_A NEW HOME._
THE news of Aunt Hannah's death was a dreadful shock to Rhoda. She had
looked to her return with a vague but strong hope that somehow the
old lady would set matters right. She had felt so sure of seeing her,
especially since she had made up her mind to write, and her heart had
throbbed faster every time the door-bell rung. Now it was all over.
Aunt Hannah was gone, and she felt herself indeed alone in the world.
"After all, if it was to be so, I am glad she died instead of changing
like the others," said she to Miss Brown. "If mother had died when baby
was born, I should not have been half so sorry about her as I am now."
"Ah, my dear, there are few people who might not say that of some one,"
said Miss Brown, sighing. "But, Rhoda, would there have been nothing to
regret then?"
"Not on her side," answered Rhoda. "I soon found out that mother was
not the wisest woman that ever lived, but she was always kind to me. I
don't believe any child ever was happier or better taken care of than I
was for those eight years."
"Then you have at least that much for which to thank Mrs. Bowers,"
remarked Miss Brown, "since she gave you eight years of happiness."
"Yes, I suppose so," said Rhoda, thoughtfully; "and yet, somehow, this
last business seems to have blotted out all the rest. I could find it
in my heart to wish they had let me alone."
"I understand you," said her friend; "but, Rhoda, you must try to
forgive as you would be forgiven."
"Indeed, I do, Miss Brown," said Rhoda, earnestly. "You don't know how
much I pray for a forgiving spirit, and sometimes I think I have it,
but then again the tide comes up and sweeps it all away."
"That is the way with everybody, child. We have to fight our battles
over and over again."
"It is very strange that Aunt Hannah left no will," said Rhoda,
recurring again to Mr. Weightman's letter. "He says that as his sister
left no will, the property returns to the rightful owner—himself, I
suppose he means: that he sends me her clothes and some other things,
though I have no right, in law, to anything. I don't understand it,
for I am sure that Aunt Hannah had made a will at one time. You don't
suppose Mr. Weightman can have destroyed it, do you?"
"I think not. He would hardly have ventured on such a crime. Aunt
Hannah may have destroyed it herself, thinking that she would make
another. You know she died very suddenly."
"I don't know. Mr. Weightman would do almost anything for the sake of
money, I think," said Rhoda. "It was all he cared about. It was that
which spoiled mother more than anything else. She got to think, as
Uncle Jacob did, that money was everything, and she was jealous of
everybody better off than herself. She used to vex me talking about
Aunt Annie—aunt is her sister. She said Annie was so worldly and
extravagant, though I don't think she was, and she said she should
think Annie would feel ashamed to wear so diamonds and keep so many
servants when her own sister had none.
"I don't think that she loved money so much for its own sake as because
she thought it made people respected and looked up to. She said nobody
cared for poor folks—they never were respected; and she used to fancy
that people felt above her. I know Mrs. Swan came to see her from the
Springs, and she never would return the call, because she said Mrs.
Swan came in a handsome silk dress and a sable cloak, and she had
nothing to wear but a merino."
"It is a poor kind of spirit, but one meets it everywhere," said Miss
Brown. "Mrs. Merchant won't sit next Mrs. Smithers on Sunday because
Mrs. Smithers wears her black silk dress to tea."
Rhoda had several letters from the girls in Boonville, and one from
Mrs. Antis offering to give her a home till she could do better. Rhoda
thanked her friend, but declined the invitation.
"I couldn't do it," she said to Miss Carpenter, to whom she showed the
letter. "Mrs. Antis is very kind, but I think it would break my heart
to go back there now."
Miss Carpenter sympathized with the feeling, and was secretly glad that
Rhoda did not want to go away.
"I should hardly know how to do without her, and that is the truth,"
said she to Mrs. Mulford, one day when the two were talking over
matters in the house.
"She makes herself useful, then?"
"Oh yes, indeed, she does. Not that she accomplishes so very much work,
but she is always at hand, and always ready to help when she is wanted.
