_THERE IS SOMETHING WRONG._
THE rest of the afternoon passed off very pleasantly to most of the
party, and when Matilda went home, she told her mother that she had had
a real good time, and the girls were not stuck up or patronizing a bit.
"Just so," said her mother. "You hold your own, and folks will respect
you. Just show that you think yourself as good as anybody."
"Well, I don't know as that's always the best way, ma," said Matilda,
who had a good mind, but had never been taught to use it, and who was
gaining some new ideas. "There's Eunice Riker, now. She never seems to
set herself up or put herself forward, and every one knows they are as
poor as crows; but all the girls like her."
"They like to patronize her, I suppose," said Mrs. Jenkins.
"They don't patronize her one bit. They just make her one of
themselves," persisted Matilda. "And besides, ma, it says in the Bible,
'In lowliness of mind let each esteem other better than themselves.'
(Phil. ii. 3). That was read in church only last Sunday."
"Don't you be preaching to me, Matilda Jenkins; that isn't according to
the Bible, whatever else is. Just put away your things, and then come
and wash up the supper-things, and take out a little of your goodness
in that way."
A sharp answer was on Matilda's lips, but for some reason or other
she restrained it, and, putting away her hat and mantle, she washed
the dishes with extra neatness and despatch. Then, seeing that her
mother did not incline to talk, she got out her Bible and learned her
Sunday-school lesson.
"I wonder whether I should make any kind of a Christian if I should
try?" said she to herself. "Eunice says 'the Prince' helps her. I
wonder whether he would help me? I wonder whether he does care about
us, anyhow?"
Julia was the only one of the party who did not enjoy the afternoon.
She sat steadily at her sewing, hardly speaking a word to anybody. Her
mind was in a tempest of anger, jealousy, and envy. Nobody had praised
her work specially. To be sure, Miss Ackerman had said it was very
neatly done, but it had attracted no such flattering notice as Anita's
trimming, or Eunice's socks, or even little Mary Edgar's handkerchiefs.
Percy had taken her up sharply on what she had said about Ida, though
she had been no worse than Matilda Jenkins, and Miss Ackerman had
quite distinguished Matilda, a common, vulgar girl who did not even
speak good English. She forgot that Matilda had accepted her share of
the reproof good-naturedly, and had showed that she did so by joining
freely in the conversation, while she, Julia, had sulked all the
afternoon.
Then Anita Ferarra, the daughter of a distinguished man, the most
aristocratic girl in the class except herself—so Julia thought—had
struck up a friendship with Eunice Riker, and had asked her to visit
her. It would be difficult to say how Julia was injured by this
circumstance, but she felt herself so. She almost thought she would
never go to a sewing-meeting at Miss Ackerman's again.
In a few days, Julia went up to Mrs. Van Zandt's, stopping at Mrs.
Ray's shop for some thread. Eunice was there, apparently buying some
Shetland wool. As Julia entered, she took out of her basket some
peculiar crimson yarn and handed it to Mrs. Ray, who put it away in a
drawer.
"So that is what becomes of Mrs. Ackerman's nice yarn!" thought Julia.
"I wondered that all that yarn she gave Eunice should make only one
pair of stockings. I dare say she will produce something made of this
very wool, and make a great merit of giving it to the box. Won't I
expose her if she does! I suppose that was the way she found the wool
for those wonderful socks the girls made such a fuss about."
Julia found Ida busily working at her missionary-sewing with a
countenance which did not express any special delight in her
employment. In fact, she looked decidedly cross, which was not a very
common thing with Ida.
"Why, Ida! Haven't you finished your bundle of work yet?" asked Julia,
apparently much surprised, as if such a state of things were not just
what she expected, and indeed hoped, to find. "Why, all the other girls
took theirs in last Thursday, and almost every one had done something
extra. Even little Mary Edgar bought and marked two fine handkerchiefs."
"Did she?" asked Ida, much interested. "What did you have?"
"Nothing," answered Julia, her face darkening at the remembrance of her
mortifications, "but I will have something the next time. I won't be
outdone by a little chit like Mary Edgar."
"I don't suppose we ought to give for any such reason as that," said
Ida thoughtfully; "it wouldn't be real charity, you know."
"Fiddlesticks!" returned Julia. "What does the reason signify, as long
as they get the things?"
"It signifies to us if not to them," returned Ida.
"And besides, doesn't everybody do it?" continued Julia. "What do
people give to homes and orphan asylums for, but only to see their
names in the papers?"
"A great many people give to orphan asylums and other things whose
names never get into the papers," remarked Ida; "and even if their
names are published, it does not prove that they gave for that purpose.
I don't think we ought to judge in that way. Besides," added Ida,
smiling archly, "such men as Judge Edgar and father get their names in
print often enough to satisfy them, I should think, without its costing
them anything at all."
"What did you do in the city that day?" asked Julia, not unwilling to
change the conversation, as she felt that Ida was getting the best of
it.
"Oh, I went round shopping with Aunt Barbara, as usual. What she does
with all the things she buys, especially the linen, is a mystery to
me. She has a great immense press full of nothing but napkins and
tablecloths. She told me her mother gave her two dozen tablecloths,
and napkins to match all of them, when she was married, and yet she
is always buying more. I believe she gives them away, just for the
pleasure of buying them over again."
