A FLOWER-GARDEN IN DOORS.
Hal went to school bright and early the first Monday in September. It
was about a mile to the place called the "Cross-roads," because from
there the roads diverged in every direction. An old tumble-down house
had been put in tolerable order, and some second-hand desks and benches
arranged in the usual fashion. Just around this point, there was quite
a nest of cottages belonging to the mill workmen.
The children straggled in shyly, eying the new master. Rather unkempt,
some of them, and with not very promising faces, belonging to the
poorer class of German and English; then others bright and tidy, and
brimming over with mirthful smiles.
By ten o'clock sixteen had assembled. Hal gave them a short address,
made a few rules, and attempted to classify them. They read and spelled
a little, at least those who were able, when the bell on the factory
rang out the hour of noon.
Three new ones came after dinner. Hal labored faithfully; but it _was_
a relief to have the session close.
Before the week ended, however, the prospect became more inspiriting.
There were twenty-three scholars, and some whom it would be a pleasure
to teach. But, after all, it was not as delightful as working among
the flowers,--the dear, beautiful children who gave only fragrance and
loveliness continually.
He had been so tired every night, that he could do nothing but rest;
and so he was glad to have Saturday come.
"It seems early to take them in," he said, surveying the garden so full
of glory. "But there is a good deal to do; and I shall have only one
day in the week."
Kit took the wheelbarrow, and trundled off to the woods for some more
good soil; for Hal had to be economical, since he could not afford to
buy every thing. They were out of debt, and had a little money,--very
little indeed; but there were some pears and grapes to sell. Hal's
Concord and Rogers hybrid had done beautifully; and two of the
new-comers in Madison had offered to take all he had, at ten cents a
pound.
"I could get more in the city," he said; "but there would be the time
and trouble of going. And grapes are heavy too: it doesn't take many
bunches to weigh a pound; and ten pounds come to a dollar."
But on this day he went at his roses. He had obtained quite a number
of slips of hybrid monthlies, mostly tea-roses; and they were doing
nicely. Some had blossomed once, and others were just showing bud.
These he meant to transplant to his bed up stairs. Careful and patient,
he took up the most of them so nicely, that I don't believe they knew
they were moved, until they began to look around for their companions.
Dot ran up stairs and down, and was most enthusiastic.
"It will be _so_ lovely to have a garden in the house!" was her
constant ejaculation.
By noon he had all the small roses in,--five white ones, four pink, and
about a dozen of different shades of deep velvety red. In this soil
he had used an abundance of powdered charcoal. Then came half a dozen
young heliotropes.
"Now, I am going to save the rest of the space, and shall plant
sweet-alyssum and candytuft, and some mignonette. I guess we have done
about enough for one day," he said to Granny and Dot.
Charlie and Kit were lolling under the trees, resting from their
labors. Now and then they had a merry outburst; but Charlie had grown
strangely quiet. She would sit lost in thought for hours together,
unless some one spoke to her; and then she would take to reading in the
same absorbed manner.
"Hal," she said one evening, "what do you know of drawing?"
"A little more than the old woman who could not tell a cow from a
rosebud;" and Hal smiled with quiet humor.
"I wish some one would teach me!"
"They do not have any drawing at school?"
"No, only at the academy. Belle Hartman is learning; but I don't care
any thing about flowers and such."
Faces and grotesque situations were Charlie's passion. She could see
the ludicrous side so quickly!
"You might practise at home, evenings."
"But paper costs a good deal. Oh, I wish I had some money!"
"Well Charlie, be patient. Something may come around by and by."
"Oh, dear!" and Charlie sighed. "I wish some one would come along and
adopt me; but then I'm not handsome, like Flossy. I suppose she is
having a splendid time. It seems to me that she might write just a
little word."
Hal thought so too. As the months went on, he began to feel bitterly
disappointed. Ah! if they could but see her once,--their beautiful
Florence.
Through the course of the month Hal managed to get his flowers in very
nice order,--several fuchsia that were in splendid bloom, two large
heliotropes, an elegant and thrifty monthly carnation, and a salvia
that was a glory in itself. But alas! that drooped and withered: so
Hall trimmed it down. Besides this, some rose and balm geraniums, a tub
full of callas, and ten of his tuberoses, that he had saved for winter
blossoming. The other two had been a source of untold comfort to him.
