Those were very bright faces which gathered about Mrs. Baker’s breakfast
table one morning early in the next June.
“Father’s coming home from the war to-day!” cried the children
exultingly; “the fighting is all done and father’s coming home to stay.”
“Yes,” returned their mother, tears of mingled joy and thankfulness
shining in her eyes. “Oh, how thankful I am that he has never been
wounded or taken prisoner—to starve and freeze to death, as so many of
our poor, dear soldiers did. Oh, children, let us thank God every day of
our lives for that!”
“Yes, yes, indeed!” exclaimed Mrs. Ray. “You will all want to go and see
the train come in with the soldiers,” she added, “but I’ll stay at home
and get the best dinner for John that he ever had in his life.”
“Thank you for that kind offer, mother, dear,” said Mrs. Baker. “I’ll be
very glad to go and take the children.” Then turning to Ethel, “And what
are you going to do, young woman?” she asked in a sprightly tone.
“To go to the station to meet my cousins and the Keiths, if I can be
spared,” returned Ethel, with a smile that told of a light and happy
heart.
“Yes, indeed, you are at liberty to go,” was the kindly rejoinder; “I
was sure you would wish to, and so have engaged your friend Carry Brown
to take your place in the store here for to-day.”
Ethel expressed her warm thanks, adding, “I will see that everything
about the store is in perfect order before I go, and will show Carry the
places of things likely to be called for.”
“That will be well,” returned Mrs. Baker, as they left the table
together.
Ethel was flitting about the store, dusting and putting things in place,
humming a tune in the gladness of her heart at the thought that the war
was over and the poor, weary, homesick soldiers about to be restored to
their dear ones—particularly that her cousins George and Albert, were
expected among the arrivals that day—when, glancing through the window,
she saw the postman coming.
She ran to the door to meet him. He handed her a letter bearing her own
name in the well-known handwriting of her kind friend, Mrs. Donald
Keith. Ethel hastened to break the seal and read the enclosed note.
It was a brief one, telling her that they—Mr. and Mrs. Keith—would be in
Philadelphia that morning in time to meet the train from Washington on
which their brother, Colonel Rupert Keith, and his wife and two nephews,
Stuart Ormsby and Percy Landreth, were expected to arrive. They would
probably be at the depot for an hour or more before the Washington train
would come in, and would be pleased to have Ethel spend that hour there
with them, if she could be spared from the store.
This was good news to Ethel, who had not for months seen Mrs. Keith, one
of the best and kindest friends she and her orphan brother and sisters
had ever known.
She made haste with what must be done before leaving the store to Miss
Brown’s care, then hurried to the depot, reaching it some minutes ere
the train from New Jersey was due; so that she and Mrs. Keith had time
for a good long chat before the arrival of that from Washington,
bringing their homeward bound soldier friends and relatives.
It came at last, there was a joyous meeting between the Keith brothers
and other relatives, then the young men shook hands with Ethel,
remembering having met her before on their way to the seat of war.
As they told each other in after years, Ethel and Percy Landreth each
noted a change in the other; both had grown in stature, she nearing
beautiful womanhood, he thought, while the impression she gained of him,
in the few minutes of their brief interview, was that he was becoming a
noble-looking man, one of whom his parents, sisters, and other relatives
might well feel proud; and she rejoiced for him and them, that he had
escaped wounds and imprisonment in any one of those earthly
hells—Andersonville, Libby, Belleisle, Danville, Charleston,
Salisbury—and other notorious rebel prison-pens.
They were all eager for home and could not be persuaded to miss the
first train that would carry them on their westward way; therefore the
interview was brief.
Mr. and Mrs. Keith returned to their home by a train that left only a
few minutes later, and Ethel, after a short but very joyful interview
with her returned soldier cousins, went back to her work at the store.
She found the Baker family rejoicing over their returned soldier with
joy too deep, on the part of the older ones, for anything but tears.
Mr. Baker proved a pleasant-tempered, kindly-mannered man, and in no way
interfered with Ethel’s comfort as a member of the family. He was a
mechanic, and in a few days was working busily at his trade again, while
his wife, with Ethel’s assistance, still carried on her business.
