rise annually in
value. The remainder of the property consisted partly of real estate,
but mainly of stocks and bonds. This rendered the division easy. At the
end of ten days, Mr. Sharp was in a situation to deliver to his client
the title to three houses situated in different parts of the city, and a
quarter of a million in bank and railway shares.
Until matters were concluded, Helen desired that the fact of their good
fortune should be kept strictly private. Neither Martha nor Herbert
suspected that their humble neighbors had fallen heirs to a princely
fortune.
One of the three houses referred to was situated in Twenty-second
Street. It was nearly new, and thoroughly furnished. Fortunately, it had
just been vacated by a family on the point of visiting Europe for a
series of years. By Mr. Sharp’s advice, negotiations for the purchase of
the furniture were entered into and satisfactorily completed. To this
house Helen and her father proposed to remove.
Thanks to Helen’s good care, and the rest which she so much needed,
Martha Grey had quite recovered from the attack brought on by excessive
labor. She was anxious to resume work, but Helen had succeeded in
putting her off.
“I shall certainly begin to-morrow,” said Martha, one evening. “I cannot
consent longer to remain a burden upon you.”
“But if I were rich,” said Helen, with a smile.
“That would be different.”
“Well, Martha, I may become rich some day.”
“I hope you will, my dear child.”
“But you don’t expect it. Yet stranger things have happened. Now,
Martha, I have a promise to exact of you. When I am rich, will you come
and live with me?”
Martha smiled.
“Yes, Helen, _when_ you are rich, I will come and live with you.”
“Mind you don’t forget your promise. I may remind you of it some day.”
“Poor child!” thought Martha. “She means, when her father has completed
his invention. I am afraid it will be a long time before that will bring
her a fortune.”
The next morning, Martha was sitting in her little rocking-chair, busy
at her sewing, when Helen came in with a smile.
“Put down that sewing directly, Martha,” she said. “I have another plan
for to-day.”
“But, my dear child, I must disobey you this time. It is quite time that
I was again at work.”
“You can put off your sewing for a couple of hours. Mr. Sharp has been
kind enough to invite you and papa and myself to take a ride.”
“He is very kind,” said Martha. “I don’t know why he should think of
me.”
“Perhaps he thought it would do you good. He knew you had been sick.”
“But I have nothing fit to wear.”
“Am I very richly dressed?”
“No, but——”
“No objections, Martha. Get your bonnet and shawl directly.”
It was a beautiful morning,—an Indian summer day,—the air balmy and
sweet as a day in early June. The seamstress yielded not unwillingly to
the solicitations of Helen, and was quickly dressed for the drive.
Mr. Sharp was waiting below with a carriage.
“Good morning, Miss Grey,” he said, with his usual suavity; “I am truly
glad to see that you have recovered from your illness. You are a little
pale yet, but I hope we shall succeed in bringing back the roses to your
cheek.”
“I am very much obliged to you for kindly remembering me, Mr. Sharp,”
said Martha. “It is a charming day. I assure you I shall enjoy the
drive.”
“It seems to me,” thought M’lle Fanchette, looking from her window,
“that the Fords are growing extravagant. Such airs as that child puts
on, merely because she sings in a theatre! and bless my soul, there’s
the seamstress, Martha Grey, too! She’d better be at work. There’s the
lawyer, too. It can’t be possible he is paying attentions to Helen Ford.
No, she’s too young for that. Or is it Martha Grey? If it’s she, I don’t
admire his taste, that’s all. She is most an old woman, and never had
any beauty to boast of. (Martha was three years younger than M’lle
Fanchette.) Well, well, its a queer world. That Helen may lose her
situation by and by,—I’m sure, I don’t think much of her singing,—and
then we sha’n’t have such gay doings.”
By this time the carriage had driven away, and M’lle Fanchette prepared
to go to her shop.
Our party did not at once drive to Twenty-second street, but farther up
on the island, through that portion of the city, then wholly unsettled,
which is now occupied by the Central Park. It was a charming morning.
