kissed the child. "You have paid me a lovely compliment, dear," she
said. "I am glad you feel that way," for Marian had written: "We
have the loveliest teacher in the world. Her name is Miss Dorothy
Robbins. She is like Mrs. Hunt, but can understand little girls
better, for she is younger and prettier. I love her very much."
At last the letter was finished, folded and addressed, and Miss
Dorothy promised to mail it herself. It had been a great undertaking
for Marian, who was quite tired out by her afternoon's work, but who
was very happy now that it was done, for the very act drew her
nearer her father.
She went down that same evening to tell Mrs. Hunt about it. There
was neither baking nor pickling going on this time, but she found
her friend in her sitting-room, a basket of mending by her side.
"You are always busy, aren't you, Auntie Hunt?" said Marian. Mrs.
Hunt was called Auntie, by many of her friends.
"Yes, dear, I think most busy people are happy, and I am sure all
happy people are busy about something. Well, how goes it up at the
brick house?"
"Oh, very well, indeed. What do you think I have been doing to-day?"
"Can't guess. There is one thing I know you have not been doing.
I'll wager a sixpence you've not been blackberrying," and Mrs. Hunt
laughed.
The color flew into Marian's face. "No, indeed, I haven't been, and
I shall not probably ever go again until I'm a grown lady, and can
do as I please."
"Do you think all grown-ups do as they please?"
"Why, don't they?"
"Not a bit of it. But there, tell me what is the wonderful thing you
have been doing?"
"I have written a letter to papa all by myself, and Miss Dorothy has
mailed it. She put the stamp on and took it to the post-office just
now with her letters."
"Well, well, well, but won't he be pleased to get it? That's a fine
young woman, that Miss Dorothy of yours."
"Isn't she?"
"She is so. She made us a nice visit the other evening. She is a
girl after my own heart, none of your vain, self-absorbed young
persons, always concerned in her own affairs, but one of the real
hearty kind that thinks of others as well as herself, and has her
eyes open to what is best in life. I like her."
"And she likes you."
"I'm glad to hear it."
"I wish you could see the kind of letters she writes to her father,
but then," Marian added thoughtfully, "he must be the kind of father
it is easy to write that way to."
"I'll be bound he is the right kind to have a daughter like that.
She has no mother, she tells me. Her aunt keeps house for them, and
there is quite a family of children."
"Yes, and Patty is the youngest. She is going to write to me."
"Bless me, how you are blossoming out into a correspondent. Well,
don't let it take up so much of your time that you won't be able to
drop in as often as usual. There is a little basket of grapes in the
pantry; you can take it to your grandma; the pear on top grew for
you to eat right now."
Marian needed no second hint, but sought out the fruit and was not
long in burying her teeth in the yellow juicy pear, and then because
it grew dark early, she hurried away that she might be home "before
the dark catches you," said Mrs. Hunt.
_CHAPTER VII_
_Patty's Letter_
One day a few weeks later Marian ran to Miss Dorothy with a letter
her grandfather had just brought in, and when her teacher opened it,
she saw her smile as she drew a sheet from within the longer letter.
"This is for you, Marian," said Miss Dorothy.
"It is from Patty, I know," cried Marian delightedly, and she took
the long-wished for letter over to the window while Miss Dorothy
turned her attention to her own home news.
Patty's was a nice cordial little note which told about her lessons
and her friends, and which said that she hoped Marian and she would
soon meet and be very chummy. "I know I shall like you," wrote
Patty, "because Dolly says so, and Dolly is nearly always right."
"I think so, too," said Marian aloud. She took much longer to read
her letter than Miss Dorothy did to read hers, for she was not very
expert in reading written pages. Miss Dorothy had laid down the
closely written sheets which she had been holding, and was looking
out of the window thoughtfully when Marian at last came to "Your
affectionate friend, Patty Robbins."
"It was such a nice letter," she said looking up with a pleased
sigh.
"I am very glad you found it so," returned Miss Dorothy with a
smile.
"Was yours a nice one?"
"Yes, it is from my father, and he always writes delightful letters.
I hope to see him and Patty both on Saturday. Dad has some business
in the city, and Patty needs a new coat, so he is going to take her
with him. I am to meet them there, for poor dad would never know how
to buy a coat. Do you often go to the city, Marian?"
"I never have been but once."
"Really? I was just thinking how nice it would be if you could go
with me and meet Patty; then we three could go shopping and have
lunch somewhere together."