Then he had an exquisite safrano, and two chromatilla roses.
"Why it's quite a green-house," he said delightedly. "Now, if I can
only make them blossom all winter!"
The first spare Saturday he went over to Salem to see Mr. Thomas.
He was rather diffident, and did not like to explain his economical
arrangements, but said that he was likely to have some flowers for
sale. Mr. Thomas took him through his green-house again; and, though
there were a great many more plants, Hal thought he could show almost
as much bloom.
"I'll take your flowers," he promised, "provided you do not have too
many, and if we could manage it this way: sometimes I receive a large
order nearly a week beforehand, and I could let you know, in order that
you might bring me all you had which were really fine. And, to be frank
with you, I cannot afford to pay as much as you might get at Newbury or
New York."
"I should like to know some of the prices," Hal remarked.
"It depends a good deal upon the demand and the season; but prices
never vary a great deal."
They went round, and Hal learned a good deal in the course of his tour.
"Do you know of any place in Newbury where I could dispose of flowers?"
he asked.
"There is a Mr. Kirkman,--one brother keeps a confectionery, and the
other supplies flowers. But perhaps I may be able to do as well by you.
However, I will give you his card."
Hal and Mr. Thomas parted very good friends; and the florist gave him
some valuable advice.
"That fellow will succeed," he said to himself, watching Hal's
retreating figure. "His whole soul is in the flowers; and he blushes
over them as if they were a sweetheart. Looks pale and delicate,
though."
Truth to tell, Hal had been working pretty hard. The school _was_ a
great tax upon him; and the labor with his plants had been severe. Kit
and Granny tried to save him all they could in the way of getting in
winter vegetables, and looking after the chickens.
Ten days after his visit to Salem, he received a little note from Mr.
Thomas on this wise.
"Bring me on Thursday morning, if you have them, three dozen roses,
assorted colors, heliotrope, and fine sprays of fuchsia, if yours
are still in bloom."
"F. THOMAS."
Hal was delighted. Through September they had managed to get along on
the proceeds of their garden, and the fruit; but his first month's pay
had to go for clothes. It almost broke Granny's heart to take it.
"Why, I shall earn some more!" Hal exclaimed with his gay laugh. "It is
just what it is for, Granny, to spend. I'm thankful to be able to earn
it."
It was the middle of October now; and there had been some severe frost
already. Tender out-doors plants were a mass of blackened ruins.
"You will have to go over for me, Charlie," said Hal, "because I cannot
leave school. The stage starts at nine."
Charlie was in ecstasies. She rose by daylight on Thursday morning, to
curl her hair, Kit said; and could hardly wait for Hal to cut and pack
the flowers.
"I am sure I shall be left!" she declared twenty times at least.
Hal thought of it all the way to school. It seemed different from any
other earnings, and gave him an exquisite pleasure. His own lovely
darlings, his dream actually coming to pass.
Charlie was superbly generous, and left the stage at the Cross-roads,
when she might have ridden half a mile farther.
The children were just being dismissed: so she rushed in full of
excitement.
"O Hal! he said they were lovely, and the carnations magnificent. He
wondered how you raised them. They were a great deal prettier than his."
Hal blushed like a girl. He had sent the carnations at a venture.
"And here's the bill and the money."
Charlie was as proud as if it had been her own. Hal's fingers trembled
as he opened it. There they all were:--
Three dozen Roses $1.50
Two dozen Heliotrope .75
Fuchsias .75
One dozen Carnations .48
-----
$3.48
"Oh!" exclaimed Hal with a glad cry: "it's just splendid! And he liked
them all?"
"Yes. There's going to be a great wedding in Salem. Such hosts and
hosts of flowers! And Jim Street took me for fifteen cents!"
"So there's more than three dollars profit," Hal returned. "Now you
must run home, Charlie, and get some dinner. I have not enough for two."
"I don't see why I can't stay. I should like to see your school, Hal,
when all the children are in."
