THE FIRST MEETING.
As a consequence of the lost rubbers and wet feet, Miriam caught such a
cold that she was not able to leave the house for the remainder of the
week. Gretta Burger was still sulking, and Fannie Allen was, as she
said, "reviewing odds and ends," so the meeting which was to have been
held on Friday of that week was postponed.
But fickleness and inconstancy of purpose were not among the faults of
Winnifred, and although she made many failures, and the words "by and
by" and "in a minute" were frequently on her lips, she nevertheless made
some progress in conquering her great fault.
Her greatest temptation, as is evident from what has already been seen
of her, was to let everything else go and slip off into some nook and
lose herself in what she called "a delicious read." And this habit was
all the harder for her to break because she had commenced it when she
was a very little girl, and it had then looked "so cunning" and studious
that injudicious friends and acquaintances of the family, unable
to distinguish between a love for study which costs hard work and
self-denial, and a mere love for narrative which is easily gratified,
had praised her when she was within hearing, and had told Mr. Burton
how much they envied him the possession of so studious and intelligent a
child. Not that all works of fiction are to be condemned, for they often
have a good and lasting influence, and become a decided factor in
the formation of a noble character. But like all things intended for
recreation, they should be used only at the proper time. Winnie was fast
finding out that the proper time was when her daily duties were over,
and that was reducing her two or three snatched hours a day to fifteen
or twenty minutes. She was also beginning to find out the close
connection between various bad habits. She saw that procrastination led
to carelessness, disobedience, and, in some natures, to untruthfulness
and dishonesty.
But by the following Friday, the long-anticipated examination was over.
Our four little friends had reason to be well satisfied with the result,
so far as they were personally concerned. A mutual content had restored
harmony between Gretta and the other three, and they had decided to hold
their first meeting on that evening.
Winnie was very anxious to have Ernestine come, too; but, although she
laughed at herself for her foolish pride, Fannie said: "Of course we
know Ernestine is a nice girl, but we don't know anything about her
family, and you know she never speaks of her father, although nobody
ever heard that he is dead. They may be very common people, for all we
know."
Winnie was greatly troubled about this, for she did not like "common
people" very well herself. She had her own ideas about such things, and
she called Althea Browne "common." Althea wore brass jewelry, and was
always boasting about the fine things they had at home, and the grand
parties her aunt in Virginia gave. She was always willing to accept
fruits and sweetmeats from the other girls, but had been known, more
than once, to sneak off by herself and munch candies and apples which
she had brought. Winnie thought that if Ernestine's people were like
Althea, she did not want to have anything to do with them.
As usual, she carried this perplexity to her mother, who said: "Let the
matter rest for the present, dear. While Fannie feels as she does about
it, it would not be pleasant for any of you to have her come, or for
Ernestine herself, and dissension will not help you to become better. In
the meantime I will consider the matter, and, if I conclude that it will
be best for Ernestine to join you, I hope to be able to arrange it."
Mrs. Burton had invited the three girls to take supper with Winnie,
and, as school had closed early, and they had no lessons to prepare for
Monday, they had a nice, long afternoon together. Miriam read aloud the
account of the combat of Fides with the Giant Sloth, and when she was
through, said: "That is the giant Gretta pointed out to me; and a hard
one he will be for me to overcome, I can tell you."
"What is my worst one?" asked Fannie, taking up the book which Miriam
had laid down. As she glanced through the pages she said, with a slight
blush, "Oh, yes; my father would tell me that I must conquer my pride,
and he tries to have me see how disagreeable it makes me, by telling me
that I will never be a perfect lady until I have done so. Here, Miriam,
read this aloud, too; you make it so plain that I almost feel as if I
were there."
Gretta said very little, but she had a self-satisfied air about her, as
if it were as needless for anyone to be proud or untidy as for anyone to
steal, and she felt herself far removed from faults such as these. And
indeed she was neither indolent nor untidy. She rose at six--that magic
hour in which Fides was to strike his first blow at Giant Sloth--and
practiced two hours before school; she was neatness itself, both
in person and in all her belongings. Besides, she was neither so
conscientious as Winnie, so frank and outspoken as Fannie, nor so easily
influenced, either for right or wrong, as Miriam. So her conscience lay
dormant.
