A BRAVE RESOLUTION.
MR. WINN lingered for nearly a month. There were intervals during this
time when he rallied sufficiently to give some hope to his anxious wife
that he might yet recover, and be spared to them for a few years longer
at least.
During one of these intervals, he was able to listen while Elsie told
him that she had won the scholarship, and that Tom was going to try for
one next year.
He fully approved of Tom going to the preparatory class for this. For,
as he remarked to his wife, if he should fail to win a scholarship that
would enable him to go to a better school for a year or two longer,
the additional knowledge he would gain from attending this preparatory
class would be sure to prove useful to him, if he should have to leave
school earlier, and begin the business of life for himself in earnest.
He also spoke to Tom about this, and the boy promised to be diligent,
and give his teachers as little trouble as possible, as they were so
willing to help him forward in his school work.
But as the days went on, these intervals of comparative ease grew
less, and there were days when the invalid could not say a word to his
children, and was scarcely able to gasp out what he needed to say to
his wife. The doctor knew that, although his life was prolonged beyond
the time he had thought possible when he first saw him, that the end
could not be far off, and he did what he could to prepare Mrs. Winn for
what he knew was approaching.
But although she was thus warned, the blow fell at last with a terrible
shock, both to mother and children, and they were all for a time
overwhelmed with grief and dismay.
How the rest of that dreadful week passed in Elsie's home she never
quite knew, or whether she ever thought that the death of her father
would make such a difference in her future.
Until after the funeral, no word was said about any change in their
mode of life; but one day, when this was all over, she said,—
"Mother, shall I be able to go to school next week?"
Her mother looked at her for a moment, and then the tears slowly filled
her eyes.
"My poor Elsie," she said, "I am afraid our loss will fall very heavily
upon you."
"But, mother, it will not cost us anything for me to go to the grammar
school," said Elsie, looking a little frightened.
"My dear, we must have a little talk together, you and I. You know,
dear, that now father has gone, I must work and keep the little ones."
"You, mother? What can you do?" asked Elsie, opening her eyes with
something like wonder and alarm.
"Only one thing, dear. I have learned to make the children's frocks and
your dresses very well; and I must earn some money by doing dressmaking
for other people."
"But who will take care of Bobbie and baby?" asked Elsie.
"That is what I am coming to, dear; and it is a question you must
decide. With your help to manage the house and the children, I think
I could keep home, and all of us can live together; but without your
help, I cannot do it. Baby would not be happy with a stranger; and I
could not expect another girl to be so careful of things, so that there
is no waste, as my own little daughter."
"And, oh mother! You want me to give up the scholarship, and not go
to school any more!" exclaimed poor Elsie, bursting into tears, and
throwing herself into her mother's arms, as if her heart would break.
"My poor Elsie! My poor darling! It is hard I know, dear," said the
mother, tenderly stroking the girl's hair, and kissing her, while her
own tears fell like rain. Mrs. Winn had dreaded telling Elsie this
bitter truth,—that she could not afford to let her go to the grammar
school, even with the scholarship; but she did not think she would feel
it so bitterly as this.
At last Elsie grew more quiet, and then she whispered, "Tell me
everything, please; I will try to be a good girl, for dear daddy's
sake."
"Yes, yes, I know you will, my darling; and I have tried to think of a
plan that would save you from this disappointment. But there seems no
other way, dear, but for you to help me at home. For I should not like
to send either of the little ones away to an orphan school if I could
help it. They are very good schools, I daresay, but I want to keep you
all together if I can. Almost the last thing daddy said was, 'You'll
keep the children all together.'"
"Yes, mother, you shall; and I will help you," said Elsie, in a choking
voice. "I will take care of the house, and Bobbie and baby, so that you
can work."
"God bless you! my dear," said her mother. "You have lifted a great
weight from my mind; and I believe I can do as daddy wished now. It is
hard for you, my dear; but I will contrive that you have some time for
reading, for I know how anxious you are to learn."
