"No, Sir. Mr. Hammond was so much occupied when I came away that I had
not seen him for a day or two. He has friends staying with him."
"True enough. Mr. Worthington has gone up there with his pretty daughter
to see whether he can allow her to bury herself in the country. You saw
Miss Worthington? Will she be popular among your people when she is Mrs.
Hammond?"
I caught a glimpse of Tom's face, and felt myself turning pale as I
answered, with a composure that did not seem to come from my own
strength,--
"Miss Worthington is a very pleasant-spoken young lady. The people will
like her, because she seems to care for them, just as Mr. Hammond does.
But do you think, Sir, that you could put me in the way of teaching
school? Could I learn how to do it?"
"Well, I am just the right person to come to, Miss Janet, for the people
have put me on the School Board, and--yes, we shall want some teachers
next month in two of the primary departments. Could you wait a month?
You might be studying up for your examination; it's not much, but it'll
not hurt you to go over their arithmetics and grammars. And I must write
to Hammond to-day about some business of the Company. I'll ask him about
your qualifications, and what he thinks of it, and we'll see what can be
done. I should not wonder if I could get you a place."
Mr. Kendall shook hands with us both; and, bidding him good-morning,
with many thanks for his kindness, we went out. We walked a square
silently. Suddenly Tom turned to me:--
"You did not tell me, Janet, of this young lady."
"No."
"And is Mr. Hammond going to marry her?"
The blood rushed to my face, till it was crimson to the very hair, while
I stammered,--
"I do not know,--you heard Mr. Kendall."
Tom's voice was as gentle as a mother's in answer, but his words had
little to do with the subject, they were almost as incoherent as
mine,--something about his hoping I would like living in Cincinnati,
that teaching would not be too tiresome for me. But from that moment
George Hammond's name was never mentioned between us.
I wrote that day to my step-mother, telling her of my plans and
prospects, and that evening Tom brought me the needed school-books. He
had found them by asking some of the men at the yard whose children went
to the public schools, and to the study of them I sat down with a
determination that no slight difficulty could subdue. The next week
brought a long, kind letter from Mr. Hammond, scolding me for going as I
did, and declaring that he missed me every day.
"But more than all shall I miss you, Janet, when I bring Miss
Worthington back as my wife; I had depended so upon you as a companion
for her. But still it is a good thing for you to see something of the
world, and you are bright enough to do anything you set out to do. I
have written to Mr. Kendall to do all he can for you, and with Tom to
take care of you I am sure you will get along. I begin to suspect that
your going away was a thing contrived between Tom and yourself. Who
knows how soon he may bring you back among us to show the Sandy farmers'
wives how to live more comfortably than some of them do? Tom has a very
pretty place below the mouth of Blackberry, if you would only show him
how to take care of it."
There was comfort in this letter, in spite of the tears it caused me. My
secret was safe. Miss Hammond had not been so cruel, so traitorous to
her sex, as to betray it. If she had not told it now, she never would
tell it, and Tom, if he suspected it, was too good, too noble, to
whisper it even to himself. So I laid away my letter, and with a lighter
heart turned again to my tasks.
And now three months have passed, for two of which I have been teaching.
There are difficulties, yes, and there is hard work; but I can manage
the children. I have the tact, the character, the gift, that nameless
something which gives one person control over others; and for the
studies, they are as yet a pleasure to me. I see how they will lead me
on to other knowledge, how I may bring into form and make available my
desultory reading, and there is a great pleasure in the very study
itself. And for the rest, if my great grief is never out of my mind, if
it is always present to me, at least I can put it back, behind my daily
occupations and interests. I begin, too, to see dimly that there are
other things in life for a woman to whom the light of life is denied. My
heart will always be lonely; but how much there is to live for in my
mind, my tastes, my love for the beautiful! My little room has taken
another aspect. I have so few wants that I can readily devote part of my
earnings to gratifying myself with books, pictures. Such lovely prints
as I find in the print-shops! and the flowers--Tom Salyers, who is as
kind as a brother, brings me them from the market. And then everything
is so new to me; there is so much in life to see, to know. No, I will
not be unhappy; happy I suppose I can never be, but I have strength and
courage, and a will to rise above this sorrow which once crushed me to
the ground. When I wrote the bitter words with which this record begins,
I wronged the kind hearts that are around me, I lacked faith in that
world wherein I have found help and comfort.
* * * * *