MRS. ROGERS GETS WORK.
Gertie seemed from the first much interested in the young ladies at the
Hill, but with the exception of the night when Alice came across the
fields to speak to me, she had only seen them at a distance, while they,
absorbed as they were in more important matters, had scarcely thought of
the occupants of the cottage. Alice’s sewing, however, was peremptory,
and as her own seamstress did not come back she resolved at last to call
on Mrs. Rogers, and drove, with Emma, to the house, where they found
Gertie sitting on the low piazza absorbed in a book and making a very
striking picture, with her bright hair falling around her face and neck
as her blue eyes looked up at the strangers.
“Is your mother at home?” Alice asked; and the child replied:
“She is not my mother, and she is out just now. Can I tell her anything
from you?”
“Oh,” Alice said, a little impatiently, “that is just my luck. I wanted
so much to see her about some plain sewing. Did you say anything to her
about it, child?”
“My name is Gertie. Yes, ma’am, I told her, and I think she’d like to do
it. She’s only gone to the village after some molasses. I am expecting
her every minute. Will you wait till she comes?”
Alice glanced at Emma, who nodded her assent, while Gertie brought them
chairs, and then resuming her own, took up her book again and partly
opened it.
“Pray don’t let us disturb you,” Alice said. “We can entertain
ourselves. What story are you reading?”
“It isn’t a story,” Gertie replied. “It’s Fasquelle, and I’m getting my
lesson.”
“Fasquelle!” Alice exclaimed, in much surprise. “Are you studying
French?”
“Yes, ma’am; and I’ve most caught up with the class. Miss Armstrong says
I am doing famously. I like it so much, only here is some English which
I cannot quite put into French. These _en’s_ and _ne-gueres_ bother me.
Perhaps you can help me?”
And with the utmost _sang froid_ Gertie brought her grammar to Alice,
and with her finger indicated the troublesome passage, which Alice
rendered for her.
“She is a queer little thing,” Alice thought, as she went back to her
chair and her lesson, while Emma mentally pronounced her the most
beautiful child she had ever seen.
Some such thought flitted through Alice’s mind, and when the lesson was
gone through, and Gertie closed her book, she began to question her by
asking how old she was, and where she had lived, and what Mrs. Rogers
was to her if she was not her mother. And Gertie told her all she knew
of herself and her father and mother, and that she had a grandmother and
forty pounds a year. And then she spoke of her aunt’s loss in the bank
shares, and added:
“After that, we couldn’t lodge any more, because, you see, we are poor,
and so we came to America to seek our fortune and be near Norah, Mrs.
Schuyler’s maid, who is auntie’s cousin, you know.”
Here was an opportunity for learning something definite of Edith, and
Alice was about to question Gertie when Mrs. Rogers appeared, a jug of
molasses in one hand and a basket of eggs in the other. She seemed
flurried and surprised at sight of the ladies, and asked Gertie why she
had not invited them in.
“We are better here,” Alice said. “We only came on business. I am
wanting some plain sewing done, and called to see if you can do it for
me.”
She was civil enough, and Mrs. Rogers, who really wanted work, signified
her willingness to do anything she could. Specimens of her handiwork
were brought forth for examination, and Alice criticised and offered
suggestions with the manner of a woman of forty, and finally arranged to
try her, provided the price was not too high. That, too, proved
satisfactory, and then the young lady arose to take leave, saying:
“Perhaps you will let your little girl come for the work, to-morrow.”
“No, I will go myself,” Mrs. Rogers answered quickly, and added, in an
undertone: “it is not as if she were my own child, and in my station in
life. She is different, and must be brought up different. I mean she
shall have the very best of educations. Do you know of any piano I can
rent, or of any place where she can go to practise? I mean her to take
lessons at once.”
Alice stared wonderingly at her, and answered rather haughtily that she
knew nothing about renting pianos, or places where one could practise.
“Such airs!” she said to Emma, as they walked home together. “French and
music with clear-starching and plain sewing. That girl will be much
better off to be brought up to work than to get such notions into her
head.”
“Yes, but isn’t she pretty?” Emma said, remembering the flowing hair,
the soft, blue eyes, and the fair, round face more distinctly than she
did Fasquelle, and the airs which had so offended Alice.
“Pretty enough. Such people often are when young, but they always
degenerate sadly.”
“Yes, but she is not like _such_ people,” Emma rejoined. “Don’t you
remember what the woman said?”
“Yes, I know. The child has a grandmother and forty pounds a year, but
for all that I reckon she is about like Mrs. Rogers, and would much
better be learning to sew than playing the piano. I wonder if she would
not like to practise on your beautiful Steinway.”
Alice spoke contemptuously, not from any feeling toward Gertie
especially, but from contempt for those of her class who aspired to
something better. They had no business to be ambitious; it was their
duty to be content in the station where God had placed them. This was
her theory, and she continued to dwell upon it even after she reached
home, and made a good deal of fun of the girl with forty pounds a year
and a grandmother, who had asked her help in French, and was going to
take music lessons!