PASTURES NEW.
The first unexpected turn in Persis’s winding river was made very
shortly after this, and her first view of it was through Mr. Danforth’s
agency. To the girl’s disappointment she learned from Miss Adams that
no scholarships at the college were open for applicants the coming
year, and to Persis her college career seemed to drift farther and
farther away into the unattainable.
While still chafing under the disappointment, a call from Mr. Danforth
drew forth her confidence. “It was quite natural,” she told herself,
that she should tell her former tutor of this special affair. “I
haven’t said a word about it, even to Annis or Basil,” she informed
him, “but I must talk it over with some one, or I shall lose my wits. I
feel as if I didn’t know what to ‘jump into next,’ as Prue says.”
“It is strange how events shape themselves,” replied Mr. Danforth, “for
I came here for the express purpose of making a proposition to you—I
have not forgotten your ambition to be an editor, and I thought perhaps
you would not object to a little journalistic training. In this new
paper, which I think promises well, we purpose to have a page devoted
to the young folks, and I wondered if you would care to try your hand
at managing it in the fall.”
Persis looked up, her face aglow. “I? Why, I haven’t had a bit of
experience. I don’t know a thing about such matters, except,” she
added, thoughtfully, “that I have always edited our little club paper.
It isn’t printed, you know, only written out, and copied on the
type-writer, and it is a very insignificant affair.”
“Nevertheless, I believe you could take hold of our page for us. We
want something attractive to children. You have a fund of humor, good
taste, good judgment, and a decided faculty for analysis. I can soon
initiate you into certain mysteries of a technical sort, and we would
rather have some one young enough to understand the likes and dislikes
of children. We cannot pay you a large salary;” and he named a figure
which seemed quite important to the inexperienced girl.
“That editorial _we_ always sounds so very important,” laughed Persis.
“I should be perfectly enchanted to try the work, but I must consult
mamma and papa first, and I will let you know as soon as possible. Oh,
Mr. Dan, you don’t know what a load it will lift for me. It will put a
reason into my days. I had intended joining the Monday Afternoon Club,
and I shall still keep up my interest in the Maids, but this seems so
much more real than anything else. Thank you so much for offering it to
me.”
“You can do the greater part of your work at home,” Mr. Danforth
explained. “A call once a week at the office will be all that will be
demanded of you, and even that may not always be necessary.”
In a tremor of excitement Persis unfolded the scheme to her mother, who
at first looked doubtful, but as Persis smoothed away all obstacles it
was decided that she should be allowed to make the experiment, and she
wrote of her new work in exuberant terms to Lisa. Just what that young
woman thought of the proceeding was not gathered from the letter she
sent in reply; but she congratulated Persis upon her prospects, and
stated that she had concluded to remain through the year; that she had
made some very pleasant acquaintances, and there was so much to see.
“I shall have a volume to tell you when I do get home,” she wrote. “I
long to see you all, but Aunt Esther is so good and generous, and is so
anxious to keep me, I really think I ought to stay.”
The summer was passed quietly at Bellingly, by the same little company
with the exception of Mr. Danforth and Lisa, whose absence made itself
felt, and Persis concluded that it was a mistake to go a second time to
a place where you had once specially enjoyed yourself.
Mr. Danforth began his system of training by sending to Persis a batch
of proofs each week. These she was to correct and return; and in this
way a pleasant correspondence was kept up. Sometimes a little poem
would be slipped in, or accompanying the bundle might be a letter
giving comments upon the last corrections; and once Mr. Danforth came
down to spend Sunday at the old place.
“It does seem very natural to see you here,” said Persis, viewing him
from the hammock. “Grandma, I know, must have missed you. If it were
not for Annis—and Basil—and grandma, I should be rather lonely myself.”
Mr. Danforth looked amused. “It seems to me you are pretty well secured
against loneliness.”
Persis laughed. “I’m not likely to lose them all, am I? But I don’t
know what I shall do next winter when Annis goes to college and the
boys go with their mother.”
“Are they going to leave you then?”
“Yes. Mrs. Phillips’s sister is so much better, and has made so many
friends in California, that she is going to live there altogether, and
Mrs. Phillips will take a house somewhere in the city. Oh, by the way,
I wonder we never thought of it, but perhaps Mrs. Brown would like to
rent her house, if she goes with Annis. I must suggest it. Oh, dear,
what shall I do without Annis?”
But strange interventions remove our threatened troubles, and, after
all, Annis did not go to college that year; for shortly after her
return home she was stricken down with typhoid fever, and the snow was
on the ground before she so much as dared to venture out of doors.
