Transcriber's notes: Unusual and inconsistent spelling is as printed.
New original cover art included with this eBook is granted to the
public domain.
[Illustration: FRONTISPIECE.]
STRAIGHT FORWARD;
OR,
_Walking in the Light._
A STORY FOR SCHOOL GIRLS OF ALL AGES.
—————
BY LUCY ELLEN GUERNSEY
AUTHOR OF "IRISH AMY," "THE SIGN OF THE CROSS,"
"TABBY'S TRAVELS," "KITTY MAYNARD," "READY WORK," ETC., ETC.
—————
BOSTON:
HENRY HOYT
No. 9 Cornhill.
—————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1859, by
HENRY HOYT,
In the Clerk's Office of the District Court of Massachusetts.
—————————————————————————————————————————————————————————————
CONTENTS.
—————
CHAPTER I.
CHAPTER II.
CHAPTER III.
CHAPTER IV.
CHAPTER V.
CHAPTER VI.
CHAPTER VII.
CHAPTER VIII.
CHAPTER IX.
CHAPTER X.
CHAPTER XI.
STRAIGHT FORWARD.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER I.
"BUT this is such a little matter, Lucy,—only a dollar!"
"Whether it is little or much does not signify, so long as I cannot
afford it," was the reply, and the speaker laid down the pretty set of
tablets she held in her hands, and turned to look at something else.
"I think you are very foolish," continued the first speaker. "They are
the prettiest I ever saw, and very cheap. Janet Graves paid twice as
much for hers, and they are no better. Come, Lucy, be advised, and take
a set."
"If you have no money with you, it is of no consequence," observed the
polite shopman; "you can easily hand it to me another time; and, as the
young lady observed, these are really superior articles."
Lucy's determination, however, was not to be moved, and her companion
turned from her, and addressed herself to another young lady, who was
also examining the tablets.
"Well, Emily, have you found a set to suit you?"
"I like these very well," replied Emily, in rather an undecided tone;
"but I have no money with me."
"That need make no difference," said the person in attendance; "I can
add it to the bill."
Emily hesitated, looked again, and finally decided to take the tablets.
The party of school girls then proceeded to a dry-goods store, where
Lucy inquired for gloves, and her companions for embroideries and
laces. A splendid stock of the latter was soon displayed before their
admiring eyes, and the girls began to turn them over, with many
exclamations at their beauty. Even Emily admitted that the prices were
wonderfully low, though she made no attempt to purchase.
"Come," said Delia Mason, after she had selected and paid for some
articles for herself, "now is the time to supply yourselves with
collars. You will allow, Lucy, that these are really worth having."
"They are very pretty, if one wants them," replied Lucy, smiling, "but
I do not stand in need of anything of the sort at present."
"Just like her!" said Delia half aloud, as Lucy walked to the other
end of the shop. "I should not like to be as stingy as she is. She has
plenty of money, too, for I saw her purse yesterday when she was buying
some oranges in the hall, and she had quite a roll of bills. She never
thought whether or not she could afford that."
"She gave them to little Kitty Mastick, I know," said Emily, looking
round to see that Lucy was not within hearing. "Lucy is careful of her
money it is true, but I don't think you do right to call her stingy.
She is always ready to assist poor people, or do anything of that sort,
and she subscribed more for the reading room than you did, Delia."
"Oh, yes, because she knows it pays," sneered Delia. "The teachers
always think well of any one who subscribes to the reading room."
"Oh, come Delia, that is hardly fair. You know you said yourself; that
Lucy was very good-natured when she took care of Clarissa Crosby all
that time when she had the toothache. I am sure she is always ready to
do a good turn for any one that wants it."
"I don't deny that Lucy is a very good girl," replied Delia, apparently
rather ashamed of what she had said, "and, of course, she knows her own
affairs best. But come, don't you mean to have some of these collars?
I am sure you need them, for yours are as old-fashioned as the days
before the flood."
Emily again pleaded her want of money, and was again over-ruled, and
the collars were folded up, and the price added to her account. The
purchase was a beautiful one, and the price was certain sufficiently
reasonable, yet it was with an uneasy feeling that she pursued her walk
homeward with Delia, Lucy having dropped a little behind, with one of
the day scholars, who had joined them as they issued from the store.
"I wish I had not bought those things," said she at last. "My old
collars would have answered well enough, and I have spent four dollars
since I came out, for things, which after all were not necessary."