Thus a year passed away during which Ethel gained in stature, in
self-reliance, and knowledge of the work by which she hoped one day to
support herself, and her brother and sisters. Her day-dreams were
constantly of the little home she longed and hoped to provide for them
and herself.
Her friend Carry Brown had similar aspirations, and finally they decided
to go into business together. Their means were not large, but their plan
was to buy goods in small quantities and on short credit, paying for
them partly by sales, partly by doing a good deal of machine-sewing;
Ethel also to continue her fine needlework as time and opportunity were
afforded.
They found a suitable place only a few squares distant from Mrs.
Baker’s, a small house with one room back of the store, which they
decided should be their parlor, three bedrooms in the second story with
an attic over them, a basement kitchen, a cellar, and a small dining
room.
The house was in pretty good repair. They rented it, freshened the
appearance of the rooms with some cheap but delicately tinted paper on
the walls, putting it on themselves to save expense, bought a scant
supply of cheap, second-hand furniture, oilcloths and carpets for the
floors, and the necessary utensils for the kitchen and dining room. The
house and its furnishings were indeed small and mean in comparison with
those of Ethel’s uncles, yet she, her friend, brother, and sisters took
very joyful possession of it one summer afternoon, feeling that at last
they had a home of their own, and the next morning the store was open
for customers.
Blanche, now in her sixteenth year, undertook the housekeeping under her
older sister’s direction and superintendence. They would decide the
night before what they might spend on their three meals and what they
wanted that would come within their means, and the next morning would
make the purchases. Blanche liked doing the marketing, and she soon
learned to economize and to prepare dainty little dishes at small
expense, developing quite a talent for cookery.
They could not afford to keep a servant, and most of the house-work as
well as the cooking fell to her share; Ethel and Carry devoting
themselves to making articles for sale in the store and waiting upon
customers.
Harry and Nannette too made themselves very useful out of school hours,
doing errands and helping with the work about the house.
But Ethel did more than anyone else, so anxious was she to succeed in
paying her way and making a living for them all. She was cheerful and
happy, but greatly overworked; always very glad of the Sabbath rest, as
they all were indeed, but eager to begin her labors again on Monday
morning.
There was no one to watch over and warn her of the danger of overtasking
her strength. Her uncles were so displeased that she was so determined
to earn her own living and that of her younger brother and sisters, that
they would not visit or assist her in any way, and naturally it was the
same with their wives and children.
They saw nothing of each other on the Sabbath, Ethel choosing to attend
a nearer church of the same denomination. They were all regular
attendants upon the church services and at Bible-class and
Sunday-school. Ethel and Blanche were in the same class and soon became
greatly attached to their teacher, Miss Seldon, a lovely Christian woman
who was deeply interested in all her scholars, but especially in this
little family of orphans, struggling so hard to make their own way in
the world. It soon became no unusual thing for her to call at their
humble little home, invite their confidence, and, being a woman of
means, in the kindest and most delicate manner render them assistance
when she discovered that they were in any financial difficulty. But of
that Ethel, in her pride of independence, would accept very little.
Miss Seldon did not know how hard and constantly the young girl worked,
therefore did not warn her, as she certainly would had she known.
So things went on for nearly a year—all working industriously, but Ethel
bearing the heaviest end of the burden, both physical and mental; for it
was she who must plan how to meet all necessary payments. Often on
waking in the morning she found it required a great effort to rise,
dress, and resume her daily duties, and at last there came a time when
the effort to do so was utterly vain; she could scarcely stir, and to
rise from her couch was an impossibility.
She called to Blanche, and with her assistance finally succeeded in
getting into her clothes and crawling downstairs to the store. Her
breakfast was brought to her there, and having eaten it she took up her
needlework, but it required a great exertion of will-power to do even
that, while to run the sewing-machine was impossible.
“Oh, what ails me? what shall I do?” she exclaimed at length, dropping
the work into her lap and clasping her hands together with a gesture of
despair.
“You have been working too hard and constantly,” said Carry, “and will
just have to take a rest.”
“I can’t; there’s too much to do,” groaned Ethel.
“You’ll have to have a doctor,” said Blanche, her eyes full of tears.
“But you must; you shall,” in reply to Ethel’s mournful, dissenting
shake of the head. “I’ll go this minute for that one round the
corner—Dr. Jones; I’ve heard people say he’s a good one.”