"Thank you, mother," was all Elsie could say; for although she had made
up her mind what she ought to do, and what she would do, it was none
the less hard, and she was glad to run up to her own room, and cry out
her trouble there.
When she came down, she had bathed her face and tried to smile, but
Bobbie looked up at her and said, "Elsie ki!"
"Bobbie, go and fetch that stick for baby," said his mother; for she
could see Elsie was having a hard battle with herself.
The next day she went and told her governess that Mary must have the
scholarship, now that her father was dead.
"I am very sorry, my dear; very sorry indeed; but I saw your mother one
day last week, and I think you are quite right in what you have decided
to do."
"I did so wish to go to the grammar school," said Elsie, the tears
shining in her eyes as she spoke.
"Yes, dear, and I should have been very glad if you could have gone;
but you know the object Of all education is not merely cramming the
memory with facts of history, or rules of grammar, but the building up
of character. And so, in learning self-control and self-forgetfulness
(as you must do in helping your mother), you will, I am sure, be
learning lessons as valuable as any that could be taught at the grammar
school. And for the mere facts of history, and rules of grammar, you
may be able to make up for their loss by your own reading. I have heard
this morning, that we are likely to have an evening continuation school
for girls here this winter; and so, perhaps, your mother might be able
to spare you to come to that; and if she can, I will take care that you
are placed in a suitable class."
"Thank you," said Elsie. But it was said rather drearily, for nothing
could make up for the loss of what she should have learned at the
girl's grammar school, Elsie thought.
It having been settled before that Elsie was to have the scholarship,
there were letters to write, and explanations to be given, as to why
the change was made in the scholarship girls, before Mary could feel
certain that she was to have it.
Of course she was glad of the chance—doubly glad that she had taken
Elsie's advice and gone through with the examination, instead of giving
it up at the first difficulty. If she had not done this, it would, of
course, have gone to another girl, and another school.
Elsie's friends all felt sorry for her. But she could not stay to talk
to them this morning, for she was wanted at home to mind the baby,
while her mother went out on business.
Of course, some blamed Mrs. Winn, and Elsie too. But in trying to do
the duty that lay nearest them, they were undoubtedly right; and they
had the satisfaction of knowing this, and also that they were trying to
carry out the last wishes of the dear one, who had so lately been taken
from his work here below.
Mrs. Winn made it known among friends and neighbours, that she was
prepared to make either ladies' or children's dresses, in the latest
fashion. And to ensure success, she herself went to take lessons in the
best method of cutting and fitting.
They were not absolutely penniless. Her husband had made some provision
for his family; but it was necessary that they should be very careful
in their expenditure, for Mrs. Winn could hardly expect to get much
work just at first.
But the story of Elsie's scholarship had got abroad, and people
said that mother and daughter were alike brave in striving to help
themselves and each other; and work began to come in faster than the
widow had dared to hope—so fast, indeed, that she soon had as much as
she could do. And when Elsie's school-fellow, Jane Holmes, came to see
her, and asked if she could be taken as an apprentice, Mrs. Winn felt
quite glad of the offer.
It had not occurred to her to try and get an apprentice. But when
this offer was made, she thought she could but try how the plan would
answer, and so she asked Mrs. Holmes to call and see her about the
matter.
"I think Jane would do more for you, Mrs. Winn, than she would
for anybody else, because she feels so sorry for Elsie in her
disappointment," said Mrs. Holmes, when the two had talked over the
business. "I am afraid she is not very quick with her needle just
now, but she knows it is quite hopeless for her to think of getting a
scholarship, or even being a governess, by-and-bye; and, as she must
learn to do something for her living, she hopes you will give her a
trial."
This Mrs. Winn was quite willing to do. And so Jane came and took her
place in Mrs. Winn's work-room, while Elsie scrubbed, and cooked, and
swept, and dusted, and took care of the children; and her life was much
happier than she thought it would be.
Having decided the question about the scholarship, she took up her work
in the house with real interest, trying how well she could do this, how
much trouble she could save her mother in that, and what expense could
be spared in the other.