Helen was in the best of spirits, and even Mr. Ford forgot, for the
time, his invention, and drank in the sweet influences of the day. To
Martha, confined in her room for so long, whose only prospect had been
the brick wall opposite, it seemed like a dream of Paradise. Memories of
her childhood came back to her, and her eyes involuntarily filled with
tears as she thought of that sweet, unforgotten time. Mr. Sharp was in
excellent spirits, livelier, and more affable even than usual, and kept
up the spirits of the party by his jocular remarks.
At length the carriage stopped.
The driver jumped from his seat, and threw open the door of the
carriage.
“We haven’t got home?” said Martha, a little bewildered.
“Oh, I forgot to tell you,” said Helen; “Mr. Sharp has invited us to
look over a house which he has just secured for some friends of his.”
“What a handsome house!” said Martha. “They must be rich people.”
“Yes,” said Mr. Sharp, with an incomprehensible smile, “I assure you
that they are quite rich.”
“They wouldn’t object to our visit?” asked Martha, timidly.
“O no, not at all. In fact they gave me permission to bring you here.”
By this time they had entered the hall, and went in first to inspect the
parlors. These were furnished in the style appropriate to such a house.
To Martha, who had never before entered a house of such pretensions, it
seemed very magnificent, and even palatial.
After they had examined the rooms on the lower floor they went up
stairs. The chambers were furnished with equal taste. Helen felt that it
would take some time to get accustomed to such a style of living after
her humble lodgings at Mother Morton’s.
“I like this room very much,” said Martha. It was a broad, spacious
chamber with a sunny aspect, very pleasant and home-like in its
appearance.
“You would be willing to give up your room at Mrs. Morton’s if you could
have this?” inquired Helen.
“If I could have as agreeable neighbors,” said Martha, with a smile.
“Very well,” said Helen, “I will take you at your word. You shall occupy
this room.”
“What do you mean, Helen?” asked Martha, in surprise.
“I mean that it only depends upon your own consent to exchange your
present room for this.”
“I don’t understand,” said Martha, bewildered.
“Then I will explain. The mistress of this house, who is a friend of Mr.
Sharp, is desirous of securing a companion, and will take you if you
will come.”
“Perhaps she may not like me.”
“I think there is no doubt on that point; do you papa?”
“No, I believe not,” said Mr. Ford.
“Then you will consent, Martha. You will be secure against want, and
will have every comfort provided you.”
“It will be great good fortune for me,” said Martha. “But I cannot bear
the thought of being separated from you, Helen.”
“You may learn to like the lady I refer to as well as me.”
“Never!” said Martha, with emphasis.
“Make no rash promises,” said Helen, “I shall be very much disappointed
if you do not.”
“If I could see this lady.”
“So you shall. You will find her in the next room.”
More mystified than ever, Martha accompanied Helen into the next room.
There was a large pier glass extending from floor to ceiling. Helen led
the seamstress up to it, and standing beside her said, “There, Martha,
there is the lady who invites you to be her companion.”
“But I see only yourself.”
“Well, and I am the one,” said Helen, smiling.
Then Helen explained to her astonished and delighted auditor the great
change that had taken place in her circumstances. No longer obliged to
toil for her daily bread, she would henceforth live in affluence.
“God has been very good to us, Martha,” she said, in conclusion. “I hope
we shall not forget, in the happiness of the present, the poverty of the
past. I hope we shall use His gift as He would have us.”
“Dear Helen, I am sure you will.”
“And you will come and live with me? I should be very lonely in this
large house without a friend to lean upon. Dear Martha, it shall not be
my fault if your future is not as sunny as your past has been dark.”
“How much happiness I shall owe you!” said Martha, with grateful tears.
“Hush, Martha,” said Helen, softly. “Do not thank me, for my happiness
will be no less.”
That evening the household at Mother Morton’s was electrified by the
announcement that Helen Ford had turned out a great heiress, and that
Martha Grey was going to live with her. On the morrow Helen and her
father transferred their home from their humble lodgings to
Twenty-second Street.
“If I had only known,” thought M’lle Fanchette, regretfully, “I might
have been in that sickly Martha Grey’s place. But who could ever have
imagined that Helen Ford would turn out a rich woman? Well, it’s too
late now!”
And M’lle Fanchette had to content herself with this philosophical
reflection.