Even when I have to call her away from her book or her music to do an
errand or to sit with somebody, she is just as pleasant about it as can
be.
"And she is one of the kind who save steps instead of making them.
When she waits on the old ladies at table, which she offered to do of
her own accord, she is always on the watch to see whose cup is out
or who wants anything; and if Mrs. Gardener or Mrs. Pratt wants to
rise—you know neither of them can get up alone—Rhoda's arm is always
there ready. Now, Jenny means to do right, for aught I know, as much as
Rhoda, but you have always got to tell her. She don't anticipate one as
Rhoda does."
"I am glad to hear such a good account of the child," said Mrs.
Mulford. "I was a little afraid she might be 'stuck up,' as they say;
and I have not felt quite sure about the effects of these lessons. Miss
Brown tells me that she is an excellent scholar. I wish we could keep
her here and give her a good education, but I don't see any way to do
it. We have stretched a point in keeping her as long as we have. I am
afraid she must go to a place pretty soon."
"I am sure I hope it will be a good one, then," said Miss Carpenter.
"That is the worst of our little girls. As soon as we have made them
worth something, we have to let them go."
"Is that Rhoda playing?" asked Mrs. Mulford as the sound of a piano
reached her ears.
"Yes; she practises every day. I think she would make a good player if
she had a chance, but the piano is a poor old thing, and some of the
old ladies complain of the noise; so Rhoda doesn't play as much as she
would like to."
"Well, I must see what can be done, but I fear it won't answer to keep
her here much longer. People say now that the funds are misapplied and
the old ladies half starved. I should think any one might see that they
are not badly used by the way they live on after they come to us. Mrs.
Pratt was nearly eighty when she came to 'The Home,' and she has been
here ten years."
"It's her good temper keeps her alive," said Miss Carpenter.
"And what do you think keeps Aunty Parsons alive? Not her good temper,
I am sure."
"She has got in the habit of living just as she has of smoking, and she
doesn't know how to leave it off," said Mrs. Lambert, who, though the
most faithful and untiring of nurses, was by no means so placid as Miss
Carpenter. "I believe she will wear me out before she dies herself.
Well, we shall dislike to have Rhoda go away but perhaps, if she has to
earn her living, the earlier she sets about it, the better. She is a
girl sure to make friends wherever she goes—that is one thing."
The box containing Aunt Hannah's clothes arrived in due time, and Rhoda
shed many tears over its contents, particularly over her aunt's Bible,
which she was delighted to find among the things. On turning it over,
she found a two-dollar and a twenty-five-cent bill concealed among the
leaves, and showed them to Miss Brown.
"That money will just do to get you a new pair of shoes with," said
Mrs. Parsons, who happened to be in the room at the time. "Some folks
has all the luck. Nobody never sends me no money."
"No," said Rhoda; "I know Aunt Hannah put them in there for the
missionary collection; this paper with them says so. That is the way
she used to do. I mean to get Miss Carpenter to change the money and
keep it to carry to church."
"That's a good notion, Rhody," said Miss Dean, another old lady, who
had always taken a great interest in Rhoda. "It is strange, now,
how Providence orders things," she continued, reflectively. "Last
week I was worrying because I hadn't a speck of money to send to the
children's hospital fund—and I always did feel such an interest in that
object—and when I was at the worst, my grandnephew came in to see me
and gave me five dollars for a present—he's a dreadful openhearted boy,
Daniel is; just like my father—so there I had a dollar to send to the
hospital directly."
"Everything comes right for you, don't it, aunty?" asked Rhoda, smiling.
"Well, yes, child, pretty much."
"I'm sure I shouldn't think it came very right when you had to be
turned out of your room," said Mrs. Parsons, who, like most grumblers,
resented Miss Dean's contentment as an affront to herself.
