NEW BEGINNINGS.
And so it happened that Patience was supplied with a new head, to the
surprise and delight of Ruth.
“It is just like you, princess,” she said. “Fairy princesses always do
such things, and oh, dear princess, what lovely clothes you have made
Patience. She has been to fairyland I know. Did you make that cunning
hat of rose-leaves, and the frock of spun cobwebs?”
Lisa laughed and hugged the imaginative little creature to her. “Do you
know, Ruth,” she said, “that you and your grandma are coming to see
us in the winter, and when we go away next week you will have that to
anticipate?” For Ruth had grieved sorely over the prospect of Lisa’s
near departure. Walter’s yacht had set sail a very few days after the
storm, leaving Ned Carew behind. Poor Ned kept his place persistently
by Lisa’s side, despite that maiden’s very contemptuous treatment.
“You never can tell what a girl means to do,” Ned had confided to
Basil. “You know they say a girl often treats you very badly when she
really likes you.”
“Can’t you see through a millstone when it has a hole in it?” returned
Basil. And Ned pondered as deeply as he was capable upon the remark,
finally concluding that Basil meant to suggest in a delicate way that
Lisa’s conduct toward him indicated an opposite state of feeling from
that which appeared upon the surface.
Persis had a lofty scorn for the “Popinjay,” as she called him, and any
leniency toward him on Lisa’s part was mainly due to a contrary spirit
aroused by Persis’s persistent attacks upon the unfortunate Ned.
Every morning found Persis and Basil ensconced in a corner of the
porch with their Latin books, while Mrs. Estabrook sat near them in a
high-backed chair. Persis had a persistent, dogged way of attacking her
difficulties which amused Basil, and which made grandma aware that here
was a trait which augured well for Persis’s success in life. No amount
of persuasion or temptation would induce the girl to allow one lesson
to be slighted, and in consequence, by the time the summer was over she
had an assured prospect of finishing her studies at Miss Adams’s school
earlier than at first seemed possible, and she was planning for her
college life with high hopes.
“I miss Mr. Dan, but Basil is a great help,” she told her sister. “He
is like a real brother, isn’t he, Lisa? Of course you are so taken up
with the Popinjay you haven’t eyes for any one else. I believe you
actually drove Mr. Dan away by your high and mightiness.”
Lisa’s lip curled. “I drive him away, indeed! It was doubtless because
he was bored to death down here. I know he was just dying to get off
with Walter away from us females. He was like a cat in a strange garret
among such a raft of us, and I don’t wonder.”
But when the summer days were over, and the return home was an
actuality, it was Lisa who left regretfully. She had felt for some time
that the going back must mean active decision; that womanhood’s call
awaited her when she appeared in the world as a school-girl no longer;
and, although Persis had always been the one most anxious to see her
mother, on this occasion it was Lisa who first sought her with an
eagerness which Mrs. Holmes could but note.
“Oh, mamma,” said Lisa, “I am so glad to have you a little hour to
myself. I want your help, mamma. I have been thinking so hard, and I am
tired.” And there was a child’s wistfulness in the tone.
This was Lisa in a new mood which her mother scarcely understood. “My
darling, I imagined in that quiet, drowsy old place you would have
little cause for considering any question of moment,” she made reply.
Lisa shook her head. “I never was so roused, mamma, and all because
of a hateful—no—a—man,—Mr. Danforth.” And Lisa’s eyes fell before her
mother’s look of inquiry.
“He despised me, and I didn’t like to be despised,” she went on, “and
so I cast around to find why he did; and then I despised myself; and
so, mamma, I want to study kindergartening, and I mean to teach in the
free kindergarten. I have a way with little children, I find, and I
should then have some purpose in life; it would have a meaning beyond
that of a mere butterfly existence. Wouldn’t it?”
Mrs. Holmes regarded her daughter with a thoughtful gaze. “And so you
have come to a woman’s estate,” she replied. “I did not think it would
come to you so soon.” And there was a new tenderness in her voice.
“What come?”
“Your knowledge of your heart,” returned her mother, gently.
“Why? What? Oh, mamma!” And Lisa buried her head in her hands. “I hate
him!” she whispered.
“No, dear. I understand. Ah, my darling, I am glad your best self is
aroused. He must be a good man who could make you respond to the best
within you.”
“He is good,” answered Lisa, in a little breathless way. “He is too
good; but, oh, mamma, he doesn’t—oh, I don’t know.” And then from a
full heart she told her mother all that had occurred which bore upon
her acquaintance with Mr. Danforth.
“Well, my dear one, I am so glad you have come to me with all this. No
one is a truer friend than your mother,” Mrs. Holmes assured her.
“That is what he said,” replied Lisa, in a low tone. “But perhaps I
shall never see him again.”
“Oh, yes, you will! He has been offered and has accepted a position
in the preparatory school, and some day perhaps he may occupy a
professor’s chair at the university, unless some other profession
attracts him more. Your father esteems him very highly, and I think
there is little doubt but that you will see him again.”
Lisa lifted a flushed face to her mother. “Don’t tell papa,” she
entreated.