"You have not exactly spent it," observed Delia.
"I have run in debt though, and that is even worse," replied Emily.
"Father is so very particular about that. I believe he thinks it is as
bad as stealing. I must contrive some way to pay my bills before he
finds them out; I should think they would not come to much altogether!
Let me see." And she began a mental calculation, which, however, she
soon abandoned, for Emily was not one to look a disagreeable truth in
the face, so long as she could help it, and she could not help seeing
that the amount was likely, after all, to be very considerable.
Emily Arlington was the daughter of a rich merchant in the city. Her
mother died when she was only five years old, and she was committed to
the charge of a maiden aunt, residing in a quiet country village,—a
lady actuated by Christian motives and principles, and, therefore,
disposed to do everything in her power for the spiritual and temporal
welfare of her young charge.
Miss Arlington, however, was not altogether fitted by nature for the
charge she had undertaken. Though remarkably sweet tempered, she
was rather weak-spirited; her will was by no means a match for Miss
Emily's, and she was somewhat embarrassed by the restrictions imposed
upon her by her brother's somewhat peculiar ideas upon the subject of
female education. One of his favorite notions was, that young children,
and above all girls, should never be allowed to associate with young
people of their own age. Accordingly, the little Emily was secluded
like a cloistered nun, with no companions or playmates, but her doll,
her aunt and the servants. Moreover, Mr. Arlington had a great horror
of feminine independence, and this feeling was fully shared by his
sister, who accustomed Emily never to think for herself, but to ask
for direction in even the smallest matters, so that, until she was
fifteen, she had never bought a pair of gloves, or chosen a plaything
for herself.
At this age, her aunt died; and her father finding, not long after,
that business matters imperatively required his presence in Europe,
decided, after much doubt and hesitation, to send his daughter to
school. Emily was accordingly placed in the establishment, and under
the especial care of Mrs. Pomeroy, whose school had for a quarter of a
century enjoyed the enviable reputation of turning out more finished
young ladies, and first rate scholars, than any other boarding school
in the country.
Mr. Arlington did not leave his daughter without much good advice,
and many charges to behave herself properly. He placed in her hand a
purse containing what he considered a suitable amount of pocket money,
informed her that Mrs. Pomeroy would supply her with clothes and other
necessaries, and took an affectionate leave, intending to set out on
his journey immediately.
Emily had seen very little of her father, and that little had induced
her to fear rather more than she loved him; so that she may be pardoned
if she parted from him without any very strong emotion. It was with
a singular mixture of feeling that she followed Mrs. Pomeroy to the
dining hall, where all the members of the family, some fifty in number,
were now assembled, waiting the appearance of their principal to begin
the evening meal.
"A new scholar, young ladies," said Mrs. Pomeroy, as they entered,
"Miss Emily Arlington, Miss Spencer; will you take Miss Arlington next
you at the French table?"
Emily was at first bewildered by the number of strange faces, and
could hardly collect her thoughts sufficiently to reply to the polite
remarks of her neighbors, who chatted merrily among themselves, though
in subdued tones, and in French, supplying a missing word now and then
with its Latin or German substitute. By degrees, however, she recovered
her self-possession, and began to take an interest in observing the
peculiarities of the little world by which she was surrounded. The
scrutiny led her upon the whole to form a favorable opinion of her
future companions.
They were indeed a remarkably pretty and well-dressed set of girls, and
the manners of most of them appeared agreeable and lady-like. A good
many things struck her as peculiar; she wondered at the consumption
of bread and butter, and bread and syrup, going on around her, and
she could not help staring a little to see the young ladies who had
finished their meals, produce their books or their work, while waiting
for their companions.
Tea was followed by prayers in the large school-room, and Emily was
much impressed by the beauty of the responsive service and the singing.
"After all," she said to herself, while preparing for bed, "I don't see
why I cannot be very happy here."
Emily was so unaccustomed to the society of girls of her own age, that
for some days she was nervous and embarrassed, and shrunk from their
friendly advances from sheer awkwardness; but this feeling soon wore
off, and before the end of a fortnight, she was on familiar terms with
most of the young ladies in the hall where she lodged, and had formed
something like an intimacy with two or three of them.
