SHOW AND SUBSTANCE.
“Mother,” said Ronald, one evening, as the family were sitting together
in the twilight, “I wish we had a sugar-orchard. Only think—Charlie
Doane and his little brother Tom have made three hundred and ten pounds
of sugar, this year, without anybody’s help, and they’re going to have
all the money for it. All their father did was to cut a part of the
wood. Charlie isn’t fourteen years old, yet, and he’s got lots of money
laid up. Why, he says they’ll get all of twenty-five dollars for their
maple sugar, this year.”
“What does he intend to do with his money?” inquired Mrs. Page.
“Oh, he saves it up,” replied Ronald; “he doesn’t spend a cent of it;
and when he gets a lot together, he puts it in the bank. He’s earning
money all the time—I never see such a fellow. Why, he’s round by
day-break, every morning, now, after greens—he sells them over to the
village, and picks up lots of change, that way. There, I never thought
of it before—I mean to pick some greens, and see if I can’t sell them,
and get some money to pay my note. Will you buy them, mother?”
“I’ll buy as many as we can use,” replied Mrs. Page; “but if you are as
industrious as Charlie is, I can’t promise to take all you bring.”
“Oh, I never shall be as industrious as he is,” said Ronald; “or at any
rate, I never shall pick up money as fast as he does.”
“I shouldn’t like to have you do just as Charlie Doane is doing, if you
could,” added Mrs. Page. “I like to see children industrious, and it is
well enough for them to earn a little money for themselves,
occasionally; but when I see them very eager to get money to hoard up,
and never spending a cent, if they can help it, I’m afraid they are
training themselves to be selfish, close-fisted worshippers of money. I
should tremble for Charlie, if he were my boy.”
“His father praises him up to a great rate, for earning so much money,
and saving it up so close,” said Otis. “I was in Mr. Todd’s store, the
other day, when he was telling about it. He said Charlie would be a rich
man, yet.”
“I’m afraid Mr. Doane, himself, thinks too much of his money,” continued
Mrs. Page.
“Mr. Doane?” said Marcus, apparently awakening from a reverie; “he’s a
complete miser. When old Mrs. Lane lost her cow, and the people were
making up a subscription to buy her another, everybody thought that as
Mr. Doane sold the cow to her only a little while before, and made a
good profit on it, he would put his name down for five dollars, at
least; but he refused to give a single cent towards it. And yet he’s
worth fifteen thousand dollars, at the least calculation. He’s an old
miser, and it’s my opinion Charlie will be another, if he lives.”
“You’re rather free in your remarks,” said Mrs. Page, smiling. “Do you
remember the article in the ‘Wreath,’ a month or two ago, about speaking
evil of our neighbors?”
“Yes, ma’am, I remember it,” replied Marcus, “and I believe I’ve only
carried out its doctrine. If I recollect right, it took the ground that
we ought not to speak of the faults of another, except for a good
object. Now I had a good object in saying what I did about Mr. Doane.
Charlie’s miserly example had evidently made quite an impression on
Ronald, and it was necessary to hold up Mr. Doane’s character in its
true light, to counteract that impression. That’s all I did.”
“Well, mother,” said Ronald, “you buy my greens, and I wont hoard up my
money. I’ll pay my note, first, and then I’ll buy one of those
new-fashioned caps that Ed Baldwin has got. I wish I could have one of
those caps, before examination day.”
“There, Ronald,” said Oscar, “don’t begin to talk a fortnight beforehand
about what you will wear to the examination—that sounds a little too
much like the girls. I overheard some of the girls, to-day, talking
about the exhibition; and they didn’t have a word to say about the
lessons, or performances, or anything of that sort—it was all dress,
dress, dress. One was going to wear white muslin, and another pink, and
one was going to do her hair up in this way, and another in that way,
and so on to the end of the chapter. I wonder if the girls ever talk
about anything besides dress, and looks, and such things.”
“I think they do,” replied Jessie. “I suppose I’ve been among the girls
at least as much as you have, to-day, and I don’t remember hearing a
word about dress or personal looks.”
“Then you were very fortunate,” said Oscar. “I heard enough about those
subjects, at any rate. One girl said she’d give anything in the world,
if her hair would only curl; another had got some beautiful new lace to
trim her dress; and another didn’t intend to wear any jewelry, at the
examination, but was going to trim herself up with buds and flowers,
instead. One might have supposed, from the way they talked, that we were
to have a grand examination of dresses, and nothing else.”
“And Mr. Paul Pry was sneaking around, listening to it all, was he?”
inquired Kate.
“No, I didn’t have to listen, for I couldn’t help hearing,” replied
Oscar. “But I didn’t say who they were, and if you wont expose them,
Kate, I wont.”