“No, my dearie; but he will be very glad to know that you mean to be
of some use in the world, and I am sure that he will encourage the
kindergarten plan.”
And, therefore, to the great surprise of Persis and Mellicent, Lisa
announced that her winter’s work was decided upon.
“Well, of all things!” said Persis. “I thought you were going in for
society, and would be a tremendous success; and now to think all that
grandeur is nipped in the bud.”
“It’s the bud that refuses to be nipped,” laughed Lisa. “The scorching
breath of adulation might blight her, and she prefers to retain
her pristine fragrance. Now you see how our ambitions change as we
grow older. Instead of desiring to be the centre of admiration in
the ball-room, I crave the adoration of a set of youngsters in a
school-room. There is something unique in the ambition. Don’t you think
so?”
“I should say there is,” returned Persis. “But you will be frivolous
sometimes, I hope?”
“Of course. I don’t mean to be a nun. You shall have the pleasure of
seeing me in gorgeous array quite frequently, no doubt.”
“Well, I’m glad of it. I don’t want you to be a crank,” replied Persis.
“What worthy daughters of our father we shall be, to be sure,—you a
kindergarten professor, I a B.A. or a M.A. or some sort of an A or a D
or something, and Mell—what about you, Pigeon?”
“I don’t know. I think I shall try genealogy, and hunt up people’s
pedigrees. I’d like that.”
Her sisters laughed. “You certainly would,” they declared. “How about
Audrey? Has she come to the end of her pedigree yet?”
“I think she must have. She has traced it back to Adam,” replied
Mellicent, gravely.
A shout of laughter came from Lisa and Persis. “How did she manage to
do it?” they asked.
“Oh, she got hold of some book on Irish pedigrees, and she found out
that her mother’s people were descended from one of the old Celtic
kings, and he was descended from Ir, the son of King Milesius of Spain,
and his lineage was given all the way back to Adam. It’s all down in
black and white. I saw it. I can’t remember many of the names, but Noah
and Methuselah are among them.”
“That is the most ridiculous thing I ever heard,” Lisa asserted. “I
hope Audrey has more sense than to believe it.”
“Of course she believes it,” returned Mellicent, somewhat offended.
“You would, too, if you saw the book; it’s as clear as day, and it’s
very interesting.”
“There’s no doubt of our all claiming Adam,” remarked Persis, “but
William the Conqueror, or, as Porter vulgarly puts it, ‘Billy the
Corn-curer,’ is quite as far back as I should dare go. We shall have
to call Audrey the Milesian. I am going to tease her by telling her we
have a Welsh ancestor somewhere, and that they say Adam only comes
half-way down a Welsh pedigree.”
“What nonsense!” observed Lisa.
“Oh, dear!” exclaimed Persis, suddenly. “I am just beginning to realize
that you will not be in school this year, Lisa,—neither will Margaret
Greene,—and I shall be one of the seniors, and then next year I shall
be at college. Think of it, Lisa!” And she gave her sister a gentle
pinch.
“Don’t nip the bud,” expostulated Lisa, “even if you are going to
college. I don’t like nips. You are too enthusiastic when you show your
emotions, Persis.”
“Oh, I didn’t mean to hurt,” contritely said Persis. “Tell me, my bud,
what is the Popinjay going to do if you ignore society?”
“I’m not going to ignore it.” And over Lisa’s face a cloud came. Then
she arose from her place and left the room.
“There! I never open my mouth but what I put my foot in it, as the
Irishman said,” Persis declared, turning to Mellicent. “I don’t quite
understand Lisa these days. She’s ever so much gentler, only she’s
more—sort of uneven. One day she is as gay as a lark and the next she’s
down in the dumps. She has been that way ever since we came back from
Bellingly.”
“I believe you had a better time down there than I had at the
mountains,” returned Mellicent. “I got so tired of so many people
coming and going all the time. No one seemed to stay long enough for
you to become really acquainted, and there were hardly any young
people.”
By the first of October all three girls were busy at work with their
various studies, and to Persis, who was now nearing the end of her time
as Miss Adams’s pupil, the future held delightful possibilities.
It was therefore a great downfall to her hopes when one day her father
told her that she must give up the prospect of going away from home to
college the next year. “I am afraid, my dear child, it is going to be a
greater expense than we can afford,” he told her.
Persis looked at him with surprise and disappointment. “Why, papa! Why,
papa!” she stammered; “what is the reason?”
He smiled a little sadly. “My small investments are paying me nothing,
and your grandmother, who expected to share the expense of your college
course, is suffering from the same condition of affairs. Certain
railroad stocks on which we both have heretofore depended are paying no
dividends, and then there are other stocks which bring us nothing.”
Persis’s lips quivered, but she said, bravely, although with swimming
eyes, “I’ll try to bear it, papa, but I am so disappointed. I worked so
hard all summer with my Latin so as to get through a year sooner.”
“I know you did, daughter. Don’t think it is no disappointment to me
too.” And he laid his hand gently on the girl’s shoulder.
Persis rested her cheek against it, saying, contritely, “I’ll not be so
selfish, papa; but I feel as if all my ground were slipping from under
me. I had planned it all out so many times, and I don’t know how to
build any new castles.”