"But Granny will be troubled. Yes, you had better go, Charlie. You have
been so good this morning, that you must not spoil it all. And then
she'll be glad to hear."
Charlie went reluctantly. Granny was overjoyed The three dollars looked
as large to her as a hundred would have to many a one.
Hal could hardly wait until four o'clock. He hurried home, and ran up
stairs; but the poor flowers had been shorn of their crown of glory.
"I can't bear to look at 'em," said Granny with a quiver in her voice.
"The poor dear things, that seemed jest like human creeturs! I used
to talk to 'em every time I came in."
"But they'll soon be lovely again; and it pleases me so much to think
that I can make a little money. I shall have the green-house some day;
and you won't have any thing to do but walk round in it like a queen."
Granny smiled. Every plan of Hal's was precious to her.
The heliotrope appeared to be the better for the pruning; and some of
the tuberoses shot up a tall spike for buds.
Then Hal had a few demands from the neighbors round. Mr. Thomas's next
call was early in November, when he asked Hal to bring all the flowers
that were available. It being Saturday morning, he went in with them
himself, and became the happy recipient of five dollars and a quarter.
Then he took a ramble in a bookstore, and, being attracted by the first
few pages of "Charles Auchester," purchased the book.
Kit went nearly wild over it. Hal read it aloud; and he held his breath
at the exquisite description of Charles's first concert, and the
tenderness and sweetness of the Chevalier. Though part of it was rather
beyond their comprehension, they enjoyed it wonderfully, nevertheless.
The little room up stairs became quite a parlor for them. The stove
kept it nice and warm; and they used to love to sit there evenings,
inhaling the fragrance, and watching the drowsy leaves as they nodded
to each other: it seemed to Hal that he had never been so happy in the
world. He ceased to long for Florence.
They did very well on their chickens this year, clearing forty dollars.
Granny thought they were quite rich.
"You ought to put it in the bank, Hal! it's just a flow of good luck on
every side."
And, when he received his pay for November, he actually did put fifty
dollars in the bank, though there were a hundred things he wanted with
it.
The latter part of December Hal's flowers began to bloom in great
profusion. The alyssum and candytuft came out, and the house was sweet
with tuberoses. There being more than Mr. Thomas wanted, he took a box
full to Newbury one Saturday morning, and found Mr. Kirkman, to whom
the flowers were quite a godsend. Eight dollars! Hal felt richer than
ever.
He had set his heart upon buying some Christmas gifts. At first he
thought he would break the fifty dollars; but it was so near the end of
the month that he borrowed a little from Dr. Meade instead. He came
home laden with budgets; but both Kit and Charlie were out, fortunately.
"Now, Granny, you _will_ keep the secret," he implored. "Don't breathe
a hint of it."
Very hard work Granny found it. She chuckled over her dish-washing;
and, when Dot asked what was the matter, subsided into an awful
solemnity. But Wednesday morning soon came.
They all rushed down to their stockings, which Kit and Charlie had
insisted upon hanging up after the olden fashion. Stockings were empty
however, as Santy Claus' gifts were rather unwieldy for so small a
receptacle.
Kit started back in amazement. A mysterious black case with a brass
handle on the top.
"O Hal! you are the dearest old chap in the world; a perfect darling,
isn't he Granny? and I never, never can thank you. I've been thinking
about it all the time, and wondering--oh, you dear, precious fiddle!"
Kit hugged it; and I am not sure but he kissed it, and capered around
the room as if he had lost his senses.
Charlie's gift was a drawing-book, a set of colored pencils, and a new
dress; Granny's a new dress; and Dot's a muff and tippet, a very pretty
imitation of ermine. How delighted they all were! Kit could hardly eat
a mouthful of breakfast.
Granny gave them a royal dinner. Altogether it was almost as good as
the Christmas with "The old woman who lived in a shoe."
Yet there were only four of them now. How they missed the two absent
faces!
Shortly after this they had a letter from Joe. He had actually been
at Canton, seen John Chinaman on his native soil in all the glory of
pigtail and chop-stick. Such hosts of funny adventures it would have
been hard to find even in a book. He meant to cruise around in that
part of the world until he was tired, for he was having the tallest
kind of sport.