“We can’t afford it,” sighed Ethel.
“We certainly can’t afford to let you die, or break down so that you
can’t do anything; so I’m going for him now, this minute,” returned
Blanche, snatching up her hat and putting it on as she went.
She was so fortunate as to find the doctor in and was back again in a
very few minutes, bringing him with her. After examining and
cross-questioning his patient, he pronounced the trouble utter
exhaustion from overwork, and ordered entire rest for weeks to come. She
must go at once to her bed and stay there, refraining from any exertion
of mind or body.
He was very kind and sympathetic, half carried her up to her room
himself, and saw her comfortably established there; then repeating his
order to her to refrain from every kind of exertion of body or mind, and
promising to call again the following day, he left her.
“Is there much the matter, doctor?” asked Carry, as he passed through
the store on his way out.
“She is utterly worn out,” was the reply. “With absolute rest she may,
and I hope will, recover completely in time; but it is very important
that she should be relieved from all care and anxiety.”
“I don’t see how we are to manage that,” sighed Carry to herself, as he
passed out, and she said the same thing to Blanche when she came into
the room a few moments later.
“I don’t know either,” returned Blanche, tears filling her eyes,
“unless—unless my uncles will help us a little.”
“I’d go to see them and tell them all about it, if I were you,” said
Carry.
“To be sure; that’s just what I will do,” exclaimed Blanche,
brightening. “I’ve got to do some errands out anyway, and, after
attending to them, I’ll go right on to my uncles’ store and tell—‘my
tale of woe,’” she concluded with a vain attempt at mirthfulness.
With that she ran up to her room and hastened to attire herself neatly
for her errand. She had left Ethel in bed and alone, the physician
having enjoined it upon her to go to sleep as speedily and soundly as
possible.
Blanche found her uncles in their office. They looked somewhat surprised
at sight of her, but greeted her kindly, asking if she and her brother
and sisters were all well.
At that Blanche burst into tears and sobbed hysterically for a moment.
“What is it, dear child?” asked her Uncle Albert, taking her hand and
drawing her to a seat upon his knee. “I fear you are having a hard time
of it, trying to support yourselves. Is some one of you ill?”
“Yes, sir; Ethel—Ethel has—has broken down,” sobbed the little girl.
“Oh, uncle, I’m so afraid she’ll die! The doctor says she’s all worn
out; for she has just worked, and worked, and worked from early in the
morning till late at night every day but Sunday; and she can’t get out
of her bed now—and—and oh, I don’t know what we will do, for she’s the
head one that directs all the rest of us.”
“Ah, she should not be so wilful,” remarked Mr. George Eldon grimly.
“However, you needn’t fret, child; of course we, your uncles, will see
that you do not come to want; that you are provided with all necessary
things.”
“Of course we will,” said Uncle Albert, “and Ethel must do as the doctor
advises—not exert herself in the least till he pronounces her entirely
recovered. I will go back with you, Blanche, see Ethel, and do what lies
in my power to make her easy in body and mind. And you may feel sure
that none of you will be allowed to want for anything your uncles can
supply.”
“Yes, that will be well,” said his brother, “and tell Ethel from me that
I shall be round to see her before long, probably either this evening or
to-morrow morning. But she is not to stay awake expecting me,” he added
with a slight smile. “Come here, Blanche, and give your old uncle a kiss
before you go. There,” putting an arm about her as she stood at his
side, and kissing her affectionately, “don’t fret, little girl, while
you have two uncles able and willing to provide you and the others with
whatever may be needful to make you comfortable.”
At that moment his son George coming in exclaimed: “Why, is this you,
Blanche? I have not seen you for months; and how you have grown, child!”
and he bent down and kissed her cheek. “Why, you have been crying! Is
anything wrong with you or the others?” he asked. “I hope not, I am
sure. I was thinking only this morning that I must hunt you up and see
how you were getting along.”
“Thank you, Cousin George,” returned the little girl in tremulous tones;
“we were doing right nicely till—till now that Ethel has broken down
because—the doctor says it is because she’s been working too constantly
and hard.”