The first one with whom she became particularly acquainted was Lucy
Spencer, a very quiet, unpretending girl, a year or two older than
herself. She had been an inmate of the school for four years, and
expected to remain for some time longer, and her steady good principles
and perfect truthfulness made her as much a favorite with Mrs. Pomeroy
and the teachers, as did her sweet temper and gentle cheerfulness
with her companions. We do not pretend to say that Lucy was perfectly
faultless—such girls being found only in old-fashioned story books,—but
she was blessed with a naturally sunny and equable disposition,
and this happy temperament was strengthened by truly Christian
principles—principles which were brought to bear upon every action of
her everyday life.
No one felt any hesitation, at asking a favor of Lucy, for if she felt
herself obliged to refuse, it was done so gently and sweetly that it
was impossible to be offended, while whatever was in her power was sure
to be granted. Being in point of residence the oldest scholar in the
school, it often fell to her lot to take a kind of oversight of the
new pupils, and induct them into the way of the family, and thus it
happened that for the first few days, Emily saw more of her than of any
other girl in the house.
Mr. Arlington had made it a particular request that his daughter
might have a room to herself, but this Mrs. Pomeroy had been unable
to promise. Her house was full, there was but one empty room, and she
was expecting another young lady very soon, so Mr. Arlington was fain
to acquiesce. It was not, however, till Emily had sole possession of
her room for three weeks, that her room-mate made her appearance in
the person of Miss Delia Mason, who has already been introduced to our
readers.
Delia was a very handsome girl, about Lucy Spencer's age, but from her
style of dress and manners, appearing much older. She had lost her
own mother at the age of ten years, and, in three years' time, her
father was married again to a very amiable and lovely woman, who was
desirous of doing everything in her power to render her husband and his
daughters happy.
But Delia was one of those independent young ladies, whom it is by no
means easy to render happy. She at once made up her mind her father
had offered her a great insult and been guilty of the most flagrant
injustice to her, in marrying again; and she had resolved from the
first, not only that she would never be obedient to a step-mother, but
that she would do all in her power to make a residence in the house
disagreeable to the new comer.
Now the resolution to be disagreeable is one easily kept by persons
of the most limited capacity, and Delia's capacity in this respect,
especially, was by no means limited. That grand resource of ill-natured
people—tears—was hers in no measured quantity, and for the first few
days after her mother's arrival, she cried incessantly, refusing to
appear at table, and acting to perfection the part of a heart-broken
damsel, consoling herself meanwhile by stolen visits to cupboard and
store room, and by private repast in her own apartment.
Growing weary of this vein after a while, she condescended to mingle
with the rest of the family, but she still preserved a manner of the
utmost coldness and disrespect to the new comer, never speaking to her
if she could help it, and always addressing her as Mrs. Mason, instead
of the natural and endearing title of mother, which had been easily
adopted by her little sisters of four and five years old, who had at
once been won by the gentle and attractive face of their new mama.
Delia had been accustomed to tyrannise over these little ones to her
heart's content, treating them alternately as playthings and slaves.
She was by no means pleased to see that her empire over them was likely
to be entirely destroyed, and she set herself strenuously to work to
defeat her step-mother's designs for their benefit. Was any indulgence
forbidden them, Delia would contrive some way to give it them secretly
or openly, defending herself when reproved by saying, "their mother
always let them have it, and I don't see why it should be refused them
by a stranger." If Mrs. Mason refused them, Delia invariably took their
part, and incited them to impertinent replies and open rebellion,
telling them that she was not their own mother, and they ought not to
submit to be ordered about by a step-mother. Mr. Mason was away from
home a great deal, and, as his wife never made a complaint, he was for
some time quite unconscious of the discomfort caused her by Delia's
misconduct, as well as of the injury she was doing to Rose and Celia.
It chanced after a time, however, that a slight accident confined him
to the sofa for a fortnight, during which he had ample time to satisfy
himself in regard to the state of things in the household.
After vainly endeavoring to convince Delia of the folly and impropriety
of her conduct, and receiving no answer but tears and hysterics, he
informed her at last that the comforts of the household should no
longer be sacrificed to her caprices, and bade her prepare to go to a
boarding school at the end of a week.
