RESULTING IN A BETROTHAL AND A TEMPEST
At the breakfast table next morning Julia’s pale face was noticed and
commented upon.
"She had a violent toothache last night, which kept her awake," said
Fanny.
"Now I think of it," said Mr. Middleton, "I wonder, Tempest, how you can
have the toothache, for you are always bragging about your handsome,
healthy teeth, and say you hain’t a rotten fang in your head."
Julia colored, for what her father said was true, neither did she remember
of ever having had the toothache in her life; but quickly recovering
herself, she said, "Neither have I a decayed tooth. It was more of a
faceache, I suppose, than the genuine toothache."
"Probably you have taken some cold," said Mr. Wilmot.
"I think quite likely I have," retorted Julia, and so the toothache matter
was dismissed for the time. Mr. Miller, however, thought he could see in
it a plan of Julia’s to avoid going to school that day and when he heard
Mrs. Middleton say, "Julia, as it is so cold and chilly, perhaps you had
better not go out," he was rather surprised to hear her reply, "Oh, no,
mother; Mr. Miller is going with us and I would not miss of being there
for anything."
So the party proceeded together to the schoolhouse. When school commenced
Julia took her books and going up to Mr. Wilmot, said, loudly enough for
Mr. Miller to hear: "Mr. Wilmot, do you know that you gave me a very hard
lesson for today?"
"Yes, Julia," said he, "I know it is hard and long, and as you do not seem
well, I will excuse you from as much of it as you choose, or from the
whole of it, if you like."
"No, no," said Julia; "Mr. Miller is here and I would like to show him
that I have improved since last winter, when, as I fear, I was often sadly
remiss in my studies. All I want to tell you is that if I do not recite as
well as usual, you mustn’t scold me a bit; will you?"
"Oh, certainly not," said Mr. Wilmot, and then he added in a tone so low
that no one heard but Julia, "I could not scold you, dear Julia."
Thus flattered, the young lady took her seat and for a time seemed very
intensely occupied with her lessons. At last she opened her portfolio and,
taking from it a sheet of foolscap, cast an exulting glance toward Fanny
and Mr. Miller, the latter of whom was watching her movements. She then
took her gold pencil and commenced scribbling something on the paper. By
the time her lesson was called she laid the paper on the desk, and
prepared to do honor to herself and teacher. The moving of the paper
attracted Mr. Wilmot’s notice, and going toward her, he very gently said,
"I presume you have no objection to letting me see what you have written
here."
She at first put out her hand as if to prevent him from taking it, but at
last she suffered him to do so, but tried to look interestingly confused.
Mr. Wilmot read what was written and then smiling passed it to his friend,
who looked at it and saw that it was a piece of tolerably good blank
verse.
"Is this your composition, Julia?" said Mr. Miller.
"Yes, sir," she replied.
"And have your ’notes’ always been of this nature?" asked Mr. Wilmot.
"That, or something similar," said Julia. "I find no difficulty in
learning my lesson by once reading, and as I am very fond of poetry, I
like to employ the rest of my time in trying my powers at it!"
Mr. Wilmot looked at Mr. Miller, as much as to say, "I hope you are
satisfied," and then proceeded to hear Julia’s lesson, which was
well-learned and well-recited. Julia’s recitation being over, Fanny’s
class was called. Fanny came hesitatingly, for she knew her lesson was but
poorly learned. That morning she had found under her desk a love letter
from Bill Jeffrey, and she and some of the other girls had spent so much
time in laughing over it, and preparing an answer, that she had scarcely
thought of her lesson. She got through with it, however, as well as she
could, and was returning to her seat when Mr. Miller called her to him and
said reprovingly, "Fanny, why did you not have a better lesson?"
"Oh, Mr. Miller," she said, almost crying, "I did intend to, but I forgot
all about your being here"; and then, as a new thought struck her, she
said mischievously, "and besides I have spent all the morning writing an
answer to Bill Jeffrey’s love letter!"
