Lilian Mitchell turned into the dry-goods store on Randall Street,
just as Esther Miller and Ella Taylor came out. They responded coldly
to her greeting and exchanged significant glances as they walked away.
Lilian's pale face crimsoned. She was a tall, slender girl of about
seventeen, and dressed in mourning. These girls had been her close
friends once. But that was before the Mitchells had lost their money.
Since then Lilian had been cut by many of her old chums and she felt
it keenly.
The clerks in the store were busy and Lilian sat down to wait her
turn. Near to her two ladies were also waiting and chatting.
"Helen wants me to let her have a birthday party," Mrs. Saunders was
saying wearily. "She has been promised it so long and I hate to
disappoint the child, but our girl left last week, and I cannot
possibly make all the cakes and things myself. I haven't the time or
strength, so Helen must do without her party."
"Talking of girls," said Mrs. Reeves impatiently, "I am almost
discouraged. It is so hard to get a good all-round one. The last one I
had was so saucy I had to discharge her, and the one I have now cannot
make decent bread. I never had good luck with bread myself either."
"That is Mrs. Porter's great grievance too. It is no light task to
bake bread for all those boarders. Have you made your jelly yet?"
"No. Maria cannot make it, she says, and I detest messing with jelly.
But I really must see to it soon."
At this point a saleswoman came up to Lilian, who made her small
purchases and went out.
"There goes Lilian Mitchell," said Mrs. Reeves in an undertone. "She
looks very pale. They say they are dreadfully poor since Henry
Mitchell died. His affairs were in a bad condition, I am told."
"I am sorry for Mrs. Mitchell," responded Mrs. Saunders. "She is such
a sweet woman. Lilian will have to do something, I suppose, and there
is so little chance for a girl here."
Lilian, walking down the street, was wearily turning over in her mind
the problems of her young existence. Her father had died the preceding
spring. He had been a supposedly prosperous merchant; the Mitchells
had always lived well, and Lilian was a petted and only child. Then
came the shock of Henry Mitchell's sudden death and of financial ruin.
His affairs were found to be hopelessly involved; when all the debts
were paid there was left only the merest pittance--barely enough for
house-rent--for Lilian and her mother to live upon. They had moved
into a tiny cottage in an unfashionable locality, and during the
summer Lilian had tried hard to think of something to do. Mrs.
Mitchell was a delicate woman, and the burden of their situation fell
on Lilian's young shoulders.
There seemed to be no place for her. She could not teach and had no
particular talent in any line. There was no opening for her in
Willington, which was a rather sleepy little place, and Lilian was
almost in despair.
"There really doesn't seem to be any real place in the world for me,
Mother," she said rather dolefully at the supper table. "I've no
talent at all; it is dreadful to have been born without one. And yet I
_must_ do something, and do it soon."
And Lilian, after she had washed up the tea dishes, went upstairs and
had a good cry.
But the darkest hour, so the proverb goes, is just before the dawn,
and after Lilian had had her cry out and was sitting at her window in
the dusk, watching a thin new moon shining over the trees down the
street, her inspiration came to her. A minute later she whirled into
the tiny sitting-room where her mother was sewing.
"Mother, our fortune is made! I have an idea!"
"Don't lose it, then," said Mrs. Mitchell with a smile. "What is it,
my dear?"
Lilian sobered herself, sat down by her mother's side, and proceeded
to recount the conversation she had heard in the store that afternoon.
"Now, Mother, this is where my brilliant idea comes in. You have often
told me I am a born cook and I always have good luck. Now, tomorrow
morning I shall go to Mrs. Saunders and offer to furnish all the good
things for Helen's birthday party, and then I'll ask Mrs. Reeves and
Mrs. Porter if I may make their bread for them. That will do for a
beginning, I like cooking, you know, and I believe that in time I can
work up a good business."
"It seems to be a good idea," said Mrs. Mitchell thoughtfully, "and I
am willing that you should try. But have you thought it all out
carefully? There will be many difficulties."
"I know. I don't expect smooth sailing right along, and perhaps I'll
fail altogether; but somehow I don't believe I will."
"A great many of your old friends will think--"
"Oh, yes; I know _that_ too, but I am not going to mind it, Mother. I
don't think there is any disgrace in working for my living. I'm going
to do my best and not care what people say."
Early next morning Lilian started out. She had carefully thought over
the details of her small venture, considered ways and means, and
decided on the most advisable course. She would not attempt too much,
and she felt sure of success.