"Oh, Miss Dorothy!" Such a plan was beyond Marian's wildest dreams.
She looked radiant for a moment, then her face fell.
"What is the matter?" asked Miss Dorothy.
"I am afraid grandma will not let me go. I never have been but that
once, and then grandma had to go to the dentist; grandpa could not
go with her and didn't want her to go alone."
"But what about your clothes and things? Don't you have to go there
for them?"
"Grandma never gets me ready-mades. Miss Almira Belt makes
everything I wear. Do you suppose she always will do it?"
"I hope not," returned Miss Dorothy gravely, then she laughed as she
pictured a grown-up Marian arrayed in frocks of Miss Almira's make.
They did very well for a little girl, for they were of good material
and neatly made, if old-fashioned in cut.
"Do you think grandma would let me go?" asked Marian, a faint hope
dawning within her.
"I shall find out."
"Oh, Miss Dorothy, are you really going to ask her?"
"I certainly am."
"But I am afraid she will say it is too expensive. She doesn't
believe in spending money in that way on little girls. She allows me
to go to church fairs and such things when they are for a good
cause, but she says journeying is not necessary, that it excites me
and I am better off at home."
"But you would really like to go," said Miss Dorothy disregarding
this last speech.
"It would be the most beautifullest thing that ever happened to me."
"Such a small pleasure," said Miss Dorothy half to herself. "Well,
dear, if it is only a question of expense, that shall not stand in
the way, I promise you. Fifty cents or so would do it, and that is
not a large sum."
Here Marian took alarm. "But, Miss Dorothy, you mustn't pay for me.
You must keep your money for Patty and the others. You mustn't spend
it on me."
"Mustn't I?" Miss Dorothy looked over at her with a little knowing
smile. "Then I won't do it since you are so particular, but I have a
scheme of my own and we shall see how it will work out. Are you
willing to earn it?"
"Indeed I am; I should like it above all things. I never earned any
money for myself, but I have earned some for the heathen."
Miss Dorothy made a little grimace. "Very well, if you are willing
to earn your way, you may consider yourself invited to make the
journey at your own expense. I guarantee sufficient work to pay for
your ticket. I don't suppose you will object to being paid in
advance."
Marian looked doubtful. "Well--if----"
"If--if----What an ifer you are. I don't mean all in advance, only a
part. Do you agree to that?"
"I don't suppose it would be wrong to agree to that."
"You must have a Puritan conscience," said Miss Dorothy laughing.
"What is that?"
"It is something that is very unhealthy sometimes. I will see that
you begin your work to-morrow."
"Do please tell me now what it is."
"No, no, you might back out," Miss Dorothy laughed. "I'll tell you
when the time comes. In the meantime your grandma's consent must be
had. Perhaps I'd better settle it at once. Will you go with me to
ask her?"
Marian hung back. "Oh, if you don't mind," she said, "I'd rather
not."
"You're no kind of a soldier. See me walk up to the cannon's mouth."
And leaving the room, Miss Dorothy ran lightly down-stairs.
Marian followed slowly, but though she hesitated at the sitting-room
door where she heard voices, she did not tarry, but went on down to
the lower floor and into the garden where Tippy and Dippy lay asleep
in the sunshine. Dippy opened one eye and stretched himself as
Marian approached. She picked him up and carried him down to the
apple tree.
"I've had a letter from Patty," she told him when she was settled in
the crotch of the tree, "and maybe,--it is only maybe,--Dippy, I am
going to the city on Saturday. I don't suppose you would care
anything about it. I am sure you would much rather stay here and
chase grasshoppers, but I want to go so powerfully that I think I
shall cry my eyes out if grandma says I can't. I know she wouldn't
consent if I asked her, but maybe she will if Miss Dorothy does."
She sat still cuddling Dippy who had fallen asleep again. From her
point of vantage she could look up and down the street. She had
learned not to expect to move the mountain, but the mustard seeds
were again in her mind.
Presently she saw Miss Dorothy come out the front door and turn down
the street. She crept along the limb on which she sat, leaving Dippy
to look out for himself, and gained the wall from which she could
look directly down upon the pavement. She must ask Miss Dorothy what
success she had had. "Miss Dorothy, Miss Dorothy," she called softly
when her teacher came near. Miss Dorothy looked up. "What did she
say?" asked Marian.
"She hasn't said yes yet," replied Miss Dorothy. "What are you doing
up there?"
"Oh, just nothing but looking around and thinking, about the mustard
seed, you know."