She was, however, conscious that she, too, had a habit of not doing
things as soon as she ought, and to try to overcome that seemed to her
almost like a lesson to be learned, so she was willing to try to learn
it with the others.
After Miriam had finished the chapter, Winnie said, "Oh, girls, I must
show you my autographs;" and, turning to Ralph, who sat by the window,
gazing intently at a couple of puppies which were having a romp
together, she said, "Ralphie, bring Winnie that book by the window."
Without moving a muscle of his chubby little body, or even turning his
head, the child answered: "You just s'pect me to do evvyfing; I tan't do
evvyfing."
"Oh, Ralph, my little partner in distress!" exclaimed Miriam, in her
most dramatic way, snatching him up and kissing him in spite of his
struggles. "You'll have to have a suit of armor, too. Who would have
thought that one so young could be so lazy!"
The laugh was not yet over when Mrs. Burton came in, with her pleasant
smile, saying, "Girls, I've a short story to tell you--that is, if you
wish to hear it; and there'll just be time before supper."
Of course they were delighted, and, Fannie having coaxed Ralph to her
lap, they all gathered around Mrs. Burton, making a pretty group
in their unconsciously graceful attitudes, as they listened to the
following narrative:
"Constance van Orten was born in New York, a descendant of one of the
old Knickerbocker families, but of a branch which had preserved more of
the family pride than its estates. Money, however, was not altogether
lacking, and to many people their income would have seemed sumptuous;
but to them, in comparison with their more wealthy friends and
relatives, it seemed the merest pittance that necessity could demand.
"But this comparative lack of money never troubled little Constance, and
fortune seemed to smile upon her. One might almost have believed that
all the beneficent fairies had presided at her birth, so many graces of
face and form and disposition were hers, and so many of the conditions
necessary to human happiness seemed fulfilled in her lot.
"She was the youngest child and only daughter, and her four brothers
found her so charming a plaything, and later so agreeable a companion,
that they took pleasure in making her life a succession of pleasant
surprises, and her every wish was gratified almost before expressed.
Indeed, had she asked for the moon, it would have been a source of
genuine grief to them that they could not get it for her.
"Pain seemed as far removed from her as anxiety or grief, for, although
she had an odd faculty of catching all the diseases incident to
childhood, they touched her so lightly that it was seldom necessary to
call in a physician. If she received a cut or a wound of any kind, so
pure was her blood and so perfect her physical condition that it healed
as if by magic.
"Her willfulness was extreme, as might have been expected from the
almost total lack of restraint under which she grew up; but so winning
were her ways, and so ready her repentance for her little misdeeds, that
for the most part she escaped punishment and even reproof.
"Almost without the power of application, she seemed to pick up external
evidences of education and culture without effort. She talked fluently,
sang charmingly, and, having almost marvelous tact, never failed to
please.
"Being, as I have said, the only daughter, she entered society earlier
than most girls, and, in spite of her comparative lack of means, soon
became a reigning belle. During her first season she refused more than
one wealthy suitor, and that, too, to the intense satisfaction of her
parents and brothers, for she was a veritable sunbeam in the family, and
they looked forward with dread to the thought of losing her.
"At last, however, there came, furnished with letters of introduction
to one of Constance's uncles, a young and wealthy cotton planter from
Louisiana. His seeming indifference to money and his prodigal use of
it, his pleasant speech and manner, his languid Southern movements,
so different from those of the brisk Northerners to whom they were
accustomed, and, above all, the very fact of his being a stranger, made
him most welcome to the girlish minds so fond of change and novelty. But
it was with the greatest regret that the Van Ortens began to notice his
marked attentions to Constance and the increasing pleasure she took in
them. It was not only that a marriage with him would separate her from
them all, but her father and brothers, constantly meeting the young
stranger at clubs and places where there were no ladies present, and
consequently where he was off his guard, found him capricious and
changeable in his opinions and actions, extremely self-indulgent,
selfishly indifferent to the comfort of others, and so fond of
intoxicating liquor that, on more than one occasion, he had been
directly and shamefully under its influence.