At this unlooked-for speech, all the scholars burst into a laugh and
directed their eyes toward the crestfallen Bill, who seemed so painfully
embarrassed that Fanny regretted what she had said, and as soon as school
was out for the morning she went to him and told him she was sorry for so
thoughtlessly exposing him to ridicule; "but," added she, "Billy, I’ll
tell you what, you mustn’t write me any more love letters, for ’tis not
right to do such things at school; neither need you bring me any more
candy or raisins. I don’t object to your giving me a nice big apple
occasionally, but candy and raisins you had better give to the little
children. And now to prove that I am really your friend, if you will get
that old dogeared arithmetic of yours, I will show you how to do some of
those hard sums which trouble you so."
Billy was surprised. The butt of the school, he was accustomed to the
jeers of his companions, but such kindness, and from Fanny, too, was
unexpected. He, however, drew from his desk his old slate and arithmetic
and he and Fanny were soon deep in the mysteries of compound fractions. A
half hour passed away and at the end of that time Billy’s sums were done.
"Now, Billy," said Fanny, "see that you do not send me any more letters,
and mind, too, and not wink at me so often; you will remember?" Bill gave
the required promise and Fanny bounded away in quest of her schoolmates,
who laughed at her for taking so much pains with such a dolt as Bill
Jeffrey. That afternoon Fanny resolved to retrieve her character as a
scholar; so she applied herself closely to her task, and before recitation
hour arrived she had learned every word of her lesson. But alas for poor
Fanny. She was always stumbling into some new difficulty, and fate, this
afternoon, seemed resolved to play a sorry trick upon her.
The schoolhouse stood at the foot of a long, steep hill, which would have
been chosen for a capital sliding place by New York boys; but in Kentucky
the winters are, comparatively speaking, so mild that the boys know but
little of that rare fun, "sliding down hill." The winter of which we are
speaking was, however, unusually severe, and the schoolboys had persevered
until they had succeeded in making a tolerably nice sliding place, and
they had also furnished themselves with a goodly number of rather
rough-looking sleds, of which Bill Jeffrey owned the largest. The girls
were all anxious to try a ride down the hill, and none more so than Fanny;
but the boys would not lend their sleds, and the girls would not ride with
the boys, and as the latter always hid their precious sleighs, the girls
had as yet never succeeded in their wishes. But on this day, Bill Jeffrey,
touched by Fanny’s unlooked-for kindness, whispered to her, just as school
was commencing, that she might take his big sled at recess.
This was a treat indeed, and when recess came, Fanny, with half a dozen
other girls, climbed to the top of the hill, and began piling on to Bill’s
old sled. It was settled that Fanny should guide the craft, and numerous
were the cautions of the girls that she should "mind and steer straight."
"Oh, yes, I’ll do that," said Fanny; "but wouldn’t it be funny," added
she, "if we should make a mistake and go plump into the schoolhouse!"
At last all was ready, and the vehicle got under way. At first it moved
slowly, and the loud, merry laugh of the girls rang out on the clear, cool
air; but each moment it increased in swiftness, and by the time it was
half-way down the hill, was moving at an astonishingly rapid rate. Fanny
lost her presence of mind and, with it, her ability to guide the sled, so
that they passed the point where they should have turned and made directly
for the schoolhouse door, which flew open, as once did the gates for the
famous John Gilpin. There was no entryway to the building, but as the sled
struck the door the jolt threw off all the girls except Fanny, who
manfully kept her seat; and so made her grand entrance into the
schoolroom, stopping not till she reached the stove, and partially
upsetting it, to the great astonishment of the teacher, visitor, and boys,
the latter of whom set up a loud huzza. Poor Fanny! ’Twas her first sled
ride, and she felt sure it would be her last; but she resolved to make the
best of it, so she looked up from under her curls and said very demurely,
"Please, Mr. Wilmot, may I stop at this station? I do not like being so
near the engine!" meaning the stove, whose proximity made her quarters a
little uncomfortable.