Ida was partly right in this supposition. It was no doubt true
that Mrs. Barbara Van Zandt took great pleasure in endless
shopping-expeditions, and especially in buying napkins. It was also
true that many of these same napkins went to adorn the table and make
glad the heart of many a neat housewife who would have gone without,
only for Mrs. Barbara's liberality.
"Didn't you do anything else but buy napkins?" asked Julia.
"Oh yes; we had a nice lunch down town, and then went to a
picture-and-china exhibition. Aunt Barbara bought me a lovely set of
Nankin china for my room, but it hasn't come yet. And only think!"
added Ida, her face clouding over at the thought. "She gave me a
beautiful linen lambrequin, all marked to be done in Roman work and
Russian points, with the silk to work it and satin to line it with, and
oh, such a lovely, 'lovely' basket to hold it all! And now mother says
I shall not do a stitch on it till this missionary-work is done!"
"Well, I must say, Ida, I don't wonder at it, considering. Just think
how many pieces you have on hand! You might have finished your sewing
as well as the rest of us, if you had only kept at it."
"That is just what I hate—keeping at things," returned Ida, giving her
work an impatient pull, by which she broke her gathering-thread. "I
like to do things when I feel like it."
"If you only do things when you feel like it, you will never accomplish
anything," said Julia, very sensibly. "If you stick to your plain
sewing for two hours every day, you can have every bit of it done by
Saturday, and the Roman work will be just as pretty then as it is now."
"No, it won't, either; I shall have got off the notion of it then."
"Oh, Ida, don't be such a baby!"
"I don't care; it is too bad. Mother might have a machine like other
people."
"Why doesn't she?"
"Oh, she says I shall never learn to sew if there is a machine in the
house. I shouldn't want to know then."
"Yes, you would just as much. If you don't sew well by hand, you will
never sew well on a machine," said Julia, very truly.
"Well, anyhow, I have done all I am going to do to-day," exclaimed Ida,
looking at the clock and laying down her work.
"I would baste the band on before I stopped, and then the work will be
all ready to begin on to-morrow," said Julia, taking up the garment.
"Why, Ida, you could finish this in two hours easily. Why don't you
keep at it till it is done, and then you will be ready to do your Roman
work?"
"No, I shall not. There is the other one not even begun."
"You don't mean to say that you have not even made one?" exclaimed
Julia. "Why, Ida!"
"It isn't any business of yours," said Ida sullenly.
"Of course it isn't, but I should think it was of yours. They want
everything brought in to Mrs. Ackerman's at the next class-meeting."
"Oh, well, I can finish them before that time," answered Ida,
recovering her good humor, which indeed was never ruffled long at a
time. "Oh, by the way, did Eunice have anything besides her stockings?"
"Yes; she had a pair of baby-socks which Miss Ackerman and the rest
of the girls made as much fuss over as if they had been made of point
lace. Perhaps if they knew what I do, they would not be quite so well
pleased."
"Why, what do you mean?" asked Ida.
"Why, she said—But there is no use in telling it, that I know of," said
Julia, well knowing to whom she was talking, and that Ida would not
rest till she heard the whole story.
"Oh yes, come, tell me!"
"Well, you need not tell every one about it. She said she earned the
money to make the socks, and you know what a quantity of yarn Mrs.
Ackerman gave her?"
"Yes."
"Well, she brought only one pair of stockings, and when Miss Ackerman
looked surprised, she said there was not yarn enough for two pairs.
But this very afternoon I was in at Mrs. Ray's, and I saw her exchange
a whole skein of that yarn for a parcel of Shetland wool. So much for
Miss Ackerman's paragon!" concluded Julia in a tone of triumph.
"Are you sure it was the same yarn?"
"Yes, of course I am. Don't you remember what a peculiar color it
was—like the red in a cashmere shawl?"
"Yes, I know Amity spoke about it. But, Julia, I don't like to think
such a thing of Eunice. Perhaps Mrs. Ackerman gave her leave to
exchange the yarn."
"No, she didn't. I heard Mrs. Ackerman tell her to bring back what
was left when she gave her the yarn in the first place. I know Mrs.
Churchill thought Mrs. Riker didn't put all the bird's-eye linen she
gave her to make up into Harry's aprons."
"I wonder what she wants to do with the Shetland wool?"
"Oh, I dare say she will make something else for the box, and so get
some more credit. One thing I am sure of: I shall know the wool again
the minute I see it, and if she does bring in anything made of it, I
shall expose her. But there! I must go along, Ida. I have to stop at
Mrs. Gunderson's for mother."
"Don't tell Fanny Gunderson about this matter, Julia," said Ida,
detaining her a moment. "You know every one says. Mrs. Gunderson's is
a regular gossip-shop. The story will go all over town, and there may
be some mistake, after all. I believe there is; I don't believe Eunice
Riker would steal a bunch of yarn."
"She wouldn't call it stealing, I suppose, as long as she gave the
value back again," said Julia.