“Ah! why, she shouldn’t do that when we’re all able and willing to help
her. But don’t fret, little coz; she’ll probably be all right in a few
days, and we’ll tell her she must not work so hard any more.”
“You’re very kind, Cousin George,” returned Blanche, smiling through her
tears, “and so are my uncles, but we don’t like to be a burden to them
when they have so many children of their own to provide for, and it has
seemed very pleasant for us to be all together in a little home of our
own, even though it is very plain and humble.”
“Well, yes, that’s a very right sort of feeling,” he said, “and makes
one all the more willing to help you.”
“There, that must do for the present, George,” said his father. “You can
call round to see Ethel and the rest any time after business hours, but
your uncle is going to take Blanche home now and see what is needed.
Good-by, child,” taking her hand for a moment and giving her a parting
caress, “and don’t ever be afraid to come to your Uncle George for help
when you are in trouble.”
“Good-by and thank you, uncle. Good-by, Cousin George, and do come to
see us,” she said, and slipping her hand into that of her Uncle Albert,
they went out together.
Ethel had just waked from a comfortable nap when Blanche returned
bringing their Uncle Albert with her.
The interview was a pleasant one, for Mr. Eldon was very kind,
sympathetic and appreciative of the efforts his young niece had put
forth in order to earn a living for herself and her sisters and brother;
he praised her for it, yet added: “But now you see, Ethel, that you are
too young and feeble for so great an undertaking. However,” noting with
concern the cloud of care and disappointment his words called to her
tell-tale countenance, “we will not talk any more of that to-day. Try,
my dear child, just to dismiss all vexing thoughts; trust to your uncles
to ward off from you, your brother, and sisters, all danger from want of
means, and with a mind at ease get well and strong again as soon as
possible. When you have accomplished that it will be time enough to
think of those other matters.”
“You are very, very kind, uncle,” she returned with tears shining in her
eyes. “I will try to put away anxious and vexing thoughts and trust in
you—but still more in the Lord—till I’m able to work again.”
“Only till you are able to work again?” he said with a slight smile.
“Really I fear my niece Ethel has some obstinacy in her nature; yet that
is not altogether a bad thing; it is much to be preferred to
vacillation, I think; yet young people should be willing to be guided
and controlled to some extent at least by older ones who have claims to
their respect and obedience.”
“Yes, sir, I acknowledge that,” she said with a slight sigh, “and I
intend to try to obey you and Uncle George in all that I can.”
“That is right,” he responded with a pleased look, “and remember you
have no need to be troubled with anxious cares, for your Uncle George
and I will see that you and the rest are provided with all necessary
things. Now I will leave you to take another nap. Good-by, dear child,”
giving her a parting kiss; “I shall be in again in a day or two to see
how you are getting along. Now, Blanche,” as he and his younger niece
left the room together, “show me about the house and let me see how
comfortable you have managed to make yourselves.”
Blanche obeyed very willingly, for she was right proud of Ethel’s
success in making so good and comfortable a home for them all, and Uncle
Albert noted and commended all that was worthy of it, and made no
remarks about the defects that he perceived. He said truly that he
thought they had done wonders, while at the same time he mentally
resolved that if they persisted in staying there, many a comfort and
convenience should be added to their slender store.
In taking leave he put some money into Blanche’s hand, bidding her see
that Ethel was well fed, for he was sure she needed nourishing food and
rest more than anything else.
“Oh, uncle, thank you!” Blanche exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with
delight. “Yes, indeed, I’m sure she does, and I’ll see that she has it.”
At that moment Nannette came rushing in through the store, Harry
following.
“Oh, Uncle Albert!” they cried at sight of him, Nannette springing
forward and holding up her face for a kiss, adding, “It’s such a long
while that I haven’t seen you, and I’m so glad you’ve come to see us at
last.”
“Ah, little one! I thought you had forgotten all about Uncle Albert,” he
returned, giving the caress with hearty good will. “But how you have
grown! Harry also,” shaking the boy’s hand heartily. “Well, I am just
going, but I hope we will see each other oftener in the future.”
With that he was hastening toward the outer door, when seemingly struck
by a second thought he turned toward them again, saying: “Harry, my boy,
put down your satchel of books and come with me. I want you to act as my
errand boy for once in a way.”
