BACK TO AUNT SUSAN'S
After spending the night at Uncle John's, Aunt Susan and Ethel left for
Akron.
"Oh! what a lovely summer I've had," said Ethel, "and how much I've
learned being a Camp Fire Girl; and I owe it all to you, Aunt Susan."
The next week Mr. Hollister came to take the girl home--and how he had
missed her!
They spent the day with Uncle John. He and her father were like boys
again.
"You must come here next year, Archibald," said John, "and go up to Camp
and see the way these girls keep house. It's a revelation. What the
women are coming to! I don't believe there'll be any room on earth for
us men after a while."
Ethel's eyes were blinded with tears as she kissed her dear ones
goodbye, and Mattie Hastings with Patty Sands came way to Akron to see
her off, Mattie bringing the loveliest pin-cushion made for her by her
sister Mollie.
One night Ethel and Mrs. Hollister had a serious talk. Grandmother made
Archibald go and listen at the door, as Bella's voice could be heard
throughout the house.
When Ethel left her mother she went directly up to her room, but Mrs.
Hollister said to Grandmother:
"This is your work and your sister's as well. Ethel is a changed
girl and refused to obey me. She's going to take up low settlement
work and belong to that Camp Fire business this winter, and she
almost refuses to go into society at all. But for the fact that
some of our best girls are Camp Fires I should positively forbid
it. She is not yet of age, and I still have some authority over
her, after all my slaving for her and sacrifices. Now she openly
defies me."
"No, Mamma," cried Ethel, coming down stairs and putting her arm
around her mother, "I only object to sailing under false colors.
All of our life has been sham--sham--and make believe, and I can
not see Papa growing older and more bent every day, when he should
be young looking and happy. And I know that it's worry over getting
the money for me that I may make a show for people to think me
wealthy. And when Aunt Susan came here you told everyone that I was
to be her heiress. Why, Mamma, she is poorer than we are. Every
penny of her money was lost four years ago, and Tom Harper--her
adopted son--supports her. Then there's dear Uncle John. He's
nearly five years older than Papa and he looks ten years younger.
Why? Because he has nothing to worry him. And when I see the lines
and wrinkles coming into your pretty face I think it's all for me,
and I've decided to give it up. I shall still go out with the
friends who care for me, but they must know me as I am; and next
summer I want you to come with me to Camp. You are so clever and
can teach the girls so much about sewing and dressmaking.
"Mamma dear, let's turn over a new leaf. Let's give up all sham and
be happy. Then we can tell who are our true friends and they'll be
all we need."
Here Ethel put her arms around her mother who at once burst into tears,
sobbing:
"And I wanted you to make a g-good m-match."
"Never mind," laughed Ethel. "Who knows? I may marry better than ever.
Cheer up, Mamma dear," and from that hour the mother and daughter
changed places.
And Grandmother Hollister whispered to her son:
"Behold! a miracle."
* * * * * *
[Transcriber's Note: The following nine pages were bound with "How Ethel
Hollister Became a Campfire Girl." They constitute a separate story.]
THE FLOWERS' WORK
"See, mother! I've finished my bouquet. Isn't it beautiful? More so, I
think, than those made by the florist which he asked two dollars for,
and this has cost me but seventy-five cents."
"Yes, yes, it is very pretty. But, dear me, child, I cannot help
thinking how illy we can spare so much for such a very useless thing.
Almost as much as you can make in a day it has cost."
"Don't say _useless_, mother. It will express to Edward our appreciation
of his exertions and their result, and our regards. How he has struggled
to obtain a profession! I only wish I could cover the platform with
bouquets, baskets and wreaths tonight, when he receives his diploma."
"Well, well; if it will do any good, I shall not mind the expense. But,
child, he will know it is from you, and men don't care for such things
coming from home folks. Now, if it was from any other young lady, I
expect he'd be mightily pleased."
"Oh, mother, I don't think so. Edward will think as much of it, coming
from his sister-in-law, as from any other girl. And it will please Kate,
too. If _we_ do not think enough of him to send him bouquets, who else
could? Rest easy, mother, dear; I feel quite sure my bouquet will do
much good," answered Annie, putting her bouquet in a glass of water.
She left the room to make her simple toilet for the evening.
Mrs. Grey had been widowed when her two little girls were in their
infancy. It had been a hard struggle for the mother to raise her
children. Constant toil, privation and anxiety had worn heavily on her
naturally delicate constitution, until she had become a confirmed
invalid. But there was no longer a necessity for her toiling. Katy, the
elder daughter, was married; and Annie, a loving, devoted girl, could
now return the mother's long and loving care. By her needle she obtained
a support for herself and mother.