"Well, anyhow, don't tell Fanny Gunderson."
"Don't you be alarmed, child; I know what I am about," said Julia.
And there is no doubt she did. As she walked home from Mrs.
Gunderson's, where she had done her mother's business and also her own,
she began to think what she should do for the mission-box which should
eclipse all her companions, and how she should contrive to do anything.
Julia's pocket-money was an uncertain quantity. The Hazletons passed
for very rich people. Certainly, they spent a great deal and lived
in very great style, as Mr. Hazleton said. He kept two carriages and
various servants, and the family went into town for several months of
every year. Sometimes he would shower money and presents upon his wife
and daughters without stint; at other times his wife found it hard work
to obtain enough ready cash for household expenses, and his daughters
could not buy a calico wrapper without hearing that they were bringing
their father to ruin by their extravagance.
Mr. Hazleton was just now in the midst of one of these attacks of
economy, and Julia knew it would be in vain to ask him for money. She
had none by her, and yet she felt that she must do as much for the box
as Anita Ferarra or Mary Edgar. Why, even Phebe Goodman would have done
more than she. She turned over various plans in her mind without coming
to any other conclusion than that she must try asking her father once
more.
"I mean to get up all those old Scotch songs father likes," she said to
herself. "Perhaps I can sing him into a good humor, and then I can get
some money out of him."
Julia put her plan into immediate execution, but, though she gained
something by it, it was not altogether successful. Mr. Hazleton brought
his daughter home a fine cross and necklace the very next evening, but
when she asked him for money, he positively refused to give it her for
any such purpose.
"These missionary-boxes are all perfect nonsense and humbug," said he.
"There was that one sent to Pompyopolis last year. Andrews was out that
way collecting, and he found the very missionary to whom all those
things were sent living with his family at the best hotel in the place."
This was true, but if Mr. Andrews had inquired into the matter, he
would have learned that the minister's house had been damaged by fire
only a few days before, and that the hotel-keeper, who attended his
church, had invited the family to stay at the hotel till the house
could be put to rights again.
"All the other girls have given more than just their work," said Julia,
half crying. "I should think you would want me to appear as well as
Mary Edgar or Emmeline Lee. Even Eunice Riker gave a pair of socks of
her own money."
"More shame for her, then," said Mr. Hazleton, "taking her poor
mother's hard earnings to give away to Tom, Dick, and Harry!"
"Don't say any more to papa just now, Julia," said Mrs. Hazleton when
her husband had left the room. "I'll see what can be done, but there is
no use talking now. It will do more harm than good. I will see that you
have something to give this little girl, though I must say that with
all the poverty there is in our own midst, a use might be found for
money nearer home than Dakota."
"I suppose there is money enough for both purposes if it were rightly
used," said Emma Hazleton, who was thought eccentric by her mother and
sisters because she thought seriously about a good many things, and
sometimes talked about them. "The price of that India shawl papa gave
me, if added to this poor minister's salary, would have put him above
the need of boxes for several years; and a pretty beaver shawl would
have been just as warm."
"Yes, and made you look like an old woman or a district school
teacher," said Julia. "Besides, I think you are very inconsistent. I
have heard you say a hundred times that there was no manufacture so
beautiful as a fine India shawl."
"Well, I do think so. But what is the meaning of self-denial if it is
not giving up or going without something that one really likes and
admires? As to the charge of inconsistency, I don't deny it. We are
all inconsistent alike, as far as I see. We pretend to be Christians,
and we live as much for the world as if there was no such thin as
Christianity."
"I don't know what you mean by living for the world, Emma," said her
mother. "Of course we have our duties to society. We must keep up our
position, and dress and act like other people in our circumstances."
"That is just what I do mean," said Emma. "Oh, I am not pretending to
be any better than the rest of you, only I see the humbug—that's all."
"Then, if you see 'the humbug,' as you call it, and yet keep it up, you
are a good deal worse than the rest of us," retorted Julia, with some
show of reason.
"I believe you are right, child. There! We won't say any more about it."
The next morning, Mrs. Hazleton told Julia there was no use in saying
anything to her father about money at present. "And really, I don't
think it is reasonable myself," said she. "There are so many calls on
one already, and by your account this little girl will be very well
furnished with clothes as it is."
"I told you before I didn't care about the girl," said Julia fretfully,
"but how it looks for me to be the only one not to do something extra.
You ought to see the trimming Anita Ferarra put on the skirts she made."
"I think such things very unsuitable," said Mrs. Hazleton. "Clergymen's
families ought to set an example of modesty and simplicity in dress."
"What is the use of their setting the example, if nobody is to follow
it?" asked Emma. "Or why should they set an example more than other
people?"
"Well, I know one thing: I won't go to another class-meeting unless I
have something to show."
"Make something," suggested her sister. "I have some pretty dark gray
and red yarn, and I will show you how to knit a pair of mittens."
"I haven't one minute's time," answered Julia. "I have got that cushion
to finish for Miss Lindon's wedding-present; and besides, I want
something that will make more show than just a pair of mittens. I'll
have it too, somehow, in spite of pa." And just then an idea darted
into Julia's head which she determined to put into execution the very
next day.