Her devotion to Persis made itself manifest all through the long
illness, and she could scarcely bear to have her friend out of her
sight; so Persis would take her work to Annis’s room, look over proof
or read manuscripts while the patient slept, and be ready to minister
to her when she awoke.
“It is so very quiet at our house nowadays; it doesn’t seem like the
same place,” Persis told her cousin. “With the boys gone, and Lisa
away, it is so desolate. Mellicent is at school all the morning, and
she is not noisy at the best of times. The boys come in very often;
for, although they have a very pleasant boarding-place, they say it is
not like home, and they pop in on us at all sorts of odd times. Do you
know, Annis, for all that I feel awfully sorry that you have been so
ill, I am mean enough to have a little glad feeling ’way down inside of
me because you didn’t go to college after all. Aren’t you ashamed of
myself?”
Annis, with her little pale face, big eyes, and closely cropped
head, was sitting up in a large chair by the window. “Well, no,” she
answered, after a pause, “I’m not a bit ashamed of yourself. I should
feel the same; and as it is I am rather glad. I did hate to think of
going without you, and I quite enjoy the getting well. It is nice
to have you here every day where I can see you. You are so nice and
healthy-looking, Persis.”
“I certainly am not puny, for I am not working myself to death. I
think, after all, it has turned out for the best. I think it would have
been almost too much for the family if I had gone away too. I hope we
shall see Lisa before next fall, and then I can leave without feeling
so _compuncted_.”
Annis laughed at the word. “Tell me about the paper. I like to hear
about it.”
“Oh, it’s great fun! I get such funny manuscripts to look over, and
such absurd letters come. You know, of course, I am not a _bonâ fide_
editor. I only have a certain part of the work to do. It is very
interesting, and I think I shall earn enough to help me through the
first year at college. I don’t know where the rest is to come from;
but, as Mellicent once wrote in a letter, ‘I keep hopping.’”
“Do you know, Persis,” said Annis, “I have been talking about something
to mamma, and I want you to say ‘yes’ before I tell you.”
“What good will yes do?”
“I mean I want you to promise to—to—— Well, I’ll tell you, and you must
say ‘yes,’ or I shall go straight to work and have a relapse.”
“You shall not if I can help it.”
“Then I am sure of the yes. It’s just this way. You know you are my
very dearest, darlingest girl, and mamma and I should still have been
struggling with boarding-house breakfasts but for you; and so mamma is
going to rent this house next year.”
“To Mrs. Phillips?”
“Yes. And mamma wants to take a cunning house, or maybe a little
apartment, near the college, so we can still have a home to ourselves,
and we want, we invite, we insist on your coming and staying with us as
our guest while we are at college together—you and I. Oh, Persis, it
would make us so happy. Aren’t you my cousin, and haven’t we a right to
you?” And Annis leaned over to put her little thin hand on Persis.
There was no immediate reply from the latter.
“Please,” pleaded Annis. “I feel myself getting paler.”
Persis laughed, but her eyes were downcast to hide their moisture. “I
don’t know why I feel like crying,” she said. “You dear, sweet thing!
If the family consent I say yes, but I don’t like the idea of sponging.”
“It will not be—no, no!”
Persis shook her head. “You see it would not be if there were no object
in my accepting. If I were just going to visit and not go to college.
I tell you, Annis, if I may be allowed to just pay for my keep I shall
feel much more comfortable.”
“I think you’re very hard-hearted,” returned Annis, the tears coming to
her eyes.
“You dear child! There, it’s all right. You mustn’t get worked up over
it. You are not strong enough yet to talk of business matters. I’ll
come. Yes, I’ll manage by hook or by crook, and we will settle it when
the time comes. There, does that satisfy the baby?”
“I know I am silly,” returned Annis; “but I feel like crying if my tea
is too sweet or my toast is scorched, so don’t mind me.”
“It’s time for your nap,” announced Persis. “Let me cuddle you down,
and then I must leave you. I am due at the office at noon.”
Annis consented, admitting that she was a little tired, and Persis
gathered up her papers and took her leave.
It was a cold day, and as she wended her way through the business
portion of the city she hoped she would not be detained long, but could
reach home in time for a hot luncheon; yet she rather enjoyed her
little trips to the office. They were at first greatly discouraged by
her parents, who felt that so young a girl should not go unaccompanied
to a newspaper office; but Mr. Danforth was too correct a man to
countenance anything not strictly proper, Mr. Holmes reflected;
and after seeing the pleasant, matronly looking woman employed as
bookkeeper, and finding that his daughter was not exposed to the
meeting of casual callers in the outer office, the objection was
removed, and Persis was free to enjoy the unconventional proceeding.