“Oh, I care nothing about your exposing us,” retorted Kate; “I was only
thinking how you had exposed yourself. I suppose I was one of the party
he refers to. Abby Leonard happened to come along, and you know she’s
always talking about dress, and she began to tell what she was going to
wear exhibition day. So the others joined in for a few minutes, and that
was the origin of all this fuss about ‘dress, dress, dress.’”
This retort, which was uttered in a somewhat bitter tone, surprised
Oscar very much, for Kate was one of the best-natured of girls, and he
had never before heard her speak in this way. He had evidently touched
her in a tender spot, and he began to think he had committed a serious
offence. So he stammered out the best apology he could think of, saying
that he only spoke of the matter good-naturedly, and meant no offence to
any one. Ronald and Otis, seeing how the battle was going, now came
gallantly to the rescue of Oscar, and volunteered their testimony to his
side of the case. The girls, they said, were all the time talking about
dress—they noticed it every day.
“Well, supposing we _do_ talk rather more about dress than we ought to,”
said Kate, “I think you are a pretty set of folks to rebuke us for it.
There’s Oscar—there isn’t a boy or young man in the academy that is so
particular about dress as he is; and Otis can never go within forty feet
of a looking-glass, without stopping to smooth his hair; and as to
Ronald, if he hadn’t just showed what’s running in his head, nobody
would have thought of talking about dress.”
Ronald and Otis both attempted to reply to this speech at once, but Mrs.
Page stopped them, and then said:
“This debate is getting to be a little too spicy, and I think it had
better be brought to a close. In my opinion, both sides are partly
right, and both are partly wrong. I have no doubt that many of the girls
think and talk a great deal too much of what they shall wear, and how
they shall look. It is a great fault, look at it in what light you will.
There is nothing so becoming in woman or girl as simplicity and neatness
in dress. It is a barbarous taste that is fond of extravagant and gaudy
apparel, or showy jewelry. And then, this taste is not only bad in
itself, but it leads to a great many evils. A woman who has it soon
becomes frivolous and vain; she overlooks honest merit, in plain attire;
she is jealous and envious of those who make more show than she does;
she becomes extravagant and reckless, and perhaps drives her father or
husband into bankruptcy, that she may have the means to gratify her
selfish taste. It is all wrong, from beginning to end. But then it was
hardly fair in Oscar to intimate that _all_ the girls are given to this
folly. I believe there are some who think and talk of other things
besides dress.”
“I suppose I was a little too sweeping in saying that,” said Oscar. “But
I do think it is a great fault in many girls, that they think and say so
much about dress. I’ve thought of it a great many times.”
“Now you’re talking sensibly,” said Aunt Fanny. “I think we all, ladies
as well as gentlemen, will agree with you there. We are all acquainted
with women and girls who seem to think more of dressing well and looking
pretty than of anything else. I have known women whose whole souls
seemed to be bound up in dress; but their souls were very small, you may
depend upon that.”
“I think there is something very belittling and dwarfing to the mind, in
a love of dress and finery,” said Mrs. Page. “I knew a woman who was a
great lover of dress, who, at the age of forty, had no more judgment, or
stability, or strength of mind, than a child ten years old; and yet she
was naturally a person of good capacities. She devoted her mind to such
petty trifles, that instead of expanding as she grew older, it
shrivelled up.”
“I have heard,” said Oscar, “that intelligent foreigners are astonished
by the parade of silks, and satins, and jewelry, which American ladies
make in the streets, and in the hotels and watering places. They say our
merchants’ and mechanics’ wives and daughters often dress more
extravagantly than the nobility of Europe.”
“Mother used to say,” said Jessie, “that the best rule is, to dress so
that people will not notice what you have on. I think if I had ever so
much money, I should not want to dress so as to attract attention, and
occasion remark; neither do I want to dress so poorly, or be so far out
of fashion, that people cannot help noticing me.”
“That is a safe and excellent rule,” said Mrs. Page, “to dress so that
people will not recollect what you had on. There is a command in the
Bible, particularly addressed to women, which we should do well to
remember: ‘Whose adorning, let it not be that outward adorning of
plaiting the hair, and of wearing of gold, or of putting on of apparel;
but let it be the hidden man of the heart, in that which is not
corruptible, even the ornament of a meek and quiet spirit, which is in
the sight of God of great price.’”
“What is the name of the firm that Abby’s father is the head of?”
inquired Marcus, who had brought in a lamp, and was reading the morning
newspaper.
“Leonard, Vandenberg & Co.,” replied Ronald; “I thought everybody in
town knew that by heart, she’s told of it so many times.”