Though Delia liked nothing better, in her heart, she pretended to be
greatly grieved by this sentence of banishment, as she chose to call
it, and spent the intervening time in lamenting to one and another,
of the circle of her mother's relatives, that she should be driven
from her own father's house by the influence of a stranger, adding
pathetically that her father had changed entirely toward her since he
had married that artful woman. The relatives of a first wife are not
apt to be too indulgent towards a second, and Delia's insinuations
had their intended effect upon the minds of her aunts who were not,
at best, remarkable for sense or discernment; so that she had the
satisfaction of knowing, before she left, that she had added another
drop to the cup of discomfort and vexation, she had prepared for a
person whose whole course to her had been one of uniform kindness.
The school to which she was first sent was, unfortunately, not one in
which she was likely to gain much improvement in those moral qualities
wherein she was most deficient. The Classical Gymnasium, for such was
its high-sounding title, was conducted upon what somebody calls the
high-pressure system. With a great array of names of officers and
professors, the whole care of watching over the conduct and manners
of some seventy or eighty girls was left to two or three overworked
and under-paid female teachers, of the sort to be obtained "cheap for
cash," who were only too glad to gain a little rest for themselves,
by conniving at many irregularities, to call them by no worse name,
and by winking pretty hard, or shutting their eyes altogether, when
the young ladies contrived to meet their friends and admirers in the
Saturday afternoon shopping excursions, which formed almost their only
authorized recreation.
It may be imagined that, in such an establishment, Delia was not
likely greatly to improve. At the end of two years, her father became
thoroughly dissatisfied, and certain correspondences of Miss Delia's
coming to light, which revealed anything but a desirable set of
acquaintances for a young lady, she was removed from the Classical
Gymnasium, and placed in the institution of Mrs. Pomeroy, which, during
the twenty-five years of its existence, had never aspired beyond the
simple title of a Female Seminary, and where the old-fashioned branches
of reading, writing and arithmetic still continued to be reckoned among
the necessary studies.
The mental and moral atmosphere of Mrs. Pomeroy's house, was as
different as possible from that of the Classical Gymnasium. No one was
crowded with studies; plenty of time was allowed for recreation; the
play-room being abundantly furnished with incentives to cheerful and
active exercise, and the work of instruction was fairly shared among a
large body of efficient and well paid teachers. There was no scrimping
about the establishment. Healthy, though plain food, well-warmed rooms,
and plenty of playtime, conduced to the health of the inmates, and
Delia could not help drawing a very favorable contrast between the
troop of alert, rosy, and wide-awake girls, who came pouring into the
school-room at the hour of evening study, fresh from an hour of active
and merry exercise, and the pale waxen-faced, languid looking young
ladies, who assembled at the same hour in the Classical Gymnasium
aforesaid, nervous and spiritless, and ready to cry at the least
provocation, from sheer exhaustion.
Of course, Emily felt a good deal of curiosity about her new room-mate,
and during the evening she took every opportunity of looking at her
when she could do so unobserved. Delia was, as we have said, a handsome
and graceful girl. Her dress, thanks to the care of her despised
step-mother, was in good taste and in the latest fashion, and Emily
felt rather painfully the contrast between them in this respect. Miss
Arlington, her aunt, had latterly lived very much out of the world; she
cared little for dress, and seldom noticed what other people wore, and
consequently Emily's clothes, though good enough in quality, were two
or three years behind the fashion. On the whole she was pretty well
satisfied with the result of her scrutiny.
Delia on her part was no less anxious. She had her own plans and
purposes to carry out. She knew that her success in some of these
must depend not a little upon the character of her room-mate, and her
attention was upon the alert to discover any little circumstance which
might give her some insight in Emily's mind and habits.
She was not left long in the dark.
Emily had been religiously brought up, and she had been accustomed
never to omit her prayers and Bible reading night and morning. The
continuance of these most excellent habits had been easy enough, so
long as she roomed alone, but now that she had a companion it was
different. She was nervously afraid of being laughed at, and the mere
suspicion that she had exposed herself to ridicule, was enough to make
her miserable for a whole day. She had already made the discovery that
Delia was inclined to be sarcastic, and she could not help doubting, as
she caught several glimpses of her countenance during prayers, whether
she had any special respect for the ordinances of religion.
The right way, of course, would have been for her to take a simple,
straight-forward course, reading her Bible and saying her prayers just
as usual, whereby not only would she have satisfied her own conscience,
but she would also have gained the respect of her companion, for
consistency is always respectable. She did no such thing, however.