"Oh, yes. Very well, I'm about to do the works, so you stay there
and exercise the faith, and perhaps between us we'll manage to get
this settled to our satisfaction."
"Where are you going?" asked Marian as Miss Dorothy walked on.
"To attend to the works," called back Miss Dorothy mysteriously.
"Faith and works, you know."
Marian crawled back again to the crotch of the tree. Dippy had
jumped down, not being pleased at having his nap disturbed, so
Marian did not go after him but sat looking off at the mountain. "I
want to go, oh, Lord, I do want to go," she said wistfully, "and I
believe you will let Miss Dorothy manage it, yes, I do." She sat
with her eyes fixed upon the mountain for some time, then she gave a
long sigh, and changed her position. "I believe I'll go get Patty's
letter and read it over again," she said, beginning to climb down
the tree.
In a little while she was back again in her old place, letter in
hand. She had finished reading it and was looking off down street
watching for Miss Dorothy's return when she saw Mrs. Hunt entering
the front door; she had come down street this time, instead of up.
"She's come to see grandma, I suppose," said Marian. Then a thought
flashed across her mind; she wondered if Miss Dorothy's works had
anything to do with Mrs. Hunt's coming. To be sure Miss Dorothy was
not with her, but neither had she been that other time when Mrs.
Hunt had managed so well about the apron. Marian could not resist
the temptation of going in to hear what her grandmother and Mrs.
Hunt were talking about. She paused at the door of the sitting-room.
Mrs. Hunt sat rocking in one of the haircloth rockers, Mrs. Otway in
the other.
"Yes," Mrs. Hunt was saying, "Dr. Grimes says she's not likely to be
about again soon if she gets over it."
Mrs. Otway looked very grave. "I'm sorry for more reasons than one.
Marian needs a new coat, and I had counted on Almira's making it."
It was Miss Belt, then, of whom they were talking. Marian crept
softly in and sat down in a corner where she could hear more.
"They think she got it up there at Billing's," Mrs. Hunt went on.
"She was sewing there a while ago, and Dr. Grimes says the water on
that place isn't fit to drink; they ought to boil it. Like as not
that is where she did get it. Typhoid is pretty slow, but she has a
good nurse in Hannah, and I don't doubt she'll pull through. Is that
you, Marian? Come here, honey."
Marian went to her old friend. "I was telling about Almira Belt's
being down with typhoid," said Mrs. Hunt.
"Oh, isn't that too bad?" Marian's sympathies were real. She liked
Miss Almira, though she didn't enjoy having her cold scissors
snipping around her shoulders, and her bony fingers poking at her
when she stood up to be fitted.
"It is too bad," returned Mrs. Hunt, "for her work has to lie by;
there's no one else to do it, for her sister Hannah has her hands
full."
"I'm truly sorry," said Mrs. Otway shaking her head, "with the
winter coming I am afraid it will go hard with them."
"Yes, winter isn't far off," said Mrs. Hunt. "William says he thinks
we'll have early snow. We'll all have to keep the Belts in mind, and
I guess they'll not suffer. Well, I must be going. I thought you'd
want to hear about Almira; you're always so ready to look out for
the sick, Maria."
"I certainly shall not let Almira want for anything I can do,"
returned Mrs. Otway with emphasis. "She has been a good and faithful
worker all her days, and I hope her years of usefulness are not
ended yet. Thank you for coming to tell us, Salome."
"Well, I knew you'd want to know," repeated Mrs. Hunt. "By the way,
Maria, I hear Miss Robbins is going to town on Saturday, and I
shouldn't wonder if there'd be something to get for Almira. I don't
doubt Miss Robbins would attend to it."
"I am sure she would," returned Mrs. Otway. "She is always very
ready to offer her services."
"You like her right well, don't you?" said Mrs. Hunt.
"Very much indeed; we are glad to have her with us."
"That's what I surmised. What was I going to say? Oh, yes, you were
remarking that Marian needed a winter coat, and she will need it,
cold as it is growing, for I remember you sent her last year's one
in the missionary box. Why not let Miss Robbins get one for her in
the city? Marian could go along, and she'd be glad of her company.
It wouldn't be much trouble if the child were there to fit it on.
You could tell her the kind you wanted, and I'll venture to say
you'd pay less than for the cloth and making."
"Perhaps that would be a good plan," replied Mrs. Otway, as if it
had not been presented before. "I'll see about it when Miss Dorothy
comes in."
