RETRENCHMENT.
Winter passed, spring came and went, and the commencement exercises of
the seminary where Star was attending drew nigh.
The faculty, as was their custom, sent forth cards of invitation to its
patrons, requesting them to be present and see for themselves what their
children had accomplished during the year.
It chanced this time to fall upon Star’s birthday, although no one was
aware of that fact save herself; but to her it was destined to prove an
eventful occasion, and one long to be remembered.
Mr. Richards received and opened his invitation with his other letters
on that very morning, and after glancing over it, passed it to his wife.
She merely looked at it, yawned, and then laid it indifferently one
side.
Mr. Richards compressed his lips at this. It did not please him that all
the young girl’s interests should be thus slightingly ignored; but he
said nothing, although his thoughts were busy during the remainder of
the meal, and as soon as it was completed he repaired to his library and
rang his bell.
“Send Miss Gladstone to me,” he said to the servant who answered his
summons.
Star received the command, wondering what it meant, and went down, with
some trepidation, to obey it.
She was almost like an alien in that house, living so apart from the
family, and so rarely encountering any of them; but she possessed a
sunny, even disposition, and although she often grieved over the neglect
she experienced, and yearned for love and sympathy, yet she would not
allow herself to brood over it; thus she was always sweet and genial in
her temperament.
As she entered the library this morning, Mr. Richards looked up and
smiled with pleasure.
She was so fresh, and bright, and lovely that it was a delight to look
upon her.
“I have received a card for the closing exercises of your school
to-day,” he said, pleasantly. “I think I should like to attend, if I can
make it convenient. How have you been progressing?”
“Professor Roberts has been kind enough to say that I have done very
well. You know I did not enter until nearly the middle of the second
term,” Star modestly replied, while her cheeks glowed and her eyes shone
with pleasure that he should manifest this interest in her welfare.
“Do you have any particular part in the exercises to-day?” he
questioned.
“Yes, sir. I have a programme here in my pocket; perhaps you would like
to see it?” and she drew it forth, laying it upon the table before him.
He glanced over it, and, third upon the list, he saw:
“Music, instrumental, by Miss Stella Gladstone.”
Further down he read:
“Essay, by Miss Stella Gladstone. Subject: ‘Walls Must Get the
Weather-stain Before They Grow the Ivy.’”
He looked up at her with some surprise.
“Did you choose the subject of your essay?” he asked.
“Yes, sir.”
“Why did you take such a topic?”
“I do not know, sir,” Star answered, thoughtfully. “I read the line
somewhere one day; it haunted me continually, until I wrote out some
thoughts upon it, as I often do upon different subjects. Professor
Roberts found them between the leaves of my Horace one day, and liked
them so well that he asked me to elaborate and extend them, and read it
as an essay to-day. He always has two or three essays from members of
the junior class read upon commencement day.”
Mr. Richards had been looking her over critically while she was
speaking.
She was clad in a gown of some light gray material, made very plainly,
but fitting her graceful figure to perfection. Simple bands of linen
were just visible at her throat and wrists, while a knot of pale blue
ribbon fastened her collar.
She looked lovely. She would have been so in anything; but he saw that
her toilet was hardly befitting the ward of his wife.
“Girls for commencement always have a new dress, don’t they?” he asked.
“Have you made any arrangements of the kind?”
“No, sir; I shall go just as I am. This is the best that I have,” she
returned, glancing down at her dress and flushing slightly.
“How much time have you before the exercises begin?” he inquired.
“An hour or more,” she said, looking up at the clock on the mantel. “I
am ready very early,” she added, smiling, “for I wished to look over my
essay before reading it.”
Mr. Richards looked grave. He remembered how Josephine had been all
“fuss and feathers” at every commencement, and here this lovely girl was
going to appear before a crowded hall in a dress which his daughter
would not have worn in her own private room.
“If you will step around to Hunt & Co.’s with me, you shall have one of
those pretty summer silks that they are advertising so extensively. I
should be gratified to have you as well dressed as your classmates, and
I fear that your needs have been neglected in this respect,” he
remarked, with a slight frown.
Star flushed scarlet now.
She had wished—oh, _so_ earnestly!—that morning that she could have
something dainty to wear, and she had sighed regretfully as she thought
of all her pretty clothes lying at the bottom of the ocean, for they had
been prettily made, although they were of inexpensive material; and she
had heard the girls talking of the new dresses which were being made for
them. But when her toilet was completed and she looked in the glass, she
felt that, notwithstanding the disadvantage of her apparel, there was at
least a distinguished air about her which bespoke the true lady, and she
was comforted.