"Well, yes, it did. I was sorry to lose my closet, but then I had a
wardrobe and a register to myself; and then it's a great saving of my
strength not to have to go up and down stairs; and when grandmother was
put into my room, I did feel favoured, indeed."
"How is grandmother?"
"Well, her eyes trouble her some, but she is pretty smart for a woman a
hundred and one years old. But I must go, for I promised to make a cap
for Miss Carpenter to-day."
"And I must go too," said Rhoda, starting. "Miss Wilkins will wonder
what has become of me."
Rhoda's lessons were not to be uninterrupted much longer. As Mrs.
Mulford remarked, the managers had stretched a point in keeping her
so long, since she was quite well again and her services were really
not needed in the house. The funds of the institution were strictly
tied up to two special objects—the maintenance of the old women and of
the eight little girls, who were to be put out to places at the age
of fifteen. Miss Carpenter often regretted this law, saying that it
obliged them to part with the girls just at the wrong time.
"Just when they begin to be most useful to us, and when they need the
most care," said she. "Fifteen is about the last age when a girl should
be thrown on her own resources. She is usually a good deal better able
to take care of herself at ten."
However, the law was a law, and could not be altered. Rhoda was past
sixteen, a stout, healthy, capable girl, and some people had already
begun to talk about favouritism, etc., in the amiable strain in which
many persons who do nothing whatever for their fellow-creatures are apt
to criticise those who are trying to do a little. It was decided that
Rhoda must go, and it fell to the lot of Mrs. Mulford to tell her of
the decision.
Poor Rhoda felt as if she were being once more torn up by the roots.
She had taken her first transplanting hardly enough, but she had, as it
were, become settled in the new soil, and had struck out rootlets and
tendrils. She had said to herself more than once that it must come to
this some day—that of course she must expect to work for her living;
but as the days and weeks went on, and nothing was said about a change,
the idea had fallen into the background of her mind. She felt herself
once more at home; and when Mrs. Mulford mentioned the matter, which
she did very kindly, Rhoda burst into tears and cried bitterly.
Mrs. Mulford was rather annoyed. She had done her best to find a place
for Rhoda, and she disliked anything like a scene. Moreover, she did
not quite understand Rhoda's feelings, so she delivered her a little
lecture on false pride.
"You ought to be thankful for all that has been done for you already,"
said she, in conclusion. "Come, now, dry up your tears, and look at it
like a sensible girl."
"I am sure I am thankful," said Rhoda, trying to compose herself. "I
know how kind everybody has been, and it was very good in you to find
me a nice place; but—but it came over me so suddenly. It seems somehow
to make me feel the change more than anything. And I did so want to get
an education," said the poor girl, with a fresh burst of tears as the
sense of her disappointment overcame her; "I have set my heart on it
all my life. I wouldn't care how hard I worked for it."
"Yes, yes, I understand," said Mrs. Mulford. "I will try to find you a
place where you can work for your board and go to school by and by; but
really I think you can't do better than to accept this one at present.
It is not so distant but that you can come home pretty often—for you
must always consider this house your home, my dear; and the wages are
good—two dollars a week. You can be laying up money, you see, and by
and by you may be able to accomplish your object. You have a pretty
good stock of clothes, have you not?"
"Oh yes, ma'am, all I shall want this long time."
"And some money beforehand, I think Miss Carpenter said?"
"Yes, ma'am—twenty dollars. But I thought perhaps I ought to pay that
for my board here."
"Oh dear, no!" said Mrs. Mulford, secretly very much pleased with the
suggestion. "You have done quite enough to pay for your board since you
have been here. I think you had better put your money in the savings
bank, as you don't want to use it. Then it will be safe and drawing
interest, and one is not so much tempted to spend money when one has to
go to the bank for it, as I know by experience," she added, smiling. "I
will go to the bank with you and get you a book, and you can deposit
what part of your wages you don't want to use; and by and by you will
find yourself with quite a little capital—enough to go to school on for
some time."