"Oh, may I go?" Marian breathed softly, but at that moment the
door was shut after Mrs. Hunt, and her grandmother did not hear
the question, which was just as well, as Marian on second thoughts
decided, for if she thought the child wanted to go for a frolic she
might withhold her consent. So Marian wisely held her tongue and
went out to the garden again.
No more was said upon the subject until the next day and Marian was
afraid it was forgotten, but in the afternoon Miss Dorothy called
her. "Come in here, young woman, and earn your trip to town."
Marian obeyed with alacrity. Miss Dorothy was seated before her
typewriter. "Come here and I will show you what you have to do," she
said. "You are to make twenty copies of this little slip. You must
make as many as you can upon one sheet of paper, about so far apart.
You know now perfectly well how to put in the paper and how to take
it out. To-morrow you can make twenty slips more, twenty the day
after, making sixty slips in all; you will be paid half a cent for
each slip, and eventually you will earn sixty cents, just what a
round trip ticket costs. Do you agree?"
"Oh, Miss Dorothy, of course, if you are sure I can do it."
"Of course you can do it, at first slowly, and then, as they are to
be all alike, you will be able to do the last with your eyes shut.
Now, I'll leave you to go ahead."
"Please----"
"Please what?"
"Wait till I have done one to see if it is all right."
"Very well, that is a small favor to grant."
"And, tell me, am I really to go?"
"The powers that be, have so decreed."
"And I can pay my own way?"
"Yes, that is one of the reasons. Your very wise and astute teacher
remarked that it would teach you self-reliance and independence,
help to make you resourceful, broaden your experiences. Oh, me! what
didn't she argue?"
Marian turned adoring eyes upon her. "And Mrs. Hunt?" she said.
"Did you think she had something to do with it? Well, she did
without knowing it, for I was on my way to her house when she came
here with the news of Miss Almira's illness, and all unconsciously
she did us a good turn by suggesting that you go up to the city with
me to get a coat. Wasn't it funny that it should happen that way? I
didn't mean about poor Miss Almira; that is anything but funny, but
it is strange that Mrs. Hunt should have come around with a piece of
news that settled the whole matter. When your grandma told me you
were to go, I came near laughing outright, but when I knew the
reason I did look concerned, I hope. She said she had been thinking
over the matter of your going to the city with me. Would it be too
great a task, and would I have time to select a coat for you? No, I
said it would be no task at all, for I should be doing the same for
my little sister.
"Here I ran against a snag, for your grandmother said that perhaps I
could get yours without your being there, for my little sister could
be your proxy. 'Oh, but,' I said, 'Patty is short and chubby while
Marian is tall and slender. I am afraid I could never select the
proper garment unless she were there to try it on.' 'But the
expense,' said grandma. 'Sixty cents would do much good in some
other direction.' 'Perhaps,' I said, 'I can get a coat for less than
the price you have fixed upon, if I get the two together.' She
wasn't so sure of that. Then I said, 'I have a little work that I
promised a friend of mine to do for her, typewritten slips, which
Marian could do perfectly. If I go to the city on Saturday I cannot
get them all done as promptly as they should be, but if Marian could
help me, I could share the pay and she could then make her own
expenses.' At this grandma succumbed, and so, my dear, we are going.
Now, I must go, for you will never do twenty slips before dark if I
stand talking. That looks very well. Keep on as you have begun and
you have nothing to fear."
Left to herself Marian tapped away industriously till just as it was
getting too dark to see, she finished her twenty slips and proudly
showed them to Miss Dorothy when she came in. The first money she
had ever really earned was placed in her hand.
"If you don't get your entire sixty done this week," said Miss
Dorothy, "you can hitch some of them on to next week's number, for
we agreed to square this matter. So you needn't go to town with the
feeling that you haven't earned the trip, whatever happens."
Marian smiled back her reply and ran down to show her precious dime
to her grandfather. He actually patted her on the head and called
her a good child while her grandmother looked over her spectacles
and nodded approval.
The next day the second twenty slips were finished, but the third
day only ten were done as Miss Dorothy had to use her typewriter for
some school work, yet with only ten remaining of the first sixty,
Marian felt that she had no right to feel aggrieved, especially as
it had become very easy work. So it was a very happy little girl who
went to sleep Friday night to dream of the next day's pleasures.