Mr. Wilmot gave her permission to take her seat, which she readily did,
wondering why it was that she always managed to do something which made
her appear ridiculous, just when she wanted to appear the best. Her mishap
gave secret pleasure to Julia, who delighted to have Fanny appear as badly
as possible, and she felt particularly pleased when she saw that Fanny’s
strange ride had scattered all the ideas from her head, for the
afternoon’s lessons were but little better recited than the morning, and
at its close Julia gave her a look of malicious triumph, which Mr. Miller
observing, said, as if apologising for Fanny, that he was sure that she
had every word of her lesson before recess, but it was no wonder she was
somewhat disconcerted at the unexpected termination of her ride. Fanny
smiled gratefully upon him through her tears, which she could not
restrain; but her tears were like April showers—they did not last long,
and that night, at the supper table, when Mr. Miller related her adventure
to her father, she joined as gayly as any one in the laugh which followed.
Julia was much displeased to think that Fanny’s "ridiculous conduct," as
she called it, should be told of and laughed at as if it were something
amusing. She was anxious, too, that Mr. Miller should draw his visit to a
close, but as he did not seem inclined to do so, she resolved to make the
most of it, and give him a few new ideas. She knew that Fanny had ever
been his favorite and she very naturally supposed that the reason of his
preference was because he thought she possessed a very lovely, amiable
disposition. She determined to make him think otherwise, and set herself
at work to execute a plan, which fully showed the heartless deception
which almost always characterized her actions.
Fortune seemed to favor her, for after supper her father and mother
announced their intention of spending the evening at one of the
neighbors’, and soon after they left Mr. Wilmot, who had letters to write,
retired to his room, together with Mr. Miller. As soon as they were gone
Julia repaired to the negro quarters and, by dint of threats, flattery and
promises of reward, finally prevailed upon Luce to join with her in her
dark plot. They then went to Julia’s sleeping room and carefully opened
the closet door, so that every word of their conversation could be heard
in the adjoining room.
Julia’s voice was strangely like her sister’s, and by means of imitating
her she hoped to deceive both Mr. Wilmot and Mr. Miller, who were startled
by a loud, angry voice, exclaiming, "Come, you black imp, no more lies,
you know you’ve stolen it, so just confess, and tell me where it is."
The young gentlemen looked at each other in surprise, for the voice was
like Fanny’s, and yet it was so unnatural for her to be in such a passion
that they thought it impossible. Their fears were, however, soon confirmed
by Luce, who said, "Oh, Miss Fanny, Lor’ knows I never tached it. Now,
sartin I knows nothin’ ’bout it."
"Hold your jaw, or I’ll slap your mouth for you, you lying thief!" said
Julia (alias Fanny). "Of course you’ve got it, for no one else has been in
here; so tell where you hid it."
"Lordy massy! How can I tell, when I dun know nothin’ whar ’tis," said
Luce.
"There, take, that to brighten up your ideas," said Fanny, and at the same
time there was, the sound of a blow, which was followed by an outcry from
Luce, who exclaimed, "Oh—oh—oh—Miss Fanny, don’t go for to whip me, ’case
I haint nothin to tell; if I had I’d tell right off. I haint seed your
hankercher ’tall. Mebby you’ve done drapped it somewhar."
Just then the door opened, and Julia, again speaking naturally, was heard
to say, "Why, Fanny, what are you doing just as soon as mother is gone?
Luce, what is the matter?"
"Oh, Miss Julia," replied Luce, "Miss Fanny done lost her fine hankercher,
and she say how I stole it, but I haint."
"What makes you think Luce has got your handkerchief, Fanny?" asked Julia.
"Because I left it on the table, and ’tisn’t there now; and no one has
been in the room except Luce," replied Fanny.
"Very likely you have put it in your drawer and forgotten it; let me
look," said Julia.
There was a moment’s silence, and then Julia was heard to exclaim, "There
it is, just as I thought. Here it is, safe in your box. I do wish, sister,
you would not be quite so hasty, but stop a little before you condemn
others." So saying, the party left the room.
While this scene was taking place, Fanny was quietly seated by the fire in
the sitting room, getting her lesson for the next day. At last her eye
chanced to fall upon a purse which Julia was knitting for her father and
which she had promised to finish that night.
"I wonder," said Fanny to herself—"I wonder where Julia is gone so long?
She told father she would finish his purse this evening, and he will scold
so, if it is not done, that I believe I’ll knit on it till she returns."
Suiting the action to the word, she caught up the purse, and when Julia
returned to the sitting room, she found her sister busily engaged in
knitting for her.