“Thank you,” she answered, quietly, while the color slowly receded from
her brow and cheeks; “you are very kind to suggest it, but, if you
please, I prefer to go as I am. I shall be gratified,” she added,
dropping the proud ring out of her voice, “if you feel sufficiently
interested to attend the exercises to-day, and I will endeavor to show
you that I have tried to improve the advantages that you have given me.”
“I should be willing to take your word for it,” Mr. Richards said,
heartily, “but I will come and see for myself.”
Star looked pleased at this assurance, and then, giving him a friendly
little bow and smile, went away with a light heart.
“By George! she’ll make a woman to be proud of, or—or ‘I’m much
mistaken,’ as Mrs. Blunt would remark. She has spirit, too, and is bound
to stand on her own merits. There are not many girls who would have
refused the offer of a pretty new dress for such an occasion. I’ll go
over to the seminary and see what she has been doing.”
When Mr. Richards entered the hall of the seminary, he found it crowded
to overflowing with spectators, anxious friends, and fond parents.
He gradually worked his way forward toward the platform, for he was
determined to hear Star’s essay, if possible, and finally took his stand
beside a piece of statuary and near an open window, where he could have
air and yet command a good view of all the exercises.
Almost at the same moment a slight, willowy figure, clad in light gray,
with a fair, delicate face, deep blue eyes, scarlet lips, and a wealth
of golden hair, glided noiselessly to the piano on the platform, sat
down, and after running her fingers nimbly over the keys for a moment or
two, dashed off into a brilliant and difficult sonata.
It was executed apparently without a mistake from beginning to end, and
without notes, and when it was finished the fair performer retired from
the instrument amid enthusiastic applause.
Mr. Richards was astounded.
He had expected some simple melody, passably performed. She had told
him, in her modest way, that she had given some attention to music, but
he had not imagined that she was as proficient as this, and he could not
understand how she had kept up her practice, with no instruction, and no
permission to use the piano at home.
He did not know of that hour at noon, nor the odd minutes, when other
girls were chattering away at recess time, that Star had diligently
given to this science which she so dearly loved.
He was no less astounded during the reading of her essay.
When it was announced, she came quietly forward with graceful
self-possession, and unfolding the roll of manuscript which she carried
in her hand, read in sweet, yet clear tones, a production which held her
listeners spell-bound from beginning to end.
She must have woven something of her own heart history into it, he
thought, for two or three times the tears welled unbidden to his eyes at
the pathos which those smoothly rounded sentences contained.
It seemed as if Star’s efforts were more highly appreciated than any
other portion of the exercises. Even the valedictory, from a member of
the senior class, although well written and to the point, was not
listened to with such breathless attention.
At the conclusion of the programme, the diplomas were awarded to the
graduating class, and then the professor said he would read the names of
those who had passed their examination and were to be promoted from the
other classes. There were two young ladies, he said, who were entitled
to a double promotion, having accomplished the work of a year in about
six months, which was, to say the least, a very unusual and laudable
circumstance.
The names of those entitled to this were Miss Stella Gladstone and Miss
Grace Turnbull, and they would, upon the beginning of the fall term,
take their places in the senior class.
As the people flocked by him out of the hall, Mr. Richards heard Star’s
praises on every side, and inwardly vowed that the girl should have
every chance in the future.
He made his way toward the platform, intending to speak with and
congratulate her upon her success; but just before he reached her
another gentleman approached her, and after shaking hands in the most
cordial manner with her, gave her a small package, and bending down,
whispered a few words in her ear.
He could not understand the expression of mingled surprise and joy which
for a moment absolutely glorified her fair face as she received the
package; then the tears sprang to her eyes, as, with tremulous lips, she
appeared to be thanking the giver.
The gentleman chatted a few moments longer with her, then put out his
hand for the roll of manuscript which she still held, while he smilingly
asked her for it.
Star hesitated about giving it to him, while a lovely color suffused her
face; then, with a shy movement, she laid it in his palm.
He received it with a brilliant smile, bowed gracefully to her, and then
left her.
Mr. Richards now approached her, and taking her hand, said, almost
affectionately:
“Star, you have shone effulgently to-day, and I am proud of you.”
It would not have been in human nature to have prevented the little
gleam of triumph which flashed from her eyes at this tribute to her
talents, but she said, gratefully:
“Thank you, sir; but I owe my success all to you.”
“Not a bit of it,” he returned, with some emotion; “you owe it to
yourself alone; but I will take care that you do not thank me for
nothing at the close of another year.”