Depositing her papers on the desk, where paste-pot and scissors awaited
her, Persis went to work at her proofs and began to make up her dummy.
This was done by pasting in an old copy of the paper the new proofs
just where they were intended to be arranged in the coming issue of the
paper, and it was sometimes quite a puzzle to fit the matter within a
given space.
“It is always five columns of matter to four of space,” said Persis,
addressing the bookkeeper; but upon looking up she saw Mr. Danforth
watching her. “What a mean advantage to take,” she said, merrily. “I
didn’t see you come in. If I am not allowed more space I shall have to
ask Lisa to send me a Chinese puzzle to practise my wits upon, so as
to get this solved.”
“Can’t you cut it?” asked Mr. Danforth, looking over her shoulder.
“I shall have to; but that will necessitate my leaving out my favorite
verses and this thrilling anecdote, as well as one bit of pleasantry.
There, now. Oh, dear, how late it is! I have been working over this
thing for an hour, and I still have some other work to do. I hoped I
shouldn’t have to go out again in the cold till I started for home, and
I am too hungry to wait.”
“Suppose we have some luncheon here,” suggested Mr. Danforth. “I know a
place where they have especially delectable meat-pies, and we can make
some coffee or chocolate.”
“How?”
“You don’t suppose that I haven’t resources of which you never dreamed.
Mrs. Bailey knows what this office can supply.” And he opened the door
of a little cupboard. There were plates, cups and saucers, a can of
chocolate, and one of coffee, disclosed.
“Fine!” exclaimed Persis. “But we shall have to have some milk.”
“Which is easily obtainable. Where is our little tin bucket? Off goes
the boy, back comes the feast. Come, Mrs. Bailey.” And the bookkeeper
came forward with a clean sheet of paper, which she spread upon the
desk, setting forth the cups and saucers, a bag of loaf-sugar, a tin
of biscuits, a jar of East India preserves, and a glass of club-house
cheese.
“Oh,” cried Persis, “what an array of comestibles! That is my favorite
word for something to eat, since I have taken up journalism. Here comes
Jimmy with the pies. Will they be good cold?”
“We’ll warm them,” said Mr. Danforth.
“I don’t see how you are going to do it.”
“I’ll show you. We are not at the end of our resources. ‘Necessity is
the mother of invention,’ you know.” And going into a back-room he
returned with a long splint of wood, upon which the little pies were
placed and held inside the big stove.
“What a way!” commented Persis.
“I have not been to a corn-roast for nothing.”
“Suppose the wood catches fire.”
“Suppose we are stupid enough to let it.”
“I give in. Your housewifely arts are too much for me. How is that milk
to be boiled?”
“Over the gas. We have a very small, but very convenient, gas-stove.
Where is it, Mrs. Bailey?”
“I am dumb with admiration,” declared Persis. “I am so glad I did
not finish my work in time to go home for luncheon. This is a most
delightful change from the usual routine. There! I smell that wood; the
pies must be warm. Please give me one; I am half starved. Oh, how good
it is!”
A very merry meal was made. “My first in Bohemia,” Persis certified.
“But not your last, I venture to say. I see many such in the
perspective,” Mr. Danforth predicted.
“Not for some time,” rejoined Persis. “I am pretty sure of college, Mr.
Dan. Will you keep my place for me till I come back? But, no; that is
pressing friendship rather too far. I should not require such a thing
of you. Even with all the benefit my vast acquirements might prove to
your paper I will not exact it.”
“I promise, nevertheless, that you shall have the place whenever you
want it.”
“Even though some one else should take my place,—some one perfectly
satisfactory? That would not be fair.”
“Whoever takes your place will do so with the full knowledge and
understanding that he or she is to be ‘bounced’—to use Porter’s pet
word—when you return with laurels upon your brow, unless you are so
given over to superior wisdom that the children’s page can no longer
interest you.”
Persis thoughtfully suspended a cracker midway to her mouth. “You
suggest such possibilities that I can scarcely grasp them,” she said,
presently. “I was thinking of the ambitious plans Annis and I have
made, and wondering if they would ever be worked out. But then I
wonder, wonder, wonder all the time. It seems to me every day brings
some new mystery. But there, I have talked enough, and eaten enough,
too. I must go to work, or there will be wonderings on the part of the
family concerning my whereabouts.”
[Illustration: Decoration]