"Why, Julia," said Fanny, "where have you been so long; I though you were
never coming back, so I have been knitting on your purse, for I was afraid
you would not get it done, and then father would scold, you know."
As Julia looked into her sister’s bright, innocent face and thought of all
her kindness, her conscience smote her for the wrong she had done, but
quickly hushing the faithful monitor, she thought, "Never mind; it is
natural for me to be bad. I cannot help it."
Meantime the gentlemen above were discussing the conversation which they
had overheard.
"Is it possible," said Mr. Miller, "that I have been so deceived in Fanny,
and that, after all, she is as passionate as her sister?"
"As passionate as her sister," repeated Mr. Wilmot; "I think we have good
proof that she is much more so. I hope you are now convinced that Fanny is
not infallible, though I will confess I am surprised and disappointed, for
I thought she was really of a very gentle nature."
Mr. Miller did not reply directly, but went on, as if speaking to himself,
"Oh, Fanny, Fanny, how has my idol fallen! I never would have believed it,
but for such convincing evidence."
He was indeed sorely disappointed. He had always thought of Fanny as the
embodiment of almost every female virtue, and although she was so young,
hope had often whispered to him of a joyous future when she, whom her
father designated as "Sunshine," should also shed a halo of sunlight
around another fireside. But now the illusion was painfully dispelled, for
sooner would he have taken the Egyptian asp to his bosom than chosen for a
companion one whom he knew to possess a hasty, violent temper.
Next morning he took leave of Mr. Middleton’s family. When it came Fanny’s
turn to bid him good-by, she noticed the absence of his accustomed
cordiality, and wondered much what she had done to displease him. That
night she wept herself to sleep thinking of it, while Julia, secretly
exulting in her sister’s uneasiness, laughed at her for her foolishness,
and said, "It was probably a mere fancy, and even if it were not; what
matter was it? What did she care for Mr. Miller’s good or bad opinion? She
mustn’t expect everybody to pet and caress her just as her father did, who
was an old fool anyway, and petted her and her dogs alternately." This
kind of reasoning did not convince Fanny, and for many days her face wore
a sad, troubled expression.
Thus the winter passed away. Spring came, and with it came an offer to Mr.
Wilmot of a very lucrative situation as teacher in a school in Frankfort.
At first he hesitated about accepting it, for there was, in the old rough
stone house, an attraction far greater than the mere consideration of
dollars and cents. Julia at, last settled the matter, by requesting him to
accept the offer, and then urge her father to let her go to Frankfort to
school also.
"And why do you wish to go there, Julia?" said Mr. Wilmot, laying his hand
on her dark, glossy hair.
"Because," she answered, "it will be so lonely here when you are gone."
"And why will it be lonely, dearest Julia?" continued he.
"Oh," said she, looking up very innocently in his face, "you are the only
person who understands me; by all others, whatever I do or say is
construed into something bad. I wish you were my brother, for then I might
have been better than I am."
"Oh, I do not wish I was your brother," said Mr. Wilmot, "for then I could
never have claimed a dearer title, which I hope now to do at some future
time."
Then followed a declaration of love, which Julia had long waited most
anxiously for. Most eloquently did Mr. Wilmot pour out the whole tide of
his affection for the beautiful but sinful girl, who, in a very becoming
and appropriate manner, murmured an acknowledgment of requited love. Thus
the two were betrothed.
And truly it was a fitting time for such a betrothal. The air had been hot
and sultry all day, and now the sky was overspread with dark clouds, while
everything indicated an approaching storm. While Mr. Wilmot was yet
speaking, it burst upon them with great violence. Peal after peal of
thunder followed each other, in rapid succession, and just as Julia
whispered a promise to be Mr. Wilmot’s forever, a blinding sheet of
lightning lit up for a moment her dark features, and was instantly
succeeded by a crash, which shook the whole house from its foundation, and
drew from Julia a cry of terror, which brought Fanny to see what was the
matter, and made Mr. Middleton swear, "Thar was noise enough from the
tempest outdoors, without the ’Tempest’ in the house raising such a devil
of a fuss!"