Star wondered what he meant, but she did not question him, and her heart
was lighter than it had been before, since she crossed the ocean, as he
led her from the building and walked home with her.
But he noticed all the way that there was a nervous tremor about her,
while she was unusually absent-minded and silent.
“Who was that gentleman who came and spoke to you at the close of the
exercises?” he asked, just before they reached home.
Star glanced up with a start.
“His name is Appleton,” she answered, and pretended not to notice that
his eyes were resting curiously upon the package which he had given her.
When they entered the house, Star ascended to her own room, while Mr.
Richards sought his wife.
He found her and Josephine together in the drawing-room, and, for a
wonder, no callers with them.
He informed them where he had been, and also of the brilliant appearance
which Star had made before the public.
Both mother and daughter sneered audibly at his account, and this
aroused his indignation.
His eyes began to blaze, and his wife sobered instantly; she always
recognized and dreaded this dangerous symptom.
“You are a couple of selfish, heartless women,” he began; “and now, let
me tell you, you have got to turn over a new leaf, or there will be
trouble in the camp. That girl, whom you have so despised and tried to
degrade ever since she came into the house, has wonderful talent—talent
of which any one might be proud. She is rightly named, for she certainly
shone like a star of the first magnitude to-day. Her essay was superior
to anything produced there, and her performance upon the piano something
wonderful for one so young and possessing so few advantages.”
“Oh, papa, you don’t mean to say that she can play the piano! I’m sure
she has never touched this one since she came here, and no one can play
well without constant practice,” asserted Miss Josephine, with a toss of
her dark head, for she was accounted a good musician.
“You don’t believe what I tell you, then,” her father said, frowning.
“Well, I think you must have overestimated her talent in that
direction,” the girl answered.
Mr. Richards did not reply, but walked to the bell-rope and gave it a
pull.
“Go and say to Miss Gladstone that I would like to see her in the
drawing-room,” he said to the servant who opened the door.
“Really, Mr. Richards,” interrupted his wife, with severe dignity; but
he stopped her short with a motion of his hand.
“Go!” he repeated to the servant, who had hesitated as she spoke, and
then he turned again to her.
“I want you to understand,” he said, “something of the wrong which you
have been doing this child, and now I am going to ask her to play to
you. I desire that you treat her civilly, too, when she comes down. She
should have been received here as one of us—I regret that I did not
insist upon it in the beginning—she should have been on an equal footing
with Josie, enjoying the same advantages, and receiving sympathy and
encouragement instead of—well, it’s no use fretting over it now; but, by
Jove! I’ll make it up to her in the future. Hark! she is coming, and now
I’ll have no sneers or sour looks,” he concluded, as the door handle
turned.
Star entered at this moment, and seeing the whole family assembled,
looked somewhat surprised; but Mr. Richards approached her, saying,
quietly:
“I have sent for you to ask if you will play again for us what you
played at the hall to-day?”
Star glanced at the two ladies, but their attitude was not encouraging.
Mrs. Richards was the personification of dignified indifference, while
Miss Josephine sat looking out of a window, and partially concealed by
its drapery.
She saw that she was wholly indebted to Mr. Richards for this
opportunity of displaying her talent, and that they were evidently
somewhat doubtful as to her ability to do what he claimed for her;
therefore her fingers began to tingle to do their very best.
“Certainly; I shall be pleased to play for you if you desire it,” she
said, as she walked quietly and unassumingly to the piano and sat down.
She had not struck a dozen notes before she had the undivided attention
of every listener; and when she had concluded, two of the little company
were quivering with jealous anger.
Josephine had the name of being a good musician, but both she and her
mother could plainly perceive that she had not a tithe of the talent
that the fair, despised girl, of whom they had tried to make a common
servant, possessed.
“Play something else, please,” Mr. Richards said, when she had finished
the sonata which she had played at school; and, without a word, her
slender fingers went sweeping through one of Mendelssohn’s “_Romances
sans Paroles_” in the most intoxicating manner imaginable, and her new
admirer, with a look of pardonable triumph, thanked her most warmly when
she concluded.
She quietly left the room, although she felt assured that a storm was
ready to burst as soon as she should be beyond hearing; the very
atmosphere was heavy with it.
She was right in her conjecture, for no sooner was the door closed
behind her than Mrs. Richards’ tongue was loosed, and she broke forth in
a torrent of wrath.