_CHAPTER VIII_
_A Trip to Town_
The morning dawned bright and fair, a little cool, to be sure, but
so much the better, thought Marian, for now grandma will be all the
more ready for me to get my coat. The leaves danced in red, yellow
and brown array, along the side-walk as Marian and Miss Dorothy
stepped out of the house to take the early train. It was such an
important occasion that Marian felt as if every one must be
wondering where she was going so early, dressed in her best. But no
one took any special notice of her except one of the schoolgirls
whom she happened to meet, and who said: "Are you going to town,
Marian?"
"Yes, Miss Dorothy and I are going shopping," returned Marian with
beaming face.
"I thought you must be going; you're so dressed up," returned the
child, and Marian smiled up at her companion with an air of
conscious delight. Everything was so interesting; the starting of
the train, the movements of their fellow passengers, the outlook
from the car windows, the masses of red and yellow foliage which
meant forests, the brown bare spaces which were fields, the little
isolated houses, the small villages stretching away from the
stations. There was not one moment of the journey when Marian was
not entertained by what she saw along the way.
At last they reached the city and such a noise and confusion as met
their ears, made Marian cling to Miss Dorothy. "Is it always like
this?" she asked.
"Like this? How?"
"So noisy and crowded and everybody rushing about in such a hurry."
"Yes, I think it is. We notice it more, coming from our quiet little
village. This is the car we take. We are to meet Patty at the
library. Father has to go there to look up some references, and it
seemed the best place to meet. Have you ever been there, Marian?"
"No, I never have."
"Then it will be something for you to see. A good library is a good
lesson in many directions."
But Marian's eyes were not taking in rows of books or library
appointments when they reached the reading-room. She was searching
for a dark-haired, rosy-faced, plump little girl who should answer
to the name of Patty. "I believe there she is," she whispered to
Miss Dorothy, and nodded toward a corner where sat two whom Marian
decided must be those they were looking for.
"Why, so it is," returned Miss Dorothy. "The idea of your seeing
them first. How did you know them?"
"From the photographs you showed me, and from what you told me about
them."
Patty had been on the lookout, too, and spied them at once. She
hurried forward, threw her arms around her sister and gave her a
fervent hug, then she turned to Marian. "I am so glad you could
come," she said heartily. "I was so afraid maybe you couldn't and
I did so want us to be together to-day."
"Dad is so absorbed he hasn't seen us yet," said Miss Dorothy,
making her way to the corner where her father sat. "I wonder if I
can steal up behind him and take him unawares." She had almost
reached him when he caught sight of her. Down went the book, he
jumped up and had her in his arms in a minute. "Come, come," he
said, "let us get out where we don't have to whisper. I'll come back
later," and he hurried them into the corridor where they could speak
freely. He was not a very tall man, but was broad-shouldered and a
little inclined to be stout. "Now," he said with a pleasant smile at
Marian, "I am willing to bet a cookie, that I can tell who this is.
You look like your father, my dear. I knew him very well when I was
younger, for I will venture to say you are a Miss Somebody Otway."
"Her name is Marian," said Patty, "and we are going to be great
friends."
"You are? Isn't it early in the day to make such predictions?" said
Mr. Robbins.
"No." Patty shook her head. "I knew the minute I saw her that we
were going to be. I like her, don't you, daddy?"
"If she is as nice as she looks, I do," was the reply, and Marian
felt much pleased at being made of such consequence. She was not
used to being noticed and these friendly people pleased her. She
wondered if her father would be as cheery, and as affectionately
disposed as Mr. Robbins. She would ask this pleasant man about her
father some day when they were better acquainted.
"Now, let me see, what is the programme?" said Mr. Robbins to his
elder daughter.
"We three females are going shopping. I am to buy Patty a coat. Is
there anything else I am to get for the family?"
"Dear me, yes. I have a long list that your Aunt Barbara gave me;
she said you would know. I have it somewhere about me." He felt in
his pockets and presently brought out the list which Miss Dorothy
looked over.
"Oh, these will not be much trouble," she assured him. "They are all
little things. I can easily see to them all."
"That is good; I am glad to have that responsibility removed," said
her father. "You will want some money, I suppose."
"Yes, but not very much," Miss Dorothy smiled encouragingly. She
knew too well the many demands upon that none-too-well-filled
pocketbook, and when her father took out a roll of bills and handed
them to her she gave some back to him. "I shall not need all that,"
she told him. "Patty's coat is the only really expensive thing I
shall have to get."
"Very well, then," said her father, "but you must be sure to have
enough. Now, where shall we meet for lunch?"