“Do you, uncle? Oh, I’d like to,” cried the boy, hastening to obey.
“It strikes me that you are growing out of your clothes, laddie,” his
uncle remarked, with a scrutinizing glance down at Harry as they walked
briskly along the street.
“Yes, sir,” Harry returned, blushing, “I can’t help growing fast, and of
course Ethel can’t make enough money to be always buying new clothes for
me. But I can stand it,” he added cheerfully, “and I hope one of these
days I’ll be able to make enough to dress myself and all my sisters,
too.”
“Great expectations, my boy,” his uncle said with a smile; “but if you
make use of all your advantages I dare say they may be realized some
day. And by the way, Harry, if you do make yourself fit for the place,
I’ll take you into the store one of these days, should you happen to
fancy the business.”
“Oh, uncle, will you?” cried the boy. “I’d like it so much, and I’ll try
my very best to qualify myself for it.”
While this conversation was going on between Mr. Eldon and Harry,
Blanche was giving Nannette a detailed account of the doings of that
afternoon—her calling in of the doctor, the visit she had afterward paid
to her uncles at their place of business and their Uncle Albert’s call
upon them, his talk with Ethel and then with herself as she conducted
him over the house. Nannette listened to it all with intense interest,
then, after a moment’s silence, burst out:
“It’s just too bad that Uncle Albert doesn’t know how Ethel and I were
always treated by his daughters—as if we weren’t their equals; if he did
he wouldn’t blame Ethel for trying to make a home for us and herself.
But she couldn’t tell him, of course.”
“No, no, indeed! I’m sure neither Ethel nor any of the rest of us would
be willing to give him the pain of knowing about it; yet it does seem
right hard that for that reason we can’t show him the reasonableness of
our desire for a home of our very own.”
“Yes,” sighed Nannette, “it does seem hard, because it looks as if we
were ungrateful to him for all his kindness; but maybe some day they’ll
feel sorry for treating us so and tell him of it themselves.”
“I hope so,” said Blanche, but her tone and the accompanying sigh seemed
to indicate that the hope was but faint.
“I think I’ll go up now to see Ethel,” said Nannette. “I hope she’s
feeling better for uncle’s visit.”
“Yes, so do I,” returned Blanche; “but I wouldn’t go up just yet, she
may be asleep; besides it’s time for us to be getting supper. You’ll set
the table, won’t you, while I make the toast and tea?”
“Yes, indeed,” answered Nannette cheerfully, and they set to work.
Just as everything was ready for the meal, Harry came rushing in with a
joyful little shout.
“Hello, girls! look at me!” and he danced about the kitchen, clapping
his hands and acting like one fairly wild with delight. His sisters
looked up and uttered simultaneous exclamations of surprise and delight.
“O Harry, how fine—how nice you look! Why, where did you get that new
suit?”
“It’s a present from Uncle Albert!” exclaimed the boy half breathlessly,
“coat and pants; and aren’t they splendid? And this isn’t all; he’s
given me a handsomer suit than this for Sunday. Oh, but he’s a brick!
now isn’t he? And see what he’s bought for Ethel and the rest of us,” he
added, stepping to the door and bringing in a good-sized basket. “I
didn’t show it at first, because I wanted your undivided attention given
to my clothes.”
“Oh! oh! such elegant grapes and peaches and pears!” cried Nannette,
peeping into the basket; “and—and what’s that at the bottom?”
“Why, what do you think?” laughed Harry.
“We’ll have to take it out of the basket and the paper it’s wrapped in,
before we can tell,” replied Blanche, proceeding to lift out the fruit
and place it carefully on a large dish. “Oh, birds picked and cleaned
all ready for the gridiron! They must be for Ethel; and how good of
uncle to buy them for her.”
“He said they were for all of us,” returned Harry, “that there would be
enough for each of us to have one, and leave one for Ethel’s breakfast;
and to-morrow he’s going to send us some more or something else quite as
good.”
“He’s just as kind as he can be!” was Nannette’s rejoinder, Blanche
adding, “Indeed he is! I do love him and wish everybody had as good and
kind an uncle.”
“Some folks have fathers, and I suppose they do just as well as uncles,”
laughed Harry.