"And perhaps I may have time to study where I am going," said Rhoda,
brightening up a little at these suggestions.
"I dare say you may, if you are quick; though you must remember that
your time is your employer's, and not slight your work. Mrs. Ferrand
is a reasonable woman in the main, and won't expect too much of you.
My Jane has half the time to herself—at least three days in the week;
though I am afraid she spends very little time in studying. She likes
to run in the street better than anything. Miss Carpenter tells me that
you don't care very much about going out."
"I haven't anywhere to go," said Rhoda, sighing a little. "When will
Mrs. Ferrand want me?"
"As soon as you can be ready. She usually keeps two girls, but has
nobody at present."
Rhoda was not sorry to hear this, for one of the things she had dreaded
was the being obliged to associate with uncongenial people, and she
secretly resolved that she would do all in her power to make another
girl unnecessary. The prospect of being able to save money for her
great object was another comfort. Nevertheless, it was not very strange
that after Mrs. Mulford had gone, Rhoda should shut herself up in her
room and have a good cry.
But Rhoda, young as she was, had learned the way to the only spring of
comfort and peace. She recurred to Aunt Hannah's verses written in the
beginning of her precious Bible, and by degrees she was able to say
honestly and from her heart,—
"'Not my will, but thine, be done.'"
There was a great outcry in the house when it was known that Rhoda was
going away. Her quiet helpfulness and cheerfulness had greatly endeared
her to the old ladies, and Miss Brown had come to depend very much upon
her.
Granny Parsons declared that "it wasn't no more than she expected.
She always knew that Rhoda's pride would have a fall, with her
music-lessons and her history-books, thinking herself a young lady,
when she wasn't nothing but a charity child." Then turning round with
a rapidity quite her own, she declared that it was "a shame and a sin
to make the poor girl live out, just as if the ladies couldn't afford
to support her when they was perfectly rolling in money. It was all of
a piece—just some of Mrs. Lambert's doing, because she, Mrs. Lambert,
knew that granny liked her best of any gal in the house. Just like her
taking away my bottle of whisky with cherry bark into it—the only thing
that is any comfort to me."
"Because the doctor said it wasn't good for you," said Mrs. Josleyn.
"He said 'twas that made your eyes sore."
"Just as if he knew anything! I knew his father when he wasn't nothing
but a hired man, living out with old Mr. Mellener. A likely story he
knows what's good for folks!"
"Well, Rhody, so we are going to lose you, I hear?" said Miss Dean.
"I'm real sorry, but I suppose it is all ordered for the best. You are
a good girl, and I'm sure the Lord will take care of you. Now, let me
give you one bit of advice, because I'm older than you, and I've seen a
great deal of the world in one place and another. I dare say you will
find some things not quite pleasant—one does everywhere; but you just
make up your mind to take the bitter with the sweet, and don't throw
away your dinner because you happen to find a cinder in it. You might
not get another in a hurry; or if you did, it might have something
worse than a cinder. Of course it ain't the kind of place you've been
used to; but if you respect yourself and mind your business and don't
put yourself forward, but just do your very best in your own part of
the house, there's no fear but your folks will think enough of you. And
don't you give up the notion of getting an education. I feel to believe
that it will be brought about somehow for you."
"Oh, I don't mean to," said Rhoda, cheerfully. "I mean to learn all I
can about everything, work included."
"That's right," said Miss Dean. "My mother used to say that there
wasn't any use in neglecting your knitting to-day because you expected
to have some spinning to-morrow. Some folks are always doing that very
thing—neglecting the work just under their hand because they expect to
accomplish something grand byme-by, and they never accomplish anything.
"Well, the Lord bless you, Rhody, and I'm sure he will. You've had some
pretty hard trials when you was young, and maybe you'll have all the
better times when you are old. Anyhow, as long as you hold on to him,
he won't never leave you. I'm just as sure of that as I am that I'm
alive."