“You have been gone a good while, Albert; I hope it was not because of
finding the child ill?” Mr. George Eldon remarked enquiringly when his
brother re-entered their office.
“She is worn out and a long rest will be very necessary, I think,” was
the reply in an anxious tone, “and I for one shall do what I can to make
her take it. She is certainly a bright girl and one to be proud of,
George. There are none too many who would exert themselves as she has
done when they might live at ease, depending on relatives able and
willing to care for them.”
“No, I dare say not, but I have sometimes felt that I should prefer to
have her a trifle less independent. But,” glancing at the clock, “sit
down and give me an account of your visit, and the state in which you
found her and the others. I see we have time enough for a chat before
starting for home.”
The request was complied with, a consultation held as to how much, and
in what way Ethel and the others should be assisted, then, still
conversing together on the subject, the brothers started for their
homes.
It was the topic of conversation at the dinner table at Mr. George
Eldon’s that evening, and Dorothy and the two young men seemed much
interested.
“She is a brave, industrious little woman,” said George. “I doubt if
there are many girls who would have voluntarily undertaken all that she
has.”
“There are certainly a great many who wouldn’t,” said William, “and I
own that I am more proud of her than of my very dressy, fashionable
cousins next door.”
“Or of the one sitting here, I presume,” laughed Dorothy. “I don’t blame
you, Will; but perhaps I might try going into business too if your
mother did not insist that she needs me here.”
“Of course she does, and so do we,” said her uncle. “There must be
somebody to sew on buttons and strings and attend to various other small
matters affecting our comfort.”
“And certainly Dorothy deserves the credit of attending faithfully to
those small but necessary matters,” said George.
“That’s true,” said his brother, “and of making quantities of garments
for other people besides. She’s a regular Dorcas, as I’ve heard mother
say more than once.”
“Be careful, young men, or you’ll have me so puffed up there’ll be no
living in the same house with me,” returned Dorothy with merry look and
tone, “and then who’ll sew on your buttons and strings?”
“We’ll carry them to mother,” replied William with gravity. “She can’t
go round the house and hunt things up, but we will do that part, and
she’ll be both able and willing to tack the things on for us.”
“And you, of course, are not likely to tire of your part of the work,”
returned Dorothy, “nor ever to forget to hunt up the garments and carry
them to aunt in good season to have them got ready for wear when wanted.
I should really like to see that poor girl—Ethel,” she continued
presently. “I wonder if she would care to see me.”
“I am going round there this evening—in about an hour from now,” said
her uncle. “Would you like to go with me?”
“Yes, sir; yes, indeed, if I may.”
“I shall be pleased to have you,” he returned, “as I am partial to
ladies’ society and your aunt cannot go with me.”
“Have you told mother of Ethel’s break-down, sir?” asked his son George.
“Not yet, but I am going up to do so now,” Mr. Eldon replied, as they
all rose from the table.
Mrs. Eldon heard the story with interest, her husband recounting to her
all that his brother had told him of the little home Ethel had made for
herself and the younger ones, its comforts and conveniences, and what
was lacking in that line; also how completely she had overworked herself
in her determined effort to provide for her little family.
“Now what can we do to help her?” she asked when he had finished. “She
is worthy of help, for she has shown herself wonderfully brave,
self-reliant, and industrious.”
“She has indeed,” he responded, “and must be prevented from beginning
work too soon. I am going to warn her to be careful, assuring her that
Albert and I will provide all that is necessary, at least until she has
fully recovered her health, and strength; and I shall insist that she
allows us to do so. Her father would certainly have done the same by my
children had the situation be reversed; and so I shall tell her.”
“Yes; and lest she should doubt my willingness to have you do so, tell
her I think it no more than one brother should do for the children of
another, if he finds himself as able as you are.”
“Thank you, my dear. And now I will go at once that I may get back to
you the sooner.”
He found Dorothy ready, waiting for him in the parlor below, and they
set off at once.
They were joyfully welcomed on their arrival at their destination. Ethel
was surprised and touched at this evidence of feeling for her on the
part of her Uncle George and Dorothy. They found her awake, talked very
kindly to her, showing much interest in her and the younger ones, but,
perceiving that her greatest need was rest and sleep, left early,
promising to come again soon. Her uncle bade her an affectionate
good-by, telling her not to fret or worry about anything, but to take
matters easily, trusting in Providence, and her uncles as His
instruments. He took her hand as he spoke and left something in it,
which on examination she found to be a five-dollar bill.