She soon learned to know that it is not money, it is not pleasure, that
gives happiness, but the interest that life affords, that gives it its
real value and zest.
Sorely did they miss the loving father; but they could not afford to
sit down and indulge in useless repinings. Life had too much for them
to do to sit down and shed useless tears. And so Elsie and her mother
found themselves happy, though they were not always free from care and
anxiety.
In this way several months passed. Mrs. Winn had as much work as she
could get through. And, though it was sometimes difficult, with all the
care and economy, to make ends meet without breaking into the little
capital that was put away; still it was done somehow, and the little
ones were not allowed to feel the loss of their father where mother and
sister could help them.
Then one day Tom came home from school, rather later than usual,
bruised and dirty, and with several rents in his jacket.
"Where have you been, Tom?" exclaimed Elsie, when she saw what a plight
he was in.
"Oh, don't bother," said her brother, pushing her aside; "I don't want
girls worrying about me," he added, as he rushed into the scullery to
wash his face, and remove the traces of the fray in which he had been
engaged, before his mother should see him.
[Illustration: "Where have you been, Tom?" exclaimed Elsie.]
Tea was nearly over, and Mrs. Winn had gone back to the work-room, so
she did not see Tom as he came home. But the bruises and scratches
could not be washed off with water; and the jacket was sadly
dilapidated.
"Look at you's jacket," said Bobbie to his brother.
Tom turned the sleeve round, and Elsie looked at it too. "Oh, Tom! It
is too bad of you to go and tear your clothes like that," she said.
She felt almost ready to cry; for Tom's jacket would take an hour to
mend at least, and she would have no time to read the book a friend had
lent her. She only had a little while after the children had gone to
bed, for her mother insisted upon going herself in good time, and so
the mending of this jacket would occupy all her spare time this evening.
She grumbled a good bit about this, and Tom turned sulky over being
grumbled at by a girl, and would not say where he had been, except that
he went home with one of the other boys to see his rabbits.
Mrs. Winn was vexed, and Elsie cross; but Tom went off to bed without
saying where he had been. And he took care to go to school the next day
without any fuss. Elsie had mended his jacket very neatly, and he felt
half ashamed this morning that he had given her so much trouble; but
all he said to show it, was to tell Bobbie that he would come straight
home from school and play with him.
During the last few weeks, Tom had often come home from school very
late, and Elsie felt sure he must often have been late for the
scholarship class. But her mother had not noticed this, for she was
so very busy with her dressmaking at Christmas time, and Elsie had
not told her, because she did not wish to add to her worry, and also
because she hoped that after Christmas Tom would turn over a new leaf,
and come home at meal times more regularly.
And she ventured to say as much to him, now that she had had to mend
his jacket, and before he could wear it again.
"Oh, all right," said Tom. "Don't you worry your curly head over me; I
can take care of myself," said Tom, carelessly.
"It don't look much like it to see your face," said Elsie. "And I think
you ought to consider mother, as well as taking care of yourself; and
you seem to forget everything but running the streets with that hateful
Jack Bond. Mother was cross last night when she came down, soon after
tea, and found you had not come in, for she wanted you to go to the
shops for her."
"Oh, well, you went instead, and the run did you good," said Tom, as he
went off whistling, yet somehow feeling uncomfortable about what his
sister had said as to considering his mother.
"I must turn over a new leaf," said Tom, little dreaming what a painful
turning over it was to be. He had promised Elsie he would do this after
Christmas, and had thought no more about the matter, and he went off
now trying to forget it.
Poor, foolish Tom! It was not difficult to forget all his promises to
Elsie, about turning over a new leaf by-and-bye. He little guessed
that it would soon be uncertain whether he would ever again have the
opportunity of turning over a new leaf. There seemed plenty of time
now, and Tom quite intended to be a good boy, and help his mother and
sister by-and-bye.
That thief of time and present opportunity, "by-and-bye," so easily
persuaded the foolish boy that he need not think of these things just
yet. That he could forget them, and enjoy himself, and leave the future
to take care of itself, without thinking of other people, and their
claims upon him.