"But Constance would not, perhaps could not, see him in the light in
which he was portrayed to her, and, in spite of all their warnings and
her mother's pleadings, she consented to become his wife. Immediately
after the marriage, they went to Louisiana, and for awhile all was to
Constance as her most ardent fancy had painted it. Their home was in
the beautiful Claiborne Parish, which has been named "the Eden of
Louisiana." Her winning ways and delicate beauty endeared her to the
new acquaintances she formed, and made her the idol of the slaves on the
plantation. Here two sons were born, and the mother felt her happiness
complete. But presently she found her husband less attentive to her. He
absented himself on long journeys, for which he scarcely had a pretext,
and when at home was either sullen or irritable.
"Then the Civil War broke out and he lost much of his property, and
there were almost ceaseless and taunting allusions on his part to the
"plebeian Yankees" and the ruin they had brought him. After the close of
the war, however, he seemed to make an effort to do the best with what
property remained. He became a little more considerate, and sometimes
seemed to be almost what he had been in the early years of his married
life, and when Constance became the mother of a little girl, she began
to feel as if, after all, life might hold some good in store for her.
"But alas! her husband's good behavior did not last long. He began to
drink constantly, and at last he left one morning, without saying a
word, and never returned. Then the two promising boys died of that
dreadful scourge, yellow fever, and Constance was almost heartbroken.
"During the war, communication with her New York relatives had
been almost impossible, and since then, as is usual in interrupted
correspondence, even among those who love each other best, it
had assumed a desultory character; and now that Constance felt
overwhelmingly disgraced by her husband's desertion, and knowing that
all this sorrow had come upon her in consequence of her opposition to
the wishes of her family, she was too proud to turn to them for help
or comfort. But to remain where she was was likewise almost an
impossibility, for the scenes of sorrow through which she had passed
made the South a hated prison from which she felt that she must escape.
Besides, her husband's creditors had seized upon everything that was
left, and the once lovely, petted girl, destitute, bereaved, forsaken,
raised what money she could from the sale of her laces and jewelry,
and, taking passage in one of the Mississippi steamers, started for
Louisville. There, however, she remained but a few days, and finally
came to Cincinnati, hoping here to find some way to support herself and
her little daughter, without being obliged to appeal to her brothers for
help.
"But for a woman reared as she had been, what was there to do? Her
slender means became still more slender, and it was only after having
been subjected to absolute privation, that she managed to obtain a place
in a store as saleswoman, and now she and her child are able to live
respectably, if not always comfortably. Her one joy and source of
happiness she finds in the companionship of her daughter Ernestine, a
girl of character so fine and religious principles so high that they
would be a credit to one of twice her years."
"Why, that sounds like a description of Ernestine Alroy!" said Fannie.
"And it is Ernestine of whom I am speaking, although I hope it is not
necessary for me to suggest that she would not like her mother's history
to be made public property. In fact, I must earnestly request you not to
mention it even in your own homes," said Mrs. Burton. "It was only by
a mere accident that I heard this narrative yesterday afternoon. But I
hear Mr. Burton and Jack in the hall, and, as supper will be served in
a very few minutes, I must leave you, with an apology for telling you a
sad story, and one which I would not have ventured upon had it not been
an 'o'er true tale.'"
"How dreadful!" said Fannie. "And to think, girls, that her mother was
as happy and well reared--"
Just then, however, supper was announced, and Fannie's sentence remained
unfinished.
After supper, Jack brought out his violin, and he and Gretta played some
duets together, Gretta reading the piano part at sight, and so well that
Winnie felt her own poor little talent cast quite in the shade.
Then Gretta played some pretty sonatinas with fine taste and expression,
and gave so much pleasure to her listeners that Fannie began to think
there might be worse things in the world than being a "music teacher's
daughter."
After that, to the great delight of the girls, Mr. Burton sang, in his
fine bass voice, and with the merry twinkle in his eyes in accord with
his extravagant gestures, a comic song, ending with a little refrain
in which all the Burtons, not even excepting Ralph, joined, the
latter singing at the top of his voice, and clapping his hands for
accompaniment.
They had hardly had time to feel weary of sitting still and listening,
when Mrs. Burton had them all in the dining-room playing the good
old game of "Puss in the Corner." Here, too, Mr. Burton distinguished
himself by his pathetic appeals for a "corner." The game left them all
breathless but happy, and they sat down for awhile to recover themselves
and "cool off," while Jack went to get on his overcoat preparatory to
seeing the girls home.