Katy's husband held a position under the government, receiving a small
compensation, only sufficient for the necessities of the present, and of
very uncertain continuance. He was ambitious of doing better than this
for himself, as well as his family. So he employed every spare hour in
studying medicine, and it was the night that he was to receive his
diploma that my little story begins.
The exercises of the evening were concluded. Edward Roberts came down
the aisle to where his wife and Annie were seated, bearing his
flowers--an elegant basket, tastefully arranged, and a beautiful
bouquet. But it needed only a quick glance for Annie to see it was not
_her_ bouquet. Although the flowers were fragrant and rare, they were
not so carefully selected or well chosen. Hers expressed not alone her
affection and appreciation, but _his_ energy, perseverance and success.
"Why, where is my bouquet? I do not see it," asked Annie, a look of
disappointment on her usually bright face.
"Yours? I do not know. Did you send me one?" returned her
brother-in-law.
"Indeed I did. And such a beauty, too! It is too bad! I suppose it is
the result of the stupidity of the young man in whose hands I placed it.
I told him plain enough it was for you, and your name, with mine, was on
the card," answered Annie, really very much provoked.
"Well, do not fret, little sister; I am just as much obliged; and
perchance some poor fellow not so fortunate as I may have received it,"
answered Edward Roberts.
"Don't, for pity's sake, let mother know of the mistake, or whatever it
is, that has robbed you of your bouquet. She will fret dreadfully about
it," said Annie.
All that night, until she was lost in sleep, did she constantly repeat:
"I wonder who has got it?"
She had failed to observe on the list of graduates the name of _Edgar
Roberts_, from Ohio, or she might have had an idea into whose hands her
bouquet had fallen. Her brother Edward, immediately on hearing Annie's
exclamation, thought how the mistake had occurred, and was really glad
that it was as it was; for the young man whose name was so nearly like
his own was a stranger in the city, and Edward had noticed his receiving
_one_ bouquet only, which of course was the missing one, and Annie's.
Edgar Roberts sat in his room that night, after his return from the
distribution of diplomas, holding in his hand Annie's bouquet, and on
the table beside him was a floral dictionary. An expression of
gratification was on his pleasant face, and, as again and again his eyes
turned from the flowers to seek their interpreter, his lips were
wreathed with smiles, and he murmured low:
"Annie Grey! Sweet Annie Grey! I never dreamed of any one in this place
knowing or caring enough for me to send such a tribute. How carefully
these flowers are chosen! What a charming, appreciative little girl she
is! Pretty, I know, of course. I wonder how she came to send me this?
How shall I find her? Find her I must, and know her."
And Edgar Roberts fell asleep to dream of Annie Grey, and awoke in the
morning whispering the last words of the night before:
"Sweet Annie Grey!"
During the day he found it quite impossible to fix his mind on his work;
mind and heart were both occupied with thoughts of Annie Grey. And so it
continued to be until Edgar Roberts was really in love with a girl he
knew not, nor had ever seen. To find her was his fixed determination.
But how delicately he must go about it. He could not make inquiry among
his gentlemen acquaintances without speculations arising, and a name
sacred to him then, passed from one to another, lightly spoken, perhaps.
Then he bethought himself of the city directory; he would consult that.
And so doing he found Greys innumerable--some in elegant, spacious
dwellings, some in the business thoroughfares of the place. The young
ladies of the first mentioned, he thought, living in fashionable life,
surrounded by many admirers, would scarcely think of bestowing any token
of regard or appreciation on a poor unknown student. The next would have
but little time to devote to such things; and time and thought were both
spent in the arrangement of his bouquet. Among the long list of Greys he
found one that attracted him more than all the others--a widow, living
in a quiet part of the city, quite near his daily route. So he sought
and found the place and exact number. Fortune favored him. Standing at
the door of a neat little frame cottage he beheld a young girl talking
with two little children. She was not the blue-eyed, golden-haired girl
of his dreams, but a sweet, earnest dove-eyed darling. And what care he,
whether her eyes were blue or brown, if her name were only Annie? Oh,
how could he find out that?
She was bidding the little ones "goodbye." They were off from her, on
the sidewalk, when the elder child--a bright, laughing boy of five--sang
out, kissing his little dimpled hand:
"Good-bye, Annie, darling!"
Edgar Roberts felt as if he would like to clasp the little fellow to the
heart he had relieved of all anxiety. No longer a doubt was in his mind.
He had found his Annie Grey.
From that afternoon, twice every day he passed the cottage of the widow
Grey, frequently seeing sweet Annie. This, however, was his only reward.
She never seemed at all conscious of his presence. Often her eyes would
glance carelessly toward him. Oftener they were never raised from her
work. Sewing by the window, she always was.
What next? How to proceed, on his fixed determination of winning her, if
possible?
Another bright thought. He felt pretty sure she attended church
somewhere; perhaps had a class in the Sabbath school. So the next Sunday
morning, at an early hour, he was commanding a view of Annie's home.