She could not make up her mind to face either the covert sneer or
open ridicule of her room-mate, and almost for the first time in all
her life, she went prayerless to bed. She tried, indeed, to snatch
an opportunity of reading a few verses in her Bible when Delia was
looking another way, but she shut the book hastily as she turned round,
and restored it to its place, as though she had only taken it up by
accident.
Delia noticed the action, and understood it perfectly.
"Pshaw!" said she to herself. "I shall have little trouble in managing
her."
This might be said to be Emily's first false step in school, and she
could not well have made a worse. Her situation was, at best, one of
peculiar temptation and trials, coming as she did from such entire
seclusion, into the midst of this busy and bustling little world, where
all sorts of passions had their representatives, and thrown almost
entirely upon her hitherto untried resources.
Her only safety would have been in the closest and most constant
recourse to the Fountain of all strength and wisdom—strength and wisdom
liberally imparted by Him who giveth and upbraideth not. From this
Fountain of living waters, however, she had deliberately turned aside.
She had broken her own staff, and thrown aside her only shield, and
she had nothing left to protect her from the assaults of him who goeth
about like a roaring lion.
In the course of a week, Emily was completely under the influence of
her room-mate, with scarcely a pretense of having a mind of her own
about anything. Nor was she the only one who felt the influence of
the new comer. In a family of some forty girls, it may be conceived
that not all were wise or well principled, and as birds of a feather
proverbially flock together, Delia soon collected around her a circle
of society nearly as much to her taste as that which she had left at
the Classical Gymnasium. It was the height of her ambition to form a
clique or party attached to her interest and governed by her influence,
and in this she succeeded beyond her hopes.
These young ladies formed themselves into a secret society, as
they were pleased to call it, and held their meetings with a great
affectation of secrecy in each other's rooms. There the talk was
mostly of beaux and dances, of successful evasions of rules, and the
acquirement of forbidden indulgences, while teachers and masters, and
even Mrs. Pomeroy herself, were the subject of unsparing ridicule.
Emily could not help noticing, that though Delia rather encouraged this
sort of talk in others, she seldom took an active part in it herself,
and had once or twice put an end to it rather sharply, when it seemed
to be going beyond the bounds of all propriety or decency. Indeed, she
treated her constituents in all respects as subjects, and Emily often
wondered at their bearing with it so patiently.
All this could hardly have escaped the vigilant eye and ear of Mrs.
Pomeroy, had not her time been very much occupied by the illness of a
favorite little scholar, an orphan and dependent, who, after a long
time of delicate health, seemed now threatened with settled consumption.
If Kitty Mastick had never known a mother's care, she had never missed
it, for Mrs. Pomeroy had been father and mother, teacher and friend
to her, ever since she could remember. Her mother had been one of
Mrs. Pomeroy's early pupils. She had married contrary to the wishes
of her father, who had cast her off during his life, and finally
died, refusing to the last to see his offending child, and positively
forbidding her sister to see or hold any communication with her. Her
husband was killed by an accident soon after, and the young widow was
left without friends or refuge. Hearing of her desolate condition, Mrs.
Pomeroy sent for her and offered her an asylum, which Mrs. Mastick
thankfully accepted, hoping that she might after a while be able to
be useful to her benefactress, in the capacity of a teacher of music.
After the birth of little Kitty, she did indeed rally a little, but
soon sunk, and died, leaving her daughter no inheritance except a
remarkable talent for music, and great delicacy of constitution.
At the time our story commences, Kitty was twelve years old, but very
small and slender for her age, and seemed likely soon to follow her
mother to the grave. Mrs. Pomeroy, however, could not help hoping that
by care and attention the predisposition to disease might be overcome,
and she devoted to Kitty every moment of her spare time.
It is not to be supposed that the teachers were blind to the influence
that Delia was exerting, but they saw no way of interfering with
advantage, and could not help hoping that the evil would, in time, cure
itself. Delia was a good scholar, she was remarkably neat and very
systematic in her habits for a girl of her age, and took a certain
pride in maintaining a good place in the school, so that she was in
this respect rather an advantage to Emily than otherwise.
This increased Emily's dependence upon her, for she was unused to
regular application, and having never been to school in her life, she
found great difficulty in accommodating herself to the regular hours
and exact punctuality of the establishment. This served to increase
and maintain Delia's ascendancy over her. There was not, after all,
however, so much difference between them as might have been imagined.
Emily had religions feeling and habit, of both of which Delia was
entirely destitute, but neither of them had any principle.