“How good in him!” she murmured; glad, grateful tears chasing each other
down her cheeks.
“Uncle,” said Dorothy, as they walked along together, “I think those
children need some clothes; excepting Harry, perhaps. Did you notice
what a neat, new suit he had on?”
“Yes; it was a present this afternoon from his Uncle Albert. It would be
no more than my share to provide for the girls whatever may be needed.”
“Well, uncle, if you’ll furnish the money I’ll do the work. Aunt and I
have been working for the Dorcas society—helping to clothe the poor—and
it really seems to me that the needy ones of our own family have the
very first claim.”
“That is my view of the matter,” he said, “and I am ready to pay for all
the material you and your aunt may think it best to buy and make up for
them.”
“Oh, thank you, sir! Shall we not have a talk with aunt about it when we
get home?”
“Certainly. She will be apt to know just what should be bought, and, if
you like, you can do the buying to-morrow. I will furnish the funds.”
On reaching home they went directly to Mrs. Eldon’s room, gave a
detailed account of their visit and the discoveries made regarding the
needs of Ethel and the others, then of their plan for affording relief,
of which Mrs. Eldon highly approved, and which she and Dorothy began
carrying out the next morning.
The result was a joyful surprise to the three girls and a lightening of
Ethel’s burden of care which greatly assisted her recovery. She strove,
and with some measure of success, not to think of business cares and
anxieties for some days, but as soon as she was able to be up and at
work again, she proposed to her partner that they should go over their
books, take an inventory of goods on hand, and find out exactly how they
stood with their creditors. They did so and discovered to their dismay
that, so far from having made anything, they were in debt.
“There,” exclaimed Carry, “I shall just stop right here; for if we go on
I’ll only get deeper and deeper into debt.”
“Oh, no!” said Ethel. “I see where we have made mistakes. We’ll avoid
them after this and will make something next year.”
“I shan’t try,” said Carry, in a despairing tone. “You, of course, will
do as you like, but I’m done with the business.”
“I don’t think I am,” said Ethel.
“Then suppose you buy me out; I’ll sell cheap,” said Carry, forcing a
laugh to keep from crying.
“Yes, if you’ll wait a little for your money,” replied Ethel, a sudden
conviction coming to her that she could do better alone, as she and
Carry did not always agree in regard to the wisdom of proposed measures.
“Yes,” said Carry, “I think it would be only fair that you should settle
with the creditors first, and I know you will pay me as soon afterward
as you can.”
So it came about that Ethel was soon sole proprietor of the little
store, and could manage all parts of the business to suit herself. She
bought goods on short credit and was very careful to pay promptly. She
did not know that her uncles privately went security for her, and was
rather surprised to find the wholesale merchants with whom she dealt so
willing to trust her to any amount, though she never bought very
largely, being far too cautious for that. She managed so well that in
less than a year she was entirely free from debt and had a good run of
custom; for so pleasing was her manner, so thoroughly well done her
work, her stock of goods so carefully selected, that those who bought of
her once were very apt to come again; also to recommend her to others.
Her uncles were kind, though her continuance in business did not meet
with their warm approval. Dorothy came in occasionally to see her and
her sisters. Harry was given the half-promised place in his uncle’s
store, and Miss Seldon was a not infrequent visitor and customer as
well. She was very kind, bought of them herself, and recommended the
store to others. She would sometimes accept an invitation to stay and
take tea with them, all esteeming it a delight to entertain her—she was
so kind-hearted and showed such an interest in them and their affairs.
She was in easy circumstances, had travelled a good deal in this and in
foreign countries, and her conversation was both interesting and
instructive.
One evening a casual mention of having some years before spent a number
of weeks on the island of Jamaica aroused a degree of excitement among
them that surprised her.
“Jamaica!” exclaimed Blanche. “Oh, Miss Seldon, did you meet any of the
well-to-do people? any of the rich planters?”
“Yes,” was the reply, “I had letters of introduction to several families
and found them very hospitable; some of them most interesting and
agreeable people. I particularly remember one old couple, of English
descent, without children, I think—at least I did not hear of any—who
made my visit of a couple of days very enjoyable, indeed.”