“Well, George Richards, I suppose you imagine that you have done
something wonderful in bringing that girl here and showing her off to
us; but you will find that you have made a mistake. It is very
praiseworthy, indeed, to seek to humiliate one’s own daughter, and I
should suppose you would feel very proud of such an achievement. Where
is your self-respect, that you bring a beggar in here and set her up as
a reproach to your wife? I will not stand it, sir—I tell you I will not
stand it! Things are come to a pretty pass, I should say, if our
domestic peace is to be destroyed by that insignificant chit, and I was
a fool ever to consent to her coming here.”
This and much more of the same kind the angry woman poured forth in a
perfect volley.
Mr. Richards listened with quiet gravity to the tirade, and when she had
concluded, he quietly remarked:
“Well, Ellen, now that you are through, we’ll say that it’s my turn. You
might just as well make up your mind to be reasonable first as last, for
mine is settled upon one thing—_Star Gladstone has done the last day’s
work in this house that she ever will do_! She is to have her time
entirely to herself until she graduates, a year hence. I shall offer to
allow her to pursue music, and painting if she desires, during the long
vacation just at hand, giving her the best of masters which New York
affords, and spare no reasonable expense to make her the accomplished
woman that I think she is capable of becoming. _You promised_ all this
to her father; he sent her to you with the belief that she would enjoy
these advantages until she was fitted to become a teacher, _and she
shall have them_. Now, one thing more—and you know that when I get
aroused to this pitch I mean what I say—if I find that you or Jo are
making her unhappy at any time, I’ll put her into the most genteel
boarding-house in the city, out of your reach. As for ‘domestic peace,’
about which you twit me, I believe I love my family better than the
average of men, and am not in the habit of stirring up strife; so it
will rest with _you_ to keep the peace.”
Mr. Richards did not wait for any rejoinder to this plain speaking, but
left the room, and finding Star out upon the balcony leading from the
dining-room, he told her that he had decided to let her take up music
and painting during the vacation if she wished.
He felt amply repaid for his efforts on her behalf on seeing the look of
joy which flashed over her face, while her voice thrilled with
earnestness as she replied:
“Oh, sir, I ought to be the happiest girl in Brooklyn to have so much of
good come to me on this, my seventeenth birthday!”
“Is this your birthday?” he asked, with a feeling of selfreproach that
it should have come and nearly gone with no token of remembrance, while
he glanced over her meager attire and marked the absence of all jewelry
or trinkets such as young girls love, for she wore nothing of the kind
save a dainty cameo head fastened to the knot of ribbon at her throat.
“Yes, sir; and it is one which I shall always remember with great
pleasure,” she said, with a tremulous smile that he did not then
understand. “I thank you,” she added, “for allowing me to go on with my
music, and I will be very faithful in improving my opportunity; but—I
think, if you please, I will not mind about the painting at present. I
am very fond of it, but—I——”
“Very well; do as you choose,” he said, as he saw she was somewhat
embarrassed. “You are to have all the advantages you desire during the
next year, and you are to do no more work of any kind in this house——”
“Oh, but I like to work about the house,” she began, eagerly; but he
stopped her authoritatively.
“No; I will not have it. You need all the time you can get for study and
practice. Maggie Flynn, or some other Maggie, shall come back as chamber
and waiting-maid, and you are to remember it is my command that you do
nothing of the kind. If you have any spare time, use it in making the
pretty things which young ladies of your age like so much. Here is
something to begin upon, and I will allow you the same amount every
month;” and he tucked a bill of no mean denomination into her hand as he
concluded.
He did not wait to hear her thanks, but turned abruptly away, feeling
very tenderly toward this sweet young maiden, who had lived such an
isolated, neglected life in the midst of that household of luxury.
Star looked after him with a glorified face.
“Oh, what a birthday!” she said, as she went up stairs and shut herself
into her room.
She folded that precious bill—more money than she had ever possessed
before at one time—for “pretty things,” and laid it safely away in a
drawer; then she took up a handsomely bound book that lay on her table.
“A red letter day!” she murmured. “My success—my promotion—his kindness,
and, above all, this beautiful book—it all seems to be too lovely to be
real.”
She raised the volume and softly touched her lips to it; then bowing her
golden head, her heart overcharged with its unaccustomed weight of
happiness, found relief in a shower of tears.
“The book” was the package, devoid of its wrapper, which the strange
gentleman had given her in the presence of Mr. Richards.
* * * * *
The next morning’s papers contained an interesting account of the
commencement exercises of —— Seminary, together with a copy in full of
Miss Stella Gladstone’s essay, and speaking in very flattering terms of
its excellence as a literary production.
Another important event occurred that morning.
One of Mr. Richards’ driving horses was sold, and his wife, upon
learning of the circumstance, lifted up her hands and scornfully
exclaimed:
“Retrenchment!”