To secure competent servants was one of the problems of Willington
people. At Drayton, a large neighbouring town, were several factories,
and into these all the working girls from Willington had crowded,
leaving very few who were willing to go out to service. Many of those
who did were poor cooks, and Lilian shrewdly suspected that many a
harassed housekeeper in the village would be glad to avail herself of
the new enterprise.
Lilian was, as she had said of herself, "a born cook." This was her
capital, and she meant to make the most of it. Mrs. Saunders listened
to her businesslike details with surprise and delight.
"It is the very thing," she said. "Helen is so eager for that party,
but I could not undertake it myself. Her birthday is Friday. Can you
have everything ready by then?"
"Yes, I think so," said Lilian briskly, producing her notebook.
"Please give me the list of what you want and I will do my best."
From Mrs. Saunders she went to Mrs. Reeves and found a customer as
soon as she had told the reason of her call. "I'll furnish all the
bread and rolls you need," she said, "and they will be good, too. Now,
about your jelly. I can make good jelly, and I'll be very glad to make
yours."
When she left, Lilian had an order for two dozen glasses of apple
jelly, as well as a standing one for bread and rolls. Mrs. Porter was
next visited and grasped eagerly at the opportunity.
"I know your bread will be good," she said, "and you may count on me
as a regular customer."
Lilian thought she had enough on hand for a first attempt and went
home satisfied. On her way she called at the grocery store with an
order that surprised Mr. Hooper. When she told him of her plan he
opened his eyes.
"I must tell my wife about that. She isn't strong and she doesn't like
cooking."
After dinner Lilian went to work, enveloped in a big apron, and
whipped eggs, stoned raisins, stirred, concocted, and baked until
dark. When bedtime came she was so tired that she could hardly crawl
upstairs; but she felt happy too, for the day had been a successful
one.
And so also were the days and weeks and months that followed. It was
hard and constant work, but it brought its reward. Lilian had not
promised more than she could perform, and her customers were
satisfied. In a short time she found herself with a regular and
growing business on her hands, for new customers were gradually added
and always came to stay.
People who gave parties found it very convenient to follow Mrs.
Saunders's example and order their supplies from Lilian. She had a
very busy winter and, of course, it was not all plain sailing. She had
many difficulties to contend with. Sometimes days came on which
everything seemed to go wrong--when the stove smoked or the oven
wouldn't heat properly, when cakes fell flat and bread was sour and
pies behaved as only totally depraved pies can, when she burned her
fingers and felt like giving up in despair.
Then, again, she found herself cut by several of her old
acquaintances. But she was too sensible to worry much over this. The
friends really worth having were still hers, her mother's face had
lost its look of care, and her business was prospering. She was
hopeful and wide awake, kept her wits about her and looked out for
hints, and learned to laugh over her failures.
During the winter she and her mother had managed to do most of the
work themselves, hiring little Mary Robinson next door on especially
busy days, and now and then calling in the assistance of Jimmy Bowen
and his hand sled to carry orders to customers. But when spring came
Lilian prepared to open up her summer campaign on a much larger scale.
Mary Robinson was hired for the season, and John Perkins was engaged
to act as carrier with his express wagon. A summer kitchen was boarded
in in the backyard, and a new range bought; Lilian began operations
with a striking advertisement in the Willington _News_ and an
attractive circular sent around to all her patrons. Picnics and summer
weddings were frequent. In bread and rolls her trade was brisk and
constant. She also took orders for pickles, preserves, and jellies,
and this became such a flourishing branch that a second assistant had
to be hired.
It was a cardinal rule with Lilian never to send out any article that
was not up to her standard. She bore the loss of her failures, and
sometimes stayed up half of the night to fill an order on time.
"Prompt and perfect" was her motto.
The long hot summer days were very trying, and sometimes she got very
tired of it all. But when on the anniversary of her first venture she
made up her accounts she was well pleased. To be sure, she had not
made a fortune; but she had paid all their expenses, had a hundred
dollars clear, and had laid the solid foundations of a profitable
business.
"Mother," she said jubilantly, as she wiped a dab of flour from her
nose and proceeded to concoct the icing for Blanche Remington's
wedding cake, "don't you think my business venture has been a decided
success?"
Mrs. Mitchell surveyed her busy daughter with a motherly smile. "Yes,
I think it has," she said.