HER MOTHER’S ADVICE.
Poor little Fair! It was quite true, as the forewoman intimated, that
she had not had a judicious training, for her mother was a foolish,
weak-minded woman, who had, indeed, filled her child’s head with
romantic notions about marrying above her station.
“You are pretty enough to marry a king, my darling, and you would be a
little fool if you threw away all your chances by marrying a poor man,”
she had said often; and, as if to make her advice more impressive, she
would add: “Besides, what would become of me if you married a poor man?
He would not want to take care of me, and you would be so busy caring
for his house and minding his children you would have to desert your
poor old mother.”
Little Fair shed tears at the thought of deserting her helpless mother.
“I shall always work for you and live with you, dear mother,” she said,
adding, as a clincher: “I shall never marry any one.”
“Do not say that, my little Fair, for I should not like to have you
live an old maid. I live in hopes that by a fortunate marriage you
may some day be raised to the position in life that I once occupied,”
answered the ambitious mother.
And it became tacitly understood between them that Fair was to marry no
one unless he was rich; and, as she had no expectation of that, she had
long ago made up her mind that she would be an old maid.
“Like that old crosspatch of a Miss Smith, who has worked in the
factory thirty years, and hates the sight of a man,” the girl thought
plaintively; but, in her devotion to her selfish mother, she vowed
herself bravely to the sacrifice. Courtship, and love, and marriage
such as her companions talked and dreamed of were not for her. Through
her mother’s peculiar training, she had become quite worldly-wise.
The forewoman’s kindly meant advice only had the effect of making
her indignant and resentful, although she was too politic to utter a
word in reply, thus running the risk of losing the place by which she
supported herself and her mother. She bowed her head in silence, and
resentful tears coursed down her crimson cheeks.
Sadie Allen was a good-hearted girl, although fond of fun, and she
regretted that her teasing remarks had led Fair on to the speech that
provoked the forewoman’s displeasure and drew down upon her pretty head
that stern reproof. There had been an innocent plot among the girls to
tease Fair about Waverley Osborne, in order to aggravate Miss Platt;
but Sadie was sorry for her share in it now, although she did not know
what bitter cause there was yet to be to make her rue the occurrences
of the past hour.
Fair’s hot tears dropped silently a while upon her snowy work. Then
she sewed on in rather sullen mood for the rest of the day, taking no
notice of her companions, and answering only in monosyllables when
addressed; in fact, pouting like a spoiled child, and deaf to Sadie’s
good-natured overtures. At five o’clock, the usual hour for leaving,
she drew a sigh of relief as she put by her work.
“I’m glad I shall not see one of their hateful faces until to-morrow,”
she muttered to herself, with the passion of a child, as she left
the large building and turned her steps homeward through the crowded
street. But suddenly a hand touched her arm, and, looking around with a
start, she found Miss Platt by her side.
“I’m going your way,” said the embroiderer smoothly, and she kept close
to Fair’s side, quite indifferent as to whether her company was desired
or not. She had an object in view, from which she was not to be easily
deterred. But Fair had no particular cause of dislike against the
girl, and, after a moment’s silent vexation, responded with careless
politeness to the overtures of the other. “I hope you don’t bear me any
grudge for the foolish things I said to-day?” she began. “I was only
joking. I saw that the girls were teasing you, and joined in just for
fun. But I would have bitten my tongue off before I’d said anything, if
I had known how that forewoman was going to reprove you. What business
was it of hers, anyway, whether you chose to marry a poor man or not?”
“Oh, I guess what she said was true enough,” Fair answered, not caring
to discuss her grievance with this stranger; but the embroiderer
persevered:
“No, it was not true--at least, not all of it. How scornfully she spoke
of factory girls! Yet I know two rich ladies to-day who were simple
working girls like you and me. They were beautiful, and their faces won
rich husbands for them, as yours ought to do, for you have a lovely
face. Do you know that, Fairfax Fielding?”
Fair’s mother had told her that she was beautiful so often that she
could not profess ignorance of that interesting fact, but she blushed
rosily at the blunt words of Miss Platt, who continued, without waiting
for a reply:
“I could marry a rich man myself, if I chose. I had the chance once,
but I refused it, for I did not love the man; but I believe that I
could whistle him back even now if I chose. I’ve a great mind to do
it, just to show that upstart forewoman that a rich man would marry a
factory girl.”
“Oh, I wish you would, Miss Platt!” cried Fair, with such vehemence
that she betrayed at once her latent resentment at the forewoman’s
words.
The blonde laughed merrily; then exclaimed:
“Ah, Fair, you will marry rich some day, and show her how mistaken she
was--I see that now.”
“I shall never marry,” Fair answered; but the embroiderer only laughed
more gayly than before, and exclaimed:
“You must, if only to get your revenge on that insolent woman. Oh, I
saw what lay at the bottom of her talk! It was spite at your mother,
who was born a lady, and of whom she was, therefore, jealous. Come,
I’ve a mind to turn matchmaker, just to help you out. Why, Fair, I know
a rich young man who is called a kind of crank because he despises
fashion and society and vows he will marry a working girl. I believe I
will introduce him to you. May I?” And with that speech, she forged the
first link in the chain of a cruel plot that she had been revolving in
her mind for several hours. “May I?” she repeated, looking eagerly into
Fair’s sweet, wild-rose face; but a troubled light came into the bright
brown eyes, and the girl shook her head decidedly.
“No, I’d rather not,” she said, and a frown whose malignancy Fair did
not see came between the brows of Miss Platt.
She was undoubtedly angered at the reply, but she only said caressingly:
“As you please about it, though I know he’d fall dead in love with
you at first sight. Oh, here’s Bond’s. I am going in here for a blue
ribbon. Will you come?”
“No, thanks. My mother will be uneasy if I don’t get home promptly,”
Fair answered, and, with a careless nod, she went on, disappearing in
the dense throng on the street in an instant, while Miss Platt turned,
without entering the store, and walked back in the direction she had
come, her handsome face distorted by angry passion.
“So the little fish wouldn’t bite at my tempting bait?” she muttered
angrily. “Never mind, I’ll lay a trap that she’ll fall into yet, for I
swear I’ll punish her for taking my lover from me. I knew it must be
some one in the factory, but until the girls let it out this morning
I never suspected that red-headed little apprentice. To think of his
leaving me for her--for her--a silly child that hadn’t even sense
enough to appreciate the compliment!”
She laughed aloud, but the laugh had no mirth in it. It was rather a
convulsive sound, thrilling with malignancy, and betokening a nature
full of venom when fully aroused. Continuing her train of thought, she
muttered:
“He shall return to me, and I will take him back, but, all the same,
I shall take vengeance on both for what his fickleness caused me to
suffer.”