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FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD
by
MRS. A. D. T. WHITNEY
Author of "The Gayworthy's," "A Summer in Leslie Goldthwaite's Life,"
"Footsteps on the Seas," etc.
New York
The New York Book Company
1913
CONTENTS
I. "Money, Money!" 1
II. Sortes. 4
III. Aunt Henderson. 6
IV. Glory McWhirk. 10
V. Something Happens. 15
VI. Aunt Henderson's Girl Hunt. 26
VII. Cares; And What Came Of Them. 31
VIII. A Niche In Life, And A Woman To Fill It. 34
IX. Life Or Death? 37
X. Rough Ends. 40
XI. Cross Corners. 43
XII. A Reconnoissance. 49
XIII. Development. 54
XIV. A Drive With The Doctor. 59
XV. New Duties. 65
XVI. "Blessed Be Ye, Poor." 68
XVII. Frost-Wonders. 75
XVIII. Out In The Snow. 79
XIX. A "Leading." 85
XX. Paul. 89
XXI. Pressure. 94
XXII. Roger Armstrong's Story. 99
XXIII. Question And Answer. 103
XXIV. Conflict. 112
XXV. A Game At Chess. 116
XXVI. Lakeside. 120
XXVII. At The Mills. 124
XXVIII. Locked In. 127
XXIX. Home. 135
XXX. Aunt Henderson's Mystery. 140
XXXI. Nurse Sampson's Way Of Looking At It. 147
XXXII. Glory Mcwhirk's Inspiration. 152
XXXIII. Last Hours. 157
XXXIV. Mrs. Parley Gimp. 160
XXXV. Indian Summer. 164
XXXVI. Christmastide. 169
XXXVII. The Wedding Journey. 177
FAITH GARTNEY'S GIRLHOOD
CHAPTER I.
"MONEY, MONEY!"
"Shoe the horse and shoe the mare,
And let the little colt go bare."
East or West, it matters not where--the story may, doubtless, indicate
something of latitude and longitude as it proceeds--in the city of
Mishaumok, lived Henderson Gartney, Esq., one of those American
gentlemen of whom, if she were ever canonized, Martha of Bethany must be
the patron saint--if again, feminine celestials, sainthood once achieved
through the weary experience of earth, don't know better than to assume
such charge of wayward man--born, as they are, seemingly, to the life
destiny of being ever "careful and troubled about many things."
We have all of us, as little girls, read "Rosamond." Now, one of
Rosamond's early worries suggests a key to half the worries, early and
late, of grown men and women. The silver paper won't cover the basket.
Mr. Gartney had spent his years, from twenty-five to forty, in
sedulously tugging at the corners. He had had his share of silver paper,
too--only the basket was a little too big.
In a pleasant apartment, half library, half parlor, and used in the
winter months as a breakfast room, beside a table still covered with the
remnants of the morning meal, sat Mrs. Gartney and her young daughter,
Faith; the latter with a somewhat disconcerted, not to say rueful,
expression of face.
A pair of slippers on the hearth and the morning paper thrown down
beside an armchair, gave hint of the recent presence of the master of
the house.
"Then I suppose I can't go," remarked the young lady.
"I'm sure I don't know," answered the elder, in a helpless, worried sort
of tone. "It doesn't seem really right to ask your father for the money.
I did just speak of your wanting some things for a party, but I suppose
he has forgotten it; and, to-day, I hate to trouble him with
reminding. Must you really have new gloves and slippers, both?"
Faith held up her little foot for answer, shod with a partly worn bronze
kid, reduced to morning service.
"These are the best I've got. And my gloves have been cleaned over and
over, till you said yourself, last time, they would hardly do to wear
again. If it were any use, I should say I must have a new dress; but I
thought at least I should freshen up with the 'little fixings,' and
perhaps have something left for a few natural flowers for my hair."
"I know. But your father looked annoyed when I told him we should want
fresh marketing to-day. He is really pinched, just now, for ready
money--and he is so discouraged about the times. He told me only last
night of a man who owed him five hundred dollars, and came to say he
didn't know as he could pay a cent. It doesn't seem to be a time to
afford gloves and shoes and flowers. And then there'll be the carriage,
too."
"Oh, dear!" sighed Faith, in the tone of one who felt herself
checkmated. "I wish I knew what we really _could_ afford! It always
seems to be these little things that don't cost much, and that other
girls, whose fathers are not nearly so well off, always, have, without
thinking anything about it." And she glanced over the table, whereon
shone a silver coffee service, and up at the mantel where stood a French
clock that had been placed there a month before.
"Pull at the bobbin and the latch will fly up." An unspoken suggestion,
of drift akin to this, flitted through the mind of Faith. She wondered
if her father knew that this was a Signal Street invitation.
Mr. Gartney was ambitious for his children, and solicitous for their
place in society.
But Faith had a touch of high-mindedness about her that made it
impossible for her to pull bobbins.
So, when her father presently, with hat and coat on, came into the room
again for a moment, before going out for the day, she sat quite silent,
with her foot upon the fender, looking into the fire.
Something in her face however, quite unconsciously, bespoke that the
world did not lie entirely straight before her, and this catching her
father's eye, brought up to him, by an untraceable association, the
half-proffered request of his wife.
"So you haven't any shoes, Faithie. Is that it?"
"None nice enough for a party, father."
"And the party is a vital necessity, I suppose. Where is it to be?"
The latch string was put forth, and while Faith still stayed her hand,
her mother, absolved from selfish end, was fain to catch it up.
"At the Rushleighs'. The Old Year out and the New Year in."
"Oh, well, we mustn't 'let the colt go bare,'" answered Mr. Gartney,
pleasantly, portemonnaie in hand. "But you must make that do." He handed
her five dollars. "And take good care of your things when you have got
them, for I don't pick up many five dollars nowadays."
And the old look of care crept up, replacing the kindly smile, as he
turned and left the room.
"I feel very much as if I had picked my father's pocket," said Faith,
holding the bank note, half ashamedly, in her hand.
Henderson Gartney, Esq., was a man of no method in his expenditure. When
money chanced to be plenty with him it was very apt to go as might
happen--for French clocks, or whatsoever; and then, suddenly, the silver
paper fell short elsewhere, and lo! a corner was left uncovered.
The horse and the mare were shod. Great expenses were incurred; money
was found, somehow, for grand outlays; but the comfort of buying, with a
readiness, the little needed matters of every day--this was foregone.
"Not let the colt go bare!" It was precisely the thing he was
continually doing.
Mrs. Gartney had long found it to be her only wise way to make her hay
while the sun was shining--to buy, when she could buy, what she was sure
would be most wanted--and to look forward as far as possible, in her
provisions, since her husband scarcely seemed to look forward at all.
So she exemplified, over and over again in her life, the story of
Pharaoh and his fat and lean kine.
That night, Faith, her little purchases and arrangements all complete,
and flowers and carriage bespoken for the next evening, went to bed to
dream such dreams as only come to the sleep of early years.
At the same time, lingering by the fireside below for a half hour's
unreserved conversation, Mr. Gartney was telling his wife of another
money disappointment.
"Blacklow, at Cross Corners, gives up the lease of the house in the
spring. He writes me he is going out to Indiana with his son-in-law. I
don't know where I shall find another such tenant--or any at all, for
that matter."