“Perhaps time will develop some new interests for you,” her father
suggested, consolingly. And Persis left him with a very downcast
countenance. She could not bear to face her grandmother with the tears
rolling down her cheeks, and so a good cry in her snuggery was denied
her, for this was a question in which grandma was too closely involved.
Persis therefore escaped to the room she still shared with Lisa, and a
half-hour later the latter found her there with a very shiny red nose
and traces of tears still upon her long black lashes.
“Why, Tommy, what in the world is the matter? You look as if you had
lost your last friend.”
“I feel as if I had,” responded Persis, dejectedly. “Papa says I can’t
go to college next year.” And the tears began to flow afresh.
Lisa put down her books upon the table. “I am awfully sorry,” she
replied, with real sympathy. “I knew the investments were paying poorly
this year, but I didn’t know it was so bad as that. Hard times, you
know. Never mind, Perse, maybe you can go next year after all. I’ll
tell you what: I’ll try to get a position to teach in a kindergarten
and keep up my study at the same time; then I could help out.”
“You’re awfully good,” sobbed Persis, quite overcome by this mark of
affection in her sister, “but I couldn’t stand having you work for me.
I’ll try to get something to do myself—I don’t care what. I shall be
wild if I can’t do something.”
“You could study a lot at home,” suggested Lisa, cheerfully, “and maybe
you could gain almost as much that way.”
Persis looked up a little comforted. “It’s good of you to suggest it. I
know Basil would help me, and so would Mr. Dan.”
The color mounted to Lisa’s forehead. “No doubt,” she said; “although
he does not trouble himself to call upon us very often.”
“He is so busy, you know,” Persis explained. “He does other things
besides teaching.”
Lisa did not pursue the subject, and Persis, drying her eyes, prepared
to study her lessons.
“I shall have to tell Miss Adams, I suppose,” she said, taking up her
books.
“Yes. I suppose you might as well, although it will not make any
difference with your being graduated.”
“No; the certificate will take me to college, I know. Oh, dear, Annis
will be so disappointed.” And Persis drew a deep sigh as she turned
over her pages.
She took an early opportunity of telling Miss Adams of the
disappointment, being sure that her teacher, who knew her bright
little pupil’s ambition, would give her sympathy. Miss Adams smiled at
Persis’s lugubrious tone, although she felt so very sorry for her.
“My dear child,” she said, “you are taking this very much to heart.”
“I know I am,” acknowledged Persis, ruefully. “I had so hoped I could
enter the freshman class with Annis, and it spoils all our plans. You
know we wanted to edit a magazine when we had finished at college.”
Miss Adams smiled again. “Well, I don’t see that you will be prevented
from following out your ambition if Annis does well. She is sure of
going, isn’t she?”
“Yes; but I’m not.” And Persis’s face took on a more doleful expression
than before.
“My dear,” said Miss Adams, feeling very sorry for Persis’s
disappointment, “I do not want to raise false hopes, but do you know
you might try for a scholarship? There are several offered in the
college, and one of them might be opened to you if you chose to try for
it.”
“Oh, Miss Adams,” cried Persis, starting to her feet, “I never thought
of that! Do you really think I could? What would I have to do?”
“You would have to stand an examination instead of trusting to your
certificate.”
“Oh, I’ll do that! I’ll do anything. I’ll study harder than ever. Oh,
Miss Adams, I am so much obliged to you for even suggesting such a
thing.”
“You must not count on it. There may be no vacancies next year, and
then you must remember that the expense of your board will be extra,”
Miss Adams warned her.
Persis’s face fell again and she sighed.
“I’ll try anyhow,” she made known her determination, after a moment’s
reflection. “Maybe some way will be arranged for me.”
“That is the proper spirit,” approved Miss Adams. “I’ll help all I
can, Persis, and there is no knowing what good fortune may come to you.”
“Don’t tell any one,” begged Persis. “I’d like to keep it a secret. I
don’t want even mamma and papa to know just yet, for if I should fail I
should feel so ashamed.”
“Do you think you can keep it a secret?” Miss Adams asked, meaningly.
Persis’s tone held a little reproach as she answered, “Oh, Miss Adams,
I don’t tell everything, as I used to do. I’m getting a little more
discretion, don’t you think?”
“I hope so,” returned her teacher. “I think your vineyard contains
fewer little foxes to steal the grapes.”
From this time Persis bent herself to her studies with redoubled
energy, and her strict application puzzled even Lisa. “I don’t see why
you study so unusually hard,” she said.
“I want to be graduated with highest honors,” Persis returned. But a
little injured look on her sister’s face told her that she had made a
mistake in making this answer.
“Oh, dear, I forgot that Lisa came out second,” she thought to herself.
“No,” she corrected, “it isn’t that, Lisa; but I want to study as hard
as I can this year, so as to be that much further ahead next.”
“Oh,” responded Lisa, more graciously; “I see! It is a good plan,
Perse, for you will need all your wits if you hope to keep up with
Annis.” And the subject was dropped for the time being.
[Illustration: Decoration]