When the school bells commenced to ring, he grew very anxious. A few
moments, and the door opened and the object of his thoughts stepped
forth. How beautiful she looked in her pretty white suit! Now Edgar felt
his cause was in the ascendancy. Some distance behind, and on the other
side of the street, he followed, ever keeping her in view until he saw
her enter a not far distant church. Every Sunday after found him an
attentive listener to the Rev. Mr. Ashton, who soon became aware of the
presence of the young gentleman so regularly, and apparently so much
interested in the services. So the good man sought an opportunity to
speak to Edgar, and urge his accepting a charge in the Sabbath school.
We can imagine Edgar needed no great urging on that subject; so,
frequently, he stood near his Annie. In the library, while selecting
books for their pupils, once or twice they had met, and he had handed to
her the volume for which her hand was raised. Of course a smile and bow
of acknowledgment and thanks rewarded him.
Edgar was growing happier, and more confident of final success every
week, when an event came which promised a speedy removal of all
difficulty in his path. The school was going to have a picnic. Then and
there he would certainly have an introduction to Annie, and after
spending a whole day with her, he would accompany her home and win the
privilege of calling often.
The day of the picnic dawned brightly, and the happy party gathered on
the deck of the steamer. The first person who met Edgar Roberts' eye was
his fellow-student, Edward Roberts. Standing beside him were two ladies
and some children. When Edgar hastened up to speak to his friend, the
ladies turned, and Edward presented:
"My wife; my sister, Miss Grey."
Edgar Roberts could scarcely suppress an exclamation of joy and
surprise. His looks fully expressed how delighted he was.
Three months had he been striving for this, which, if he had only known
it, could have been obtained so easily through his friend and her
brother. But what was so difficult to win was the more highly prized.
What a happy day it was!
Annie was all he had believed her--charming in every way. Edgar made a
confidant of his friend; told him what Edward well knew before, but was
wise enough not to explain the mistake--of his hopes and fears; and won
from the prudent brother the promise to help him all he could.
Accompanying Annie home that evening, and gaining her permission for him
to call again, Edgar lost no time in doing so, and often repeated the
call.
Perhaps Annie thought him very fast in his wooing, and precipitate in
declaring his love, when, after only a fortnight visiting her, he said:
"Annie, do you like me well enough, and trust in me sufficiently, to
allow me to ask your mother to call me her son?"
Either so happy or so surprised was Annie, that she could not speak just
then. But roses crowded over her fair face, and she did not try to
withdraw the hand he had clasped.
"Say, Annie, love," he whispered. She raised her eyes to his with such a
strange, surprised look in them, that he laughed and said:
"You think I am very hasty, Annie. You don't know how long I've loved
you, and have waited for this hour."
"Long!--two weeks," she said.
"Why, Annie, darling, it is over three months since I've been able to
think of anything save Annie Grey--ever since the night I received my
diploma, and your sweet, encouraging bouquet, since that night I've
known and loved you. And how I've worked for this hour!"
And then he told her how it was. And when he had finished, she looked at
him, her eyes dancing merrily, and though she tried hard to keep the
little rosebud of a mouth demurely shut, it was no use--it would open
and let escape a rippling laugh, as she said:
"And this is the work my bouquet went about, is it? This is the good it
has done me--" She hesitated; the roses deepened their color as she
continued "And you--"
"Yes, Annie, it has done much good to me, and I hope to you too."
"But, Edgar--" it was the first time she had called him thus, and how
happy it made him--"I must tell you the truth--I never sent you a
bouquet!"
"No! oh, do not say so. Can there be another such Annie Grey?"
"No; I am the one who sent the bouquet; but, Edgar, you received it
through a mistake. It was intended for my brother-in-law, Edward!"
"Stop, Annie, a moment--Are you sorry that mistake was made? Do you
regret it?" said Edgar, his voice filled with emotion.
"No indeed. I am very glad you received it instead," Annie ingenuously
replied; adding quickly, "But, please, do not tell Edward I said so."
"No, no; I will not tell him that you care a little more for _Edgar_
than _Edward_. Is that it? May I think so, Annie?"
She nodded her head, and he caught her to his heart, whispering:
"Mine at last. My Annie, darling! What a blessed mistake it was! May I
go to your mother, Annie?"
"Yes; and I'll go with you, Edgar, and hear if she will admit those
flowers did any good. She thought it a useless expenditure."
The widow Grey had become very much attached to the kind, attentive
young man, and when he came with Annie, and asked her blessing on their
love, she gave it willingly; and after hearing all about the way it
happened, she said:
"Never did flowers such a good work before. They carried Edgar to
church, made a Christian of him, and won for Annie a good, devoted
husband, and for me an affectionate son."