February was very pleasant indeed. Hal stirred up the soil in his cold
frames, and planted some seeds. His flowers were still doing very well,
the slips having come forward beautifully. On the whole, it had proved
a rather pleasant winter, and they had been very happy.
Granny declared that she was quite a lady. No more weaving carpet, or
going out to work,--nothing but "puttering" about the house. She was
becoming accustomed to the care of the flowers, and looked after them
in a manner that won Hal's entire heart.
Easter was to fall very early. Mr. Thomas had engaged all Hal's
flowers, and begged him to have as many white ones as possible. So
he fed the callas on warm water, with a little spirits of ammonia in
it, and the five beautiful stalks grew up, with their fairy haunt of
loveliness and fragrance. Dot used to look at them twenty times a day,
as the soft green turned paler and paler, bleaching out at last to that
wonderful creamy white with its delicate odor.
Outside he transplanted his heads of lettuce, sowed fresh seeds
of various kinds, and began to set slips of geranium. On cold or
stormy days they kept the glass covered, and always at night. It was
marvellous, the way every thing throve and grew. It seemed to Hal that
there was nothing else in the world so interesting.
Kit had begun to take lessons on his violin; but he soon found there
was a wide difference between the absolute drudgery of rudiments,
and the delicious dreams of melody that floated through his brain.
Sometimes he cried over the difficulties, and felt tempted to throw
away his violin; then he and Hal would have a good time with their
beloved Charles Auchester, when he would go on with renewed courage.
After Easter the flowers looked like mere wrecks. Hal cut most of the
roses down, trimmed the heliotrope and fuchsias, and planted verbenas.
His pansies, which had come from seed, looked very fine and thrifty,
and were in bud. So he mentioned that he would have quite a number of
bedding-plants for sale.
Indeed, the fame of Hal's green-house spread through Madison. It was a
marvel to everybody, how he could make plants grow in such a remarkable
fashion, and under not a few disadvantages. But he studied the soil
and habits minutely; and then he had a "gift,"--as much of a genius for
this, as Kit's for music, or Charlie's for drawing.
But with these warm spring days Hal grew very pale and thin. It
seemed to him sometimes as if he could not endure the peculiar wear
and anxiety of the school. There were thirty-five scholars now; and,
although he tried to keep respectable order, he found it very hard
work. He had such a tender, indulgent heart, that he oftener excused
than punished.
His head used to ache dreadfully in the afternoon, and every pulse in
his body would throb until it seemed to make him absolutely sore. The
gardening and the school were quite too much.
"Granny," said Charlie one evening, "I am not going to school any more."
Granny opened her eyes in surprise.
"I am going to work."
"To work?"
It was astonishing to hear Charlie declare such sentiments.
"Yes,--in the mill."
"What will you do?"
"Sarah Marshall began last fall: it's cleaning specks and imperfections
out of the cloth; not very hard, either, and they give her four and a
half a week."
"That's pretty good," said Granny.
"Yes. I shall have to do something. I hate housework and sewing, and--I
want some money."
"I'm sure Hal's as good as an angel."
"I don't want Hal's. Goodness knows! he has enough to do, and it's high
time I began to think about myself."
Granny was overwhelmed with admiration at Charlie's spirit and
resolution, yet she was not quite certain of its being proper until she
had asked Hal.
"I wish she wanted to learn dressmaking instead, or to teach school;
but she isn't proud, like Flossy. And now she is growing so large that
she wants nice clothes, and all that."
Yet Hal sighed a little. Charlie somehow appeared to be lacking in
refinement. She had a great deal of energy and persistence, and was not
easily daunted or laughed out of any idea.
"Though I think she will make a nice girl," said Hal, as if he had been
indulging in a little treason. "We have a good deal to be thankful for,
Granny."
"Yes, indeed! And dear, brave Joe such a nice boy!"
Hal made a few inquiries at the mill. They would take Charlie, and pay
her two dollars a week for the first month, after that by the piece;
and, if she was smart, she could earn three or four dollars.