“They have failed,” said Marcus, his eye still upon the paper; and then
he read the telegraph despatch which announced the fact. It was as
follows:
“Leonard, Vandenberg & Co., one of our largest commission houses,
suspended to-day. Mr. Vandenberg mysteriously disappeared last week,
and it is rumored that he has embezzled a large portion of the firm’s
assets. The other partners have surrendered everything, but the
failure is believed to be a very bad one.”
“What will poor Abby do, now?” exclaimed Jessie, with unaffected
sympathy.
“I don’t pity her one mite—she’d no business to be stuck up so,” said
Kate, who had not yet fully recovered her usual good nature.
“Her pride will have a fall now, wont it?” added Otis.
“I shouldn’t wonder if it proved the best thing that ever happened to
her,” said Oscar.
“I wonder if she has heard of it, yet,” said Ronald. “I’ve a good mind
to go and tell her—would you?”
“She’s heard of it, before this time—bad news travels fast,” said Mrs.
Page.
“Well, I’m sorry for the poor girl—it must be a terrible blow to her,”
said Marcus.
And so one and another commented on the news, most of the little company
expressing sympathy for Abby, though she was by no means a favorite with
any of them. Even Kate so far relented, before the matter was dropped,
as to express the hope that none of the scholars would “twit” Abby about
the sudden change in her position.
Abby appeared at school, the next morning, holding her head as high as
ever, and apparently as calm and happy as though nothing out of the
usual course had occurred. She must have been conscious, it would seem,
that she was the centre of many sidelong glances, and that there was an
unusual amount of whispering going on among the girls; but she did not
appear to notice these significant signs. So it began to be believed
that she had not heard of her father’s failure. After a while, however,
one miss who had had many a sharp encounter with Abby, unable to stand
the painful suspense any longer, bluntly put the question to her old
enemy, in the presence of several of her school-mates—
“Did you see the Boston papers, yesterday?”
“It’s nothing to you whether I did or not,” instantly replied Abby, her
face white with passion, and her frame trembling with excitement.
“Well, you needn’t be so touchy about it,” replied the other girl. “I
only asked, because I thought it would be doing you a favor to tell you
your father had failed, if you didn’t know it.”
“I wish folks would mind their own business, and let me alone,” said
Abby in the same angry tone, and she turned away from the group, who had
listened to this conversation.
“I declare, she has a queer way of expressing her sorrow,” said the
other girl, before Abby had got out of hearing.
Abby heard of her father’s failure, almost as soon as she reached her
boarding-place, after school, the previous day. The intelligence fell
upon her like a thunderbolt. She retired to her room, and cried for
several hours, and finally, nature becoming exhausted, she sobbed
herself to sleep. The next morning, the question arose in her mind,
whether she should stay at home, and thus avoid meeting her
school-mates, whose taunts she was perhaps conscious she had reason to
expect; or whether she should go boldly and mingle with them, exhibiting
before them a total unconcern in regard to the failure. She finally
adopted the latter course, and we have seen how far she succeeded. There
were some among her associates who longed to whisper a word of sympathy
or encouragement in her ear; but the bravado air she assumed forbade,
and the poor girl found she had doomed herself to hug the crushing
burden secretly to her heart, without a loving word of pity from any of
her young associates.
The academy was dismissed in the afternoon, and Abby was hurrying away
from her school-mates, when an arm was softly laid upon her shoulder,
and, turning, she found Jessie by her side. In the kindest and most
delicate way, Jessie alluded to the misfortune that had overtaken Abby,
and expressed her sympathy for her. And then she went on to tell her how
this very loss might prove, in the end, a great blessing to her family,
and especially to herself. It might lead her to depend upon herself,
instead of others; to think less of fashion, and show, and position, and
wealth, and more of a well-cultivated mind, an amiable spirit, and a
useful life. It might, in fact, be the making of her, if, instead of
sitting down and repining, she would now begin to live for some good
purpose. And then Jessie argued that the misfortune was not half so bad
as it might have been. Mr. Leonard was not an embezzler, like his
partner, but had honorably surrendered his property. The loss of money,
she said, was nothing compared with the loss of integrity and character.
Abby at first received Jessie’s condolence rather cavalierly. She said
her family always had lived in style, and she did not believe they would
come down now. Her father was a great merchant, she said, and if he had
lost some of his money, he knew how to make plenty more. In fact, she
didn’t consider it any great thing if he had failed. But this assumed
indifference to her trouble soon melted away under the kind and
sympathizing words of Jessie, and Abby at length fully opened her heart,
and found some degree of relief in pouring out her griefs in the ear of
her friend.