“What was their name, Miss Seldon?” asked Ethel half breathlessly, for
her heart was beating fast between a newly aroused hope and the fear
that it might not be realized.
“Eyre,” returned Miss Seldon. “But why do you ask? Oh, what is it?” for
every face at the table had brightened visibly, and there was an
exchange of rejoicing, exulting, excited glances.
“I think they must have been our grandparents,” said Ethel, scarcely
able to speak from emotion, “mamma’s father and mother, whom we have
never been able to find because we did not know their address. Oh, how
glad—how glad I am!” and she wept for joy and thankfulness.
Harry and the others were scarcely less excited; they could talk of
nothing else while together at the table, but soon after leaving it,
Ethel, taking Miss Seldon with her, accompanied by Harry as escort, set
out for her old home to inform her uncles of the discovery just made,
and ask their advice in regard to the best way of opening communication
with her grandparents.
“This is good news, Ethel—at least I hope it will prove so,” said her
Uncle George when the story had been told; “but I am extremely doubtful
if your grandparents are still living; for in that case they would
surely have been hunting up their daughter’s children. But we must set
on foot such enquiries as will remove all doubt, and in case of their
death recover for you and your brother and sisters any property they may
have left.”
At that Ethel’s eyes filled. “I want my dear grandparents a great deal
more than I do their property,” she said.
“I have no doubt of that, Ethel,” said her Uncle Albert, “but in case of
their death the property will be yours by right, and not to be despised;
and they of course would have wished it to fall to their daughter’s
children rather than to anyone else.”
“I should think so; yes, I am quite sure of it,” she said, adding with a
smile, “and it will be a great help to us all in getting a start in the
world.”
“Yes,” he returned, “and for that reason I shall be very glad if it
turns out that there is a good deal of it.”
“We will make enquiries for you, Ethel,” said her Uncle George, “and set
about it at once. So you need give yourself no farther trouble, my
dear.”
“Thank you both very much, indeed, uncles,” was her reply in a tone full
of grateful affection. “I think, though, that I will write a letter to
my grandparents to say how dearly I love them, and how I have longed
ever since dear mamma and papa died to be with them in the sweet old
home I can just remember, but did not write till now because of not
knowing their address. Shall I not do so?”
“I do not believe they are living, child,” replied her Uncle George.
“Had they been, you surely would have heard from them in some way before
this.”
“But they have not known where we were,” she returned, tears starting to
her eyes again. “So I think I had better write.”
“Yes, do so if you wish. It cannot do any harm,” said her uncle Albert.
Blanche and Nannette eagerly awaited the return of their brother and
sister, and on their coming besieged them with questions, asking what
their uncles thought and said, and what was going to be done to find
“Grandpa and Grandma Eyre.” Neither Ethel nor Harry was disposed to keep
anything back, but the others were disappointed that there was so little
to tell, and were almost indignant that it should be thought that their
grandparents were dead. They urged Ethel to write at once and find out
certainly whether they were or not.
“It is just what I intend doing,” she said, “and now, if you will be
quiet, I will set to work at once. I’ll make my letter short, promising
to write again as soon as we hear from them.”
The letter was written, read to the others for their approval, and
mailed by Harry before they went to bed that night.
Some weeks of anxious suspense followed, then news was received of the
death, some years before, of both Mr. and Mrs. Eyre. They had left
property which, their daughter’s children heired, but only a part of it
was recovered for them.
In the meantime the young people had talked much together of their dear
old home in Jamaica, and the grandparents who had so loved and petted
them in their babyhood; Ethel, at the request of the others, repeating
again and again all that she could remember of the lovely place, and
their life there, so different from that they were now leading, and, as
they talked, the desire to return to that beautiful home and those
doating grandparents grew apace.
It was therefore a sore disappointment when they learned that death had
robbed them of the dear old people, orphaning them a second time. For
the first few days after hearing the sad news they were almost
inconsolable in their grief and disappointment, but gradually they
recovered from that and felt glad and thankful because of their
increased means; for though by no means sufficient to free them from the
necessity of exertion, life was made easier and advantages were secured
which without it were beyond their reach.
A capable woman was found who took Blanche’s place as housekeeper and
cook, so that she could go back to school and resume her studies, and a
young girl, who did errands and sometimes waited upon customers, was
also added to the establishment.