So Charlie went to work with her usual sturdiness. If they could have
looked in her heart, and beheld all her plans, and known that she
hated this as bitterly as washing dishes or mending old clothes!
On the first of June, Hal took an account of stock. They had been quite
fortunate in the sale of early vegetables. The lettuce, radishes, and
tomato-plants had done beautifully. For cut-flowers he had received
fifty-two dollars; for bedding-plants,--scarlet and other geraniums,
and pansies,--the sum had amounted to over nine dollars; for vegetables
and garden-plants, eleven. They had not incurred any extra expense,
save the labor.
"To think of that, Granny! Almost seventy-five dollars! And on such a
small scale too! I think I could make gardening pay, if I had a fair
chance."
Dr. Meade admitted that it was wonderful, when he heard of it.
"I'm not sure that a hot-house would pay here in Madison, but you could
send a great many things to New York. Any how, Hal, if I were rich I
should build you one."
"You are very kind. I shouldn't have done as well, if it had not been
for you."
"Tut, tut! That's nothing. But I don't like to see you growing so thin.
I shall have to prepare you a tonic. You work too hard."
Hal smiled faintly.
"You must let gardening alone for the next six weeks. And the school
isn't the best thing in the world for you."
"I've been very thankful for it, though."
"If you stay another year, the salary must be raised. Do you like it?"
"Not as well as gardening."
"Well, take matters easy," advised the good doctor.
The tonic was sent over. Hal made a strong fight against the
languor; but the enemy was rather too stout for him. Every day
there was a little fever; and at night he tossed from side to side,
and could not sleep. Granny made him a "pitcher of tea," her great
cure-all,--valerian, gentian, and wild-cherry,--in a pitcher that had
lost both handle and spout; and, though he drank it to please her, it
did not appear to help him any.
It seemed to him, some days, that he never could walk home from school.
Now and then he caught a ride, to be sure; but the weary step after
step on these warm afternoons almost used up his last remnant of
strength.
"Now," said Dr. Meade when school had ended, "you really must begin to
take care of yourself. You are as white as if you had not an ounce of
blood in your whole body. No work of any kind, remember. It is to be a
regular vacation."
Hal acquiesced from sheer inability to do any thing else. The house
was quiet; for Dot never had been a noisy child since her crying-days.
She was much more like Florence, except the small vanities, and air of
martyrdom, that so often spoiled the elder sister's sacrifices,--a
sweet, affectionate little thing, a kind of baby, as she would always
be.
Her love for Hal and Granny was perfect devotion, and held in it a
strand of quaintness that made one smile. She could cook quite nicely;
and sewing appeared to come natural to her. Hal called her "Small
woman," as an especial term of endearment.
But they hardly knew what to make of Charlie. Instead of launching out
into gayeties, as they expected (for Charlie was very fond of finery),
she proved so economical, that she was almost stingy. She gave Granny a
dollar a week; and they heard she was earning as much as Sarah Marshall
already. In fact, Charlie was a Trojan when she worked in good earnest.
"What are you going to do with it all?" Hal would ask playfully.
"Maybe I'll put it in the bank, or buy a farm."
"Ho!" said Kit. "What would you do with a farm?"
"Hire it out on shares to Hal."
"You are a good girl, Charlie; and it's well to save a little 'gainst
time o' need."
Which encomium of Granny's would always settle the matter.
Hal did not get better. Dr. Meade wanted him to go to the seaside for a
few weeks.
"I cannot afford it," he said; "and I shouldn't enjoy it a bit alone. I
think I shall be better when cool weather comes. These warm days seem
to melt all the strength out of me."
"Well, I hope so."
Hal hoped so too. He was young; and the world looked bright; and then
they all needed him. Not that he had any morbid thoughts of dying, only
sometimes it crossed his mind. He had never been quite so well and
strong since the accident.
For Granny's sake and for Dot's sake. He loved them both so dearly; and
they seemed so peculiarly helpless,--the one in her shy childhood, the
other on the opposite confine. He wanted to make Granny's life pleasant
at the last, when she had worked so hard for all of them.
But God would do what was best; though Hal's lip quivered, and an
unbidden tear dropped from the sad eye